A Fish Dinner in Memison

The Zimiamvian Trilogy #2

by E.R. Eddison

In this second book of the Zimiamvian Trilogy, the royal guests at A Fish Dinner in Memison amuse themselves with the creation of a sadly flawed world … and in an instant spend a lifetime in it.

Genres: Fantasy, Fiction, Science Fiction, Speculative Fiction, Literature, High Fantasy, Classics

318 pages, Mass Market Paperback

First published January 1, 1941

About the author

Eric Rücker Eddison was an English civil servant and author, writing under the name "E.R. Eddison."

Reviews

[Joseph · Rating 4 out of 5]

OK, this gets a bit … complicated …

The previous book in the series, Mistress of Mistresses, opened in our own world with the funeral of Lessingham, an older gentleman who’d apparently done great things in his youth. The scene then shifted to Zimiamvia where the death of King Mezentius and, in fairly short order, his son King Styllis has set off a dynastic struggle between Mezentius’ bastard son Barganax (basically a decent guy) and Mezentius’ daughter, the reigning Queen Antiope (supported by the very not-nice Vicar of Rerek, Horius Parry, and Parry’s supremely competent cousin-german Lessingham (the same? different? who can say?), whose family ties oblige him to support his rat-bastard of a cousin). Oh, and he’s also extremely sweet on the young Queen, and those affections are most definitely reciprocated. So we had all manner of battles and intrigues and betrayals and romances, with a soupçon of magic, told in Eddison’s inimitable prose.

The events of Fish Dinner take place before Mistress of Mistresses, although I’m going to studiously avoid (as would, I believe, Eddison) using the word “prequel” to describe it. We actually have two parallel stories – in our own world, we follow the meeting, courtship and marriage of Lessingham and Lady Mary Scarnside; in Zimiamvia, we’re back with King Mezentius, his son Barganax, Barganax’ mother Amalie, the redoubtable Vicar and various others who’ll cause and/or become embroiled in the events of Mistress of Mistresses.

Having said that, this is not a book of action; it’s primarily a book in which the various characters, in various combinations and permutations, have lengthy discussions about the nature and purpose of existence and of Love (yes, capital L), especially at the eponymous fish dinner. It’s also at least hinted that Zimiamvia has been created so that Lessingham and Mary (in various incarnations) have an opportunity to spend more time together.

[Anna Spark · Rating 5 out of 5]

In places, the prose comes so near to perfection that I could not read it without weeping. Absolutely nothing happens. A world happens. Mesmerising.

Skip the cricket bit.

[Simon Mcleish · Rating 4 out of 5]

Originally published on my blog here in June 2002.

The second of Eddison's Zimianvian trilogy is the most difficult of his novels to read, though it is well worth the effort. It has much more to do with the aims of his writing than Mistress of Mistresses, where the hints about what is being done can easily be ignored, and the unfinished and in many parts skeletal nature of The Mezentian Gate make the underlying ideas far more obvious. The trilogy as a whole has an extremely unusual and rather disconcerting structure, in that it is more or less in reverse chronological order, with much overlap between the events in the second and third novel (the central event which provides the title here also occurs in The Mezentian Gate).

The fact that the opening chapter contains phrases in French, Italian, Greek and Latin might put a fair number of readers off, but more difficult in actuality is not so much Eddison's theme (time and eternity) as what he wants to say about it. (Eternity is also the theme of Eddison's less obviously related and most famous novel, The Worm Ouroboros, as the worm is a symbol for the concept.) The philosophical introduction won't clarify matters for anyone who hasn't read at least one of the novels in the trilogy already. Eddison could have written an allegorical fantasy, which would have been more familiar as a form to many readers of the genre, but he felt that it would be too easy to do this and would diminish his subject; instead of personifying eternity, he wanted to use all his characters to hint at different aspects of his ideas about time, in the same way that he felt that real world individuals did.

