THERE was a man named Lessingham dwelt in an old low house in Wasdale, set in a gray old garden where yew-trees flourished that had seen Vikings in Copeland in their seedling time. Lily and rose and larkspur bloomed in the borders, and begonias with blossoms big as saucers, red and white and pink and lemon-colour, in the beds before the porch. Climbing roses, honeysuckle, clematis, and the scarlet flame-flower scrambled up the walls. Thick woods were on every side without the garden, with a gap north-eastward opening on the ...
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THERE was a man named Lessingham dwelt in an old low house in Wasdale, set in a gray old garden where yew-trees flourished that had seen Vikings in Copeland in their seedling time. Lily and rose and larkspur bloomed in the borders, and begonias with blossoms big as saucers, red and white and pink and lemon-colour, in the beds before the porch. Climbing roses, honeysuckle, clematis, and the scarlet flame-flower scrambled up the walls. Thick woods were on every side without the garden, with a gap north-eastward opening on the desolate lake and the great fells beyond it: Gable rearing his crag-bound head against the sky from behind the straight clean outline of the Screes. Cool long shadows stole across the tennis lawn. The air was golden. Doves murmured in the trees; two chaffinches played on the near post of the net; a little water-wagtail scurried along the path. A French window stood open to the garden, showing darkly a dining-room panelled with old oak, its Jacobean table bright with flowers and silver and cut glass and Wedgwood dishes heaped with fruit: greengages, peaches, and green muscat grapes. Lessingham lay back in a hammock-chair watching through the blue smoke of an after-dinner cigar the warm light on the Gloire de Dijon roses that clustered about the bedroom window overhead. He had her hand in his. This was their House. "Should we finish that chapter of Njal?" she said. She took the heavy volume with its faded green cover, and read: "He went out on the night of the Lord's day, when nine weeks were still to winter; he heard a great crash, so that he thought both heaven and earth shook. Then he looked into the west airt, and he thought he saw thereabouts a ring of fiery hue, and within the ring a man on a gray horse. He passed quickly by him, and rode hard. He had a flaming firebrand in his hand, and he rode so close to him that he could see him plainly. He was black as pitch, and he sung this song with a mighty voice--" Here I ride swift steed. His flank flecked with rime. Rain from his mane drips. Horse mighty for harm; Flames flare at each end. Gall glows in the midst. So fares it with Flosi's redes As this flaming brand flies; And so fares it with Flosi's redes As this flaming brand flies. "'Then he thought he hurled the firebrand east towards the fells before him, and such a blaze of fire leapt up to meet it that he could not see the fells for the blaze. It seemed as though that man rode east among the flames and vanished there. "'After that he went to his bed, and was senseless for a long time, but at last he came to himself. He bore in mind all that had happened, and told his father, but he bade him tell it to Hjallti Skeggi's son. So he went and told Hjallti, but he said he had seen "the Wolf's Ride, and that comes ever before great tidings."'" They were silent awhile; then Lessingham said suddenly, "Do you mind if we sleep in the east wing to-night?" "What, in the Lotus Room?" "Yes." "I'm too much of a lazy-bones to-night, dear," she answered.
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Add this copy of The Worm Ouroboros to cart. $15.97, good condition, Sold by ThriftBooks-Baltimore rated 4.0 out of 5 stars, ships from Halethorpe, MD, UNITED STATES, published 2013 by Createspace Independent Publishing Platform.
Add this copy of The Worm Ouroboros to cart. $52.10, good condition, Sold by Bonita rated 4.0 out of 5 stars, ships from Hialeah, FL, UNITED STATES, published 2013 by CreateSpace Independent Publis.
Buy this book! Although practically no one has heard of it, it is fantastic. Eddison was a student of Medieval literature and his story follows the style of the old Norse saga. After a hundred pages you will say, ?This is a mavelous adventure story.? After two hundred pages you will say, ?These characters are fantastic!? And they are ? especially the villains. King Gorice XII makes your flesh creep.
By the way, an ouroboros is the snake that bites its own tail and becomes the symbol for a never-ending situation. King Gorice wears an ouroboros signet ring and that's significant because when one king dies, another is instantly ready to take his place. But there is another significance to the ouroboros ? but you'll have to read the book to learn it.
The language is very formal: lots of thees, thous and methinks. But the characters are formal and the story is formal, so the language is appropriate. It is sort of in the style of Le Morte D'Arthur.
If you don't enjoy this book, you simply have no taste for fantasy literature.
kbaier
Jun 2, 2007
epic story
The story starts off by a man named Lessingham from earth who is taken to mercury. Strangely though he quickly drops out the the picture by the time the story gets under way, and is on mention one other time later in the story.
The real meat of the book is of the conquest of lands, uses of magic, and of adventurous journeys. I think Tolkien along with C.S. Lewis found this book to be quite good fantasy.
The book is filled with masterfully drawn characters and memorable lands. The author also makes good use of prose and poetry, and here and there uses an older english diction; which I found very beautiful.
