This book was on the "Seven-League Shelf"--a list of the "cream" of fantasy literature in A Reader's Guide to Fantasy. Originally published in 1924, the style feels antique, and the romance beyond antiquated. That style... well, we're definitely talking about the color purple--mind you, that sometimes has its beauties. The hero, John Kenton, a veteran of the first world war, is transported to a ship divided into two warring factions each representing a Babylonian God--Ishtar, Goddess of Love, and Nergal, God of the Underworld. The device through which Kenton is transported is an ancient artifact shipped to him from an archeological dig, a model of the ship. Here's how the model is described:
It floated high on a base of curving waves cut from lapis lazuli and
foam-crested with milky rock crystals. Its hull was of crystal, creamy
and faintly luminous. Its prow was shaped like a slender scimitar, bent
backward. Under the incurved tip was a cabin whose seaward sides were
formed, galleon fashion, by the upward thrust of the bows. Where the
hull drew up to form this cabin, a faint flush warmed and cloudy
crystal; it deepened as the sides lifted; it gleamed at last with a
radiance that turned the cabin into a rosy jewel.
There's only one way that style above is atypical. No exclamation points. I can't recall ever reading an author more fond of them--several in each page. More on one page than almost all contemporary authors would put into an entire novel. It was an annoying tic, but not nearly annoying as the romance within the pages. Here's another quote--that makes contemporary romance aisle bodice rippers seem enlightened and restrained in comparison:
"Yea--dear lord of me--even you do not know how greatly I love you,"
whispered Sharane again, eyes worshipping, arms fettering his neck. His
lips clung to hers. Even in the sweet fire of their touch he marvelled,
blind to his own renaissance, at this changed Sharane--Love's changeling
since that time he had carried her within her bower, disdaining her as
gift, taking her by right of his two strong arms.
Swift memories shook him; of Sharane--conquered; of some unearthly
wonder that had flamed over the shrine and with fingers of pure fire had
woven his soul with hers in threads of flaming ecstasies!
Oh, gag. Sharane aka Miss Love Object I found pretty insipid, Kenton too stupid to live and a victim of testosterone poisoning. I much preferred the secondary characters--the Assyrian Gigi, the Persian Zubran and the Viking Sigurd. Yet, I admit it. By and large I enjoyed this. The colorful characters, the lushness of the mythological trappings, the swashbuckling daring do. It was a rip roaring yarn told in bright primary colors that I sped through happily turning the pages, even if the characters were paper thin. This doesn't make me want to read more of this author--for this type of adventure story I'd recommend H Rider Haggard over Merritt. But melodramatic pulp fiction it might be, it was cheesy fun.
