The Ship of Ishtar

A. Merritt The Ship of Ishtar (1924)
Of Merritt, this is the fourth I have read and for the author it was book the third, serialised originally in the Argosy All-Story Weekly. I would venture that one single story, Merritt had, the victory or defeat of which lay in the telling for otherwise, samey, they are, if but slightly so. Henry Rider Haggard, his influence prevails to no little extent, and voices speak in florid tones like unto persons who don themselves in capes and do beckon to the northern wind. Exhausting, it can be. Heed also that Merritt has told, on more than but one occasion, of an adventuresome bloke. Encounters he a fair maiden of mystical countenance, and in each volume of my ken thus far.

Dreamily he answered her again: 'Yes—you are very fair.'

'I love you—Shalamu!'

He thrust her from him: 'Her eyes are like the Pools of Peace in the Valley of Forgetfulness! When she comes near me the doves of Ishtar beat their wings above my head! She walks upon my heart!'

Narada drew back, scarlet lips pale, brows a menacing straight line: 'The Priestess?'

'The Priestess,' he answered. 'Her hair is like the cloud that veils the sun at dusk. The wave of her robe scorches me as the wind from the desert noon scorches the palm. The wave of her robe makes me cold as the wind of the desert night makes cold the palm.'

In essence, Merritt is Mills & Boon for men, cleverly offsetting the heaving bosoms with just enough grunting swordplay to keep anyone from doubting their own sexuality. Thankfully, that's not all he does, but this one still could have used a bit more in the way of a story.

The Ship of Ishtar introduces John Kenton, a sort of two-fisted archaeological egghead who receives a stone artefact from ancient Babylon. The artefact accordingly crumbles to reveal an ornately jewelled model of a ship, and Kenton somehow finds himself transposed through both time and space to the decks of the original craft for reasons I didn't quite follow. There's some sort of war going on between Ishtar and Nergal, so Sumerian mythology seems to inform much of the background detail; but apart from the element of Kenton fancying the woman who embodies Ishtar, I have no idea what happens in this novel. I found myself drifting from one chapter to the next without any of it taking hold.

It's beautifully written, and I can see why it's highly rated by at least some readers, but I suspect that, as with Asimov's Foundation, you really need to read it at a specific age, because otherwise it feels like a heavy weight held at arm's length for far too long. The Ship of Ishtar isn't without worth, but I preferred Dwellers in the Mirage.