Eddison conveys his ideas as well through the parallels he makes between the real world and Zimiamvia, and by making several of his characters incarnations of gods and goddesses (or, perhaps more accurately speaking, of the ideas behind the characteristics of Zeus and Aphrodite). These ideas, present in the other two novels, appear here in more complicated forms which are explained in less detail, as the earthly story is intertwined intimately with the Zimiamvian, as Lessingham's courtship of Lade Mary Scarnside parallels Duke Barganax's of Fioranda. Then there is the "fish supper" itself, where discussion of how the gods create worlds for their own amusement leads to the act itself, as our "real" world is exhibited as a fantasy of a dinner party in Memison.

The structure is a bit confusing, at least on first reading, but A Fish Dinner in Memison contains much which is inventive and still fresh (especially the idea of our world being a temporary diversion, one which has recently been re-used in The Science of Discworld as a way to explain scientific ideas through Terry Pratchett's popular fantasy series). It is a philosophical and, like all of Eddison's writing, a poetic novel - the language of the chapter "Night Piece: Appassionato" in particular seemed to me to invoke the eternal. Recommended to anyone with an interest in the more philosophical fantasy novel.

[Terry · Rating 4 out of 5]

I am slightly conflicted about this book. It’s certainly a perplexing one and for more than one reason. Originally, I was going to leave it at my original 3 stars, then I thought 3.5 might be more accurate, but by the end I couldn’t give it less than 4. There’s just so damn much to chew on, whatever you might think of it, and it so neatly encapsulates the thought and ideals of its author (again, whatever you may think of them) that I can’t give it less. The following quote neatly encapsulates something of these ideals:

“One half all Ambitioso: set the whole world to rights and enslave mankind. The other half, all Lussurioso and Supervacuo: makes me want to abduct you to some undiscovered south sea-island of the blest, and there, paint, write, live on sweetmeats: spend the whole course of everlasting time in the moving and melancholy meditation that man’s life is as unlasting as a flower.”(118)

The better angels of my nature tell me that there is something I should find deeply troubling about Eddison’s work. The glorification of war, the exemplification of the ‘great man’ ideology, implicit (or explicit) gender essentialism, and the disregard for what we might call conventional morality make this book (I really do hate this word, despite how much I seem to be using it recently) ‘problematic’. That said, I still do rather love Eddison’s works, warts and all. In many ways even the good guys in Eddison’s stories can be seen, ultimately, as bullies and I shudder when I consider that my favourite character of his, the deliciously evil and bombastic Vicar of Rerek Horius Parry, the schemer we love to hate, bears striking resemblances to certain politicians we are seeing in the real world today. I imagine I’m learning that what might be a vicarious pleasure in fiction is an utter horror in reality.

It’s been a long time since I last (and first I believe) read this book and I’d forgotten pretty all of the details. It is, perhaps of all of Edison’s fantasies, the most sui generis and that’s saying something. It also most clearly delineates his philosophy, and I have to admit it’s a philosophy I can’t really say I approve of. That said it’s not without a certain majestic allure and there are some interesting ideas about politics and human nature, vis à vis size and scope, put forward by Lessingham (one of the main characters) that provide some intriguing food for thought and go at least some way to mitigating, or at least explicating, some of the ideas on display.

I am unclear exactly how much Spinozan deism permeates the text, but based on the author’s own admission it is there. One can also catch a distinct whiff of the Nietzchean, though of a distinctly unique flavour. There is something akin to Nietzche’s eternal recurrence (unsurprisingly given the omnipresent nature of the ouroboros symbol throughout Eddison’s works), though I think in a mode that Friedrich might find questionable. Certainly, this is an aristocratic tale in which those who are born to rule have every right to do so in a way that has at least superficial similarities to the concept of the ubermensch, though again the flavour and expression of it is unique to Eddison. Of course, perhaps the first thing to note is the prose. Archaic and elegant, there are moments of great beauty and, if you let it, the anachronistic mode can pull you right in to the imagined world. Taken as a fantasy it is gorgeous, taken as a treatise on how reality ought to function it’s rather monstrous.

