Fischer presents a darkly comedic novel about a eunuch in the court of Nebuchadnezzar II in this fiction debut.

The narrator, Nergal, is a self-described “middle-aged eunuch slave-scribe.” His master is Nebuchadnezzar II, the king of the Babylonian empire. Nebuchadnezzar is seated upon the throne of the Golden Bull and is viewed as a living god. There is a belief that the king must sire a certain number of bastard children every year if the empire is to enjoy agricultural success. It is partly for this purpose that the king maintains such an extensive harem. Yet the aging monarch is not always effective at siring. Nergal is an official scribe of the harem, but the official narrative paints over much of the true horror that Nergal experiences firsthand. When the unfortunate eunuch slave-scribe is not helping Nebuchadnezzar become erect by taking the king’s “skewer of undercooked chicken” in his hands, he is attempting to help the king through his constipation, or simply trying to cheer him up. Suffering from complaints including insomnia and depression, Nebuchadnezzar is hardly the indestructible warrior-king figure the common people are led to believe he is. And despite all of Nergal’s efforts, times are tough in the empire: Droughts threaten the food supply, and lives are lost in bread riots. Even the palace orgies aren’t as good as they used to be. Nergal knows about the status of the empire at large because his brother, Uruk, is an important figure who can divine knowledge from such unlikely sources as a bull’s stomach or a sheep’s lung. What does the future hold? From the perspective of anyone truly in the know, it doesn’t look good.

Throughout the text, the reader learns a lot about Nergal’s difficult past and present. Much is written of his violent scribe father—this man would beat Uruk and Nergal if they didn’t complete their assignments, but also beat them if they did. A tone of bleak humor permeates the work. A description of Nergal’s father describes how, in life, the man was “tall and cadaverous, and in death, his features had changed little.” Nergal is infatuated with a concubine named Siduri. Could anything be sadder than a eunuch who loves a concubine? It may be an obvious conflict, but it nevertheless provides the story with tension. Though Nergal’s misery is played for laughs, the reader cannot help but feel sympathy for such a sad sack. He is a protagonist who digs into the vileness and depravity all around him—and that depravity can be extraneous; the reader is constantly reminded of brutal practices like the king’s habit of bathing in the blood and the mutilated bodies of his enemies (not to mention the Codex Castratum). Ancient accounts of these times can teach us much, but Nergal’s perspective brings to life just how awful things must really have been. Any fantasies about the era are blown away with reminders of atrocities—such as how the harem is populated by enslaved girls who were taken violently from their homes.

A harshly playful, lengthy attack on the mystique of an ancient era.