Zimiamvia: A Trilogy

It shouldn't even be necessary to point out that Eric Eddison's books are the high point of twentieth century literature. It should go without saying that he is the best prose artist in the history of the English-language novel; his writing, and his dialogue in particular, are at least fifteen percent better than whichever lesser genius comes in second (Lord Dunsany, perhaps?). In a saner world, every college freshman would be expected to read his books, and to at least pretend to understand that the themes Eddison presents within them - the cycles of time, the duality of the godhead, human life lived as a work of conscious art - are the closest approach to Truth that are possible in fiction. (And they are only expressible in fantastic fiction, for we must come at these things indirectly and through the side door of Myth.) The reason that Eddison is obscure and his infinite virtues remain almost unsung is, of course, because ours is a civilization, and indeed a world, so unrepentantly degenerate that it isn't capable of understanding his works. A typical professor presented with The Worm or Mistress of Mistresses is in the position of an ape given a laptop computer: the best he can do is to bang his head against it. For what Eddison brings us is truth, at both the spiritual and mundane levels, and truth is more than the little men of this world can bear. You, dear reader, are probably already a cut above, to even have taken time to find out that Eddison exists and to bother to read a review of his books. (And be assured that this door is shut to the modestly endowed, as a survey of reviews on the web will reveal. Books on the level of Eddison, particulary the Zimiamvia trilogy, cannot be written with the masses in mind. This is the very definition of elite literature.) If you haven't read any of these works, you now have a great opportunity to evolve further away from the "common muck", as Eddison might call them, and perhaps later on, even agree with the tone and substance of this review. Or, you can do what the common muck will do: instead of attempting to rise to Eddison's level, resent the fact that he is simply smarter, better and more enlightened than you, or any other novelist you've ever come across. And most of all, of course, resent that he doesn't care if you know it. The chance, and the choice, are yours.

The Zimiamvian trilogy is a philosophy beautifully realized through Eddison's deftly extruding a world based on Beauty, his "fundamental value" of the universe (but how it's accomplished you'll just have to read for yourself). The fact that he starts with a philosophy means that his mindset throughout Zimiamvia is consistent and allows him to progress confidently through plot, prose, and poetry.He describes environments with sumptuous imagery, but the best of his writing is in how he conveys that which is left unsaid: in the wonderful, bantering conversations, in the way Fiorinda conveys so much in the simple tilt of her head. Indeed, transitory beauty found in the fleeting moment was one of Eddison's obsessions, and important to the books. Simple gestures create changes in mood and atmosphere and it's fascinating to see Eddison impart these sweeping temporal phantasms again and again.My only criticism is that Eddison's Victorian sentiments towards the roles of men and women can be quaint. But he obviously loved these characters and his commitment to them and to the philosophy behind Zimiamvia makes them utterly convincing, and such anachronisms are easily forgiven. After all, he fully admitted that his idea of utopia might not be everyone's.This edition of the Zimiamvian books (Mistress of Mistresses - published in 1935, A Fish Dinner in Memison, and The Mezentian Gate all in one volume) also has the benefit of an introduction and wonderful footnotes by Paul Edmund Thomas which helped me since I'm uninitiated in the scholarship of Scandinavian and Viking sagas and a little rusty on some of the classics, to which Eddison makes copious references. I don't know if the individual books have the benefit of such notes, but I would recommend seeking out a copy with them if you're not intimately familiar with those subjects (also with Renaissance Italian political intrigue, European art history, and, in one passage, cricket match terminology). But please don't let this deter you from reading these marvelous books. Thomas' notes are conversational and even funny sometimes, which makes them very accessible. As of the writing of this review, the book is out of print, but I easily found a cheap used copy online and I encourage you to find one, too.

... and look for it, or the individual titles: Mistress of Mistresses, Fish Dinner in Memison, The Mezentian Gate.This is fantasy of the highest order, and unlike anything else you might read. The prose itself is unusually beautiful. Though not writing the same as any of them, I place him in my pantheon of writers with Gene Wolfe, Thomas Pynchon, Kazantzakis (more than a few similarities there), perhaps Sam Delany.I first got recommended his less subtle, but still great, book The Worm Ourobouros back in the late 60's as a follow-on to Tolkien. This is a much more grown-up vision.

Ornate and splendid, Eddison's trilogy is by far the most audacious and ambitious fantasy I've read. The third volume is sadly incomplete, Eddison (like Peake) having died before he could finish it; but fortunately he had written the final sections, and it is the middle that is fragmentary. Even the plot summaries which do exist show that some of the best scenes in fantasy were, tragically, never written! The books are set in the world of Zimiamvia, where superhuman noblemen and women love, die, fight and endure intricate political wrangling. What is unusual about the books is their underlying philosophy, whose gradual revelation and embellishment is the real purpose of all this plot-mongering. To say more would be to reduce the intellectual excitement of discovering it. This is not an easy, story-teller's yarn, but a demanding AND REWARDING project. Its very prose is rich, dense and ornate, appropriate to the grandeur and seriousness of the author's intent. This is high fantasy for grown-ups. I like a bit of escapism as much as the next person, but it is also good to see the genre (before it WAS a genre) being used to a much higher purpose.