All that said I still rather love it and can’t help but be somewhat enamoured of Eddison taken altogether: from his ornate prose, complex and even baffling metaphysical ponderings, to his blatant hero-worship, and unapologetic adoration of physical beauty. I almost want to go and re-read _Mistress of Mistresses_ again to take up the story where it (due to the timey-wimey, twisty nature of the tale) would be the natural place to continue (the alas unfinished ’sequel’ _The Mezentian Gate_ notwithstanding). A gorgeous and difficult read, not without its problems, but that cannot simply be ignored.

[The Usual · Rating 5 out of 5]

There can’t be many early-modern fantasy writers who can cite Anatole France, Beethoven string quartets and the second law of thermodynamics in the same book. To put it another way, the man is cultured, intelligent, and very much the chap you want on your pub quiz team. He might even do rather well in the sports round.

A Fish Dinner in Memison might be his best work.

To be fair, it’s probably also the least easy to read. Precisely because of all that culture – the man refers to a piano sonata solely by opus number, for goodness sake, quotes Sappho in Greek, leaves the odd phrase hanging about in French, Latin or Italian – and because it’s the most self-indulgently philosophical, it makes certain demands on the reader. I wouldn’t say it’s difficult exactly, but you wouldn’t want to read it with a headache. Then there’s Eddison’s style, which here has a full maturity with one foot in modernism and the other in the Stuart. That he manages that without splitting his trousers is impressive, but you do have to get your eye in. It’s very… literary.

Then, too it’s the volume of the Zimiamvia trilogy that has the most non-fantasy content in it, and the least action. It is an interweaving of his fantasy realm of Zimiamvia with the story of Edward Lessingham -a chap who pops for the first few chapters of The Worm Ouroboros and turns up dead at the start of both Mistress of Mistresses and The Mezentian Gate- and his wife, Lady Mary. It sets events in the two realms to reflect and counterpoint one another.

And here I have to interrupt myself. There are people out there who say you should read the trilogy backwards to get it in chronological order. They are wrong, of course. They are very, very wrong. The reason they are very, very wrong is that if you read the thing in anything other than publication order you don’t get the benefit of Eddison’s developing theme and style. They are also wrong because you actually can’t read it in chronological order. Oh, you can, if you don’t mind dropping The Gate halfway through, reading A Fish Dinner, then finishing The Gate before tackling Mistress, achieve a chronological order in the Zimiamvian element of the series, but that leaves poor old Lessingham dead, then alive, then dead again, then finally dead but slightly earlier or later (I forget which, but it scarcely matters). You can try to get Edward Lessingham in chronological order but that would take even more juggling, particularly if you insist on inserting The Worm Ouroboros into the middle of A Fish Dinner.
That’s because the thing is written from a perspective outside of time itself. That's, at least from one point of view, rather the point.

Now, personally I like Eddison very much, but I can see why he’s dropped in and out of print over the years. He’s too good a writer to stay out of print for long, but too idiosyncratic an author to be truly popular. If we’re playing with stereotypes your fantasy nerd will reject him as too difficult with too little action, your lit snob as… well… as fantasy. They all know fantasy is rubbish, yes? If you like literature and fantasy, though, and if you like long, beautiful sentences larded with colons and semi-colons, then read him now.

[Michael]

I'm only so far as the prefatory letter Eddison wrote in explanation of the philosophy which underlies his Zimiamvian trilogy, but having read Mistress of Mistresses: A Vision of Zimiamvia a few times, I see (possibly indistinctly) where he's coming from, although I'm not sure if I agree.

He says that the universe is built upon a dualistic male-female axis, the male pole (no pun intended) being Truth, which creates, sustains and is sustained and enchanted (he actually says 'enslaved') by the feminine pole of Beauty. Any similarity to the Taoist principles of yin and yang is, I think, a chance one, or, at least, one that does not bear up under scrutiny. The Taoist conception is more of a conceptual model to aid understanding, without any pretence to being actually how the universe is ordered (one of the Taoist masters having said that if a student asks the sage to explain the Tao, and if the sage does so, neither of them is talking about the true Tao), whereas Eddison appears to be putting his conception forward as an actual truth underlying the whole of reality.

What I don't like about it is the utter lack of agency accorded the female principle of Beauty, whose power is predicated solely on the regard in which it is held by the male principle of Truth. I think Eddison is displaying his classical education (it feels like there is something of Hesiod's Theogony about this) and also his cultural values with regard to gender roles (though it's possible, if not probable, that I'm doing the same), which includes the image of the aristocratic femme fatale who is the object of male worship, but denied any real personality in her own right.

Given such food for thought in the opening few pages before the story proper begins, I'm looking forward to this read!

Update: I caught myself smiling at and re-reading a passage simply because of Eddison's exquisite use of language.

[Edward Butler · Rating 3 out of 5]

Eddison's trademark "ouroboros" narrative structure works better here than in Mistress of Mistresses, and the philosophical reflections in it are more mature, even if the theological reflections remain a bit puerile. Eddison's characters are never robust enough to hold up the formal structure of his books, though. Lessingham, his alter ego, comes off here as the worst sort of Mary Sue: great painter, great diplomat, mountaineer, most interesting man in the world. He also spouts off at one point like the worst sort of Tory toff (I know that he claims at one point to be a Whig, but this is presumably in the 18th century sense). All females, as usual, are The Dark Continent. Still, if you're interested in the history of fantasy literature in the 20th century, Eddison is significant, and if you can appreciate his cultural references and manage his language, his work is worthwhile.

[David · Rating 5 out of 5]

While Eddison's earlier works demonstrate his skill with language and story telling, they lack the depth that makes this story so compelling. In this book, the author turns his attention to bigger themes - time, deity and personality among others - and presents a fantasy that sheds light on reality. I disagree with a number of his views but Eddison has clearly thought deeply and presents a compelling tale that never descends into allegory and retains the integrity of the tale. It's rare that I've read a book that invokes as much admiration and pleasure simultaniously.

The Worm Ouroboros is a skillfully told adventure story. Mistress of Mistresses begins to probe important issues. But Fish Dinner in Memison is Eddison's magnum opus and deserves to rank among the best books to have graced the fantasy genre.

[James · Rating 3 out of 5]

Though this book has the rich and beautiful prose that I have come to expect from Eddison, it is easily my least favorite of his Zimiamvian trilogy. Eddison often spends large amounts of space describing a scene or having his characters go into long metaphysical dialogues. But this book spends way too much time with these things, particularly with the latter. I enjoy some of these discussions concerning mystical philosophy. But the former books in this trilogy also had battles and political intrigue. But there is very little of that sort of excitement in *Fish Dinner*.

Nevertheless, I recommend this book to the Eddison completist. His rich prose are truly a thing to slowly read and savor.

[Vanjr · Rating 1 out of 5]

This is the second book in Eddison's Zimiamvian trilogy. The plot, if there is one, is obscure. The language is ornate. The significance and flow of the story is obtuse.

Either you love ER Eddison or not. I am reading him essentially only because CS Lewis loved his writing and I love CS Lewis' writing. (Jack also said that a book worth reading once is worth reading again...I am not reading this one again). I have gotten this far and already own the third book in the trilogy. I can see my self reading Worm Oroboros again. Maybe.

[Jeff · Rating 2 out of 5]

Dense reading, but if you enjoy Eddison's style, keep at it.

[James]

The second volume in the classic epic trilogy of parallel worlds, admired by Tolkien and the great prototype for The Lord of the Rings and modern fantasy fiction. A lady strays from a garden path and enters a different realm. A king wages dynastic war for control of three kingdoms. As villains plot to take control of an alternate world inhabited by the souls of the dead, a mysterious, magical woman seeks her destiny, igniting a splendid pageantry of battles and quests, poisonous love and triumphant passion, doomed loyalties and unsurpassed courage. And while Edward Lessingham engages in an earthly romance in twentieth-century England, seduction in Zimiamvia takes place over the most lavish of banquets...

[Chris bunnell]

Loved it

[Peacefulbookery · Rating 3 out of 5]

The writing is beautiful. Couldn't tell you what actually happened, though.

[Jacquelyn Benson · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a strange and little-known book, one that either flies entirely over your head or sticks in your brain forever. I've read it four or five times since I plucked it off a shelf at the venerable Victor Hugo bookstore on Newbury Street in Boston. (Fond memories of the cats lounging about the place.) Each time, I find more layers of meaning to the story, greater elegance in the prose.

Yes, it will be easier for you to orient yourself in the story if you have read the previous book in Eddison's Mezentian Trilogy, but I don't believe it is strictly necessary. Mistress of Mistresses and The Mezentian Gate were enjoyable enough reads, but A Fish Dinner in Memison is something else. Part allegory, part revelation - an exploration of divine archetypes told from the perspective of the archetypes.

For those who like a more literal sense of what they're about to dive into: in Eddison's world, there is a Divine Feminine and a Divine Masculine. The Feminine inspires, the Masculine creates, and every inhabitant of his worlds participates to some degree or another in those principles. Some characters are more aware of this aspect of self than others. In A Fish Dinner in Memison, two inhabitants of Eddison's fantasy realm of Mezentia who are fully aware of their own divinity turn a classy dinner party into something decidedly cosmological. A king challenges the most beautiful and dangerous woman at the table to describe her ideal world. She does so, and as she does, the world takes shape above the table. But how can they know whether or not the world they have made is, indeed, perfect? Only by living out a lifetime inside of it. So the gods descend, take flesh, and shuffle along a mortal coil in what is, apparently, early 20th century Europe.

The story jumps from world to world, lingers perhaps too long in seemingly inexplicable places, overindulges in the richness of its prose... but if you are one of those for whom it resonates, you'll find yourself shaken by those glimmers of awakening, those fragments of truth years after you've turned the last page.

[Peter Haslehurst · Rating 3 out of 5]

There's a horrendous superman philosophy at the heart of this book – those lucky few who are rich and beautiful and powerful are incarnations of God or Aphrodite, and the rest of us are toys for their amusement. So this is pretty repellant, especially as it goes with some conservative or downright fascistic politics. Also, the swooning descriptions of women's outfits, hairdo's, jewellery, and mockingly curling lips began to get weary after a while. And yet.... no-one can describe a mountain sunset like Eddison. And there are some great moments, like the King's confrontation with The Vicar of Rerek in chapter 7 ("Seven against the King").

[Joyce · Rating 5 out of 5]

my edition of this book has a letter from eddison to a friend at the front in which he explains the thoughts underpinning the novel. he sez "there is no hidden meaning to this book" and then spends the next 15 pages grappling with some of the hardest philosophy and theology there is, which struggle is dramatised in narrative form in the succeeding 300 pages. what a guy

[Tom Griffin · Rating 3 out of 5]

A lot of philosophy and not much action compared to The Worm Ouroboros in particular, and Eddison's conservative politics are very much on display in the terrestrial sequences. Some interesting material for a social critique of high fantasy here.

[Andrew · Rating 4 out of 5]

I wish this rating reflected a careful reading of the text. Instead it is an acknowledgement of its deserving a better read than I just gave it.

It is inconceivable than a modern fantasist would attempt anything like this.

[Seth · Rating 5 out of 5]

(review of the full series in Zimiamvia: A Trilogy)

[Matthu Stull]

i really loved "The Worm Ouroboros", so I'm hoping this will be slightly close to similary groovy! not nearly as good, hmmm, i think maybe the introduction was the best part

[Paul · Rating 5 out of 5]

Incredibly stylish, detailed and complex, I'll need to reread to fully understand the relationships between the two parallel worlds, but I'm looking forward to it. Great!

[Kathei · Rating 4 out of 5]

I originally read this in an edition from the 1940s or 1950s.

[Paschalis]

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