Ursula Le Guin: the Earthsea Quartet
I’m a fan of fiction that deals in world-building - the creation of not just foreign lands but entire alternate worlds and universes holds so much room for the writer’s imagination. My appreciation of the likes of Pullman, Tolkein and Le Guin does not stem purely from the portrayal of fantastical environs far-removed from our own though. Such fiction often incorporates ideas and issues of our own world but in doing so presents these ideas and issues in a refreshing and different light that helps us understand them in a new and possibly more productive way. Ursula Le Guin for example has addressed topics as far-reaching as politics, organised religion, racial and gender prejudice and the balance between humanity and nature in her fictional work centred on the world of Earthsea.
The first four full-length Earthsea novels (the fourth originally intended to be the last, but more recently followed by The Other Wind) are available in paperback format as one volume, which is a convenient and appropriate way to approach the series. They are self-contained works but take place chronologically, which means reading them in such an order is, to my mind at least, strongly advised but not essential. Earthsea is clearly far-removed from planet Earth in the Twentieth Century but as with similarly themed literature, it can be read as fantasy/alternate universe or equally as an allegorical work that deals with subject matter that is universal to both the world of Earthsea and our own. For all its talk of magic, dragons and distant lands, each novel has a lot to say about human nature and how we perceive our own world, here and now.
A Wizard of Earthsea is the introductory piece that follows the early life of a young boy as he becomes a mage and learns the true significance of power and knowlege in, it has to be said, a hard and painful manner. The childhood of the man who is later known as Ged, the Archmage, is especially telling when viewed in retrospect because such a great and well-respected figure has such unremarkable origins: he is a simple goatherd who is prone to arrogance and errors of judgement as he seeks his place in the world. As Ged learns the ways of magic in the Earthsea universe, so too does the reader: it is founded on a Tao-ist idea of balance in which good and evil are inevitabilities whose existences are co-dependent, and must be understood in order to gain wisdom. The idea that knowledge is power is exemplified by the notion that everything has a true name distinct from that of the everyday, with the implication that everything from rocks and plants to living people have a universally-recognised name but a more fundamental title that can be used either as a sign of trust (e.g. humans’ true names are only known by a select group of family and close friends) or a means of control (the true names of natural objects and phenomena must be learnt in order for them to be used in magic). The magic of Earthsea is given a structure and rationale, making it akin to science in our own world.
Not only is A Wizard of Earthsea an eye-opening introduction to Le Guin’s captivating world, but it is also the first step in the life of one or two significant recurring characters. As in the subsequent books, this felt like less of a stand-alone novel and more of one mere chapter in a bigger picture. The importance of understanding a character is not lost on Le Guin here, as we see the great man as a young one so we are aware of his inner feelings, insecurities and everything else that makes him the individual he is to become later; following a figure from the very beginning really adds to the truly epic feel of the series as a whole.
The Tombs of Atuan is a darker and more claustrophobic follow-on, taking the setting away from the pastures of Gont and the learned security of Roke. It paints a bleak picture of a religious cult bound to serving dark forces and maintaining its influence upon its followers through austerity and fear. Le Guin has some pointed observations to offer here in regards to organised religion and free will, told from the perspective of a nameless priestess rescued by a young Ged who is still a young mage but is acquiring a more powerful and profound understanding of the world around him. This is possibly a less enjoyable instalment, particularly among younger readers, but to me is every bit as important and rewarding.
Considering what goes before and after, The Tombs of Atuan shows Earthsea at its lowest ebb in the form of the tombs and temples that serve human greed for power as much as the supernatural forces they are supposed to be worshipping. On a personal level too it is significant: not only is it a shift in focus towards Tenar as much as Ged, it brings his quest to confront his own darkness and tells of Tenar’s journey, both metaphorical and literal, from darkness to the light of freedom. Because it is so bleak and dark and because both characters play an important part in subsequent novels, I think of this particular piece to be anything but light reading (perhaps intentionally, given its subject matter and meaning) yet important in understanding the characters and the world in which they live.
The Farthest Shore is more in the vein of the first novel because once again it tracks Ged as he embarks on a quest that spans a variety of foreign lands but once again introduces another important recurring character in the form of a young prince who learns important life lessons through his journey that accompanies the arch-mage in confronting a mage named Cob who is threatening the balance of nature. This is possibly the most enjoyable part from an adventure story point of view but again raises issues that relate to our own world as well as that of Earthsea. Cob’s striving for immortality has serious and occasionally shocking repercussions that extend to lands far beyond his personal sphere of power, acting as a cautionary tale in regards to human nature; specifically that of ambition and power that oustrips understanding, with catastrophic results. Perhaps because of my science-based background, I viewed this and the other novels from a scientific and ecological perspective rather than a theological and philosophical stance but in all honesty Le Guin has woven all of these and many others besides into the narrative, offering an exciting and expansive adventure for younger readers and a more deep and thought-provoking analysis for older ones.
Tehanu was written some time after the earlier three volumes, with an accompanying change in style and stance that is rather jarring for fans of the earlier volumes. It addresses the issue of Earthsea’s somewhat partriarchal society, which would not have (to me at least) been particularly noticable had attention not been drawn to it. I suspect Le Guin was trying to redress any discrepancies in how male and female gender roles are defined in Earthsea but both this and the way in which the concepts of good and evil were portrayed in comparison with earlier novels were less effective. In earlier novels, good and evil were opposites of the same whole and often had origins in prior events; Tehanu on the other hand features villains who exist without much in the way of explanation, beyond the simple fact that evil exists. Unlike the earlier three then, this particular novel’s moral messages are less clear; while it can be argued perhaps that the pro-feminist approach was a welcome addition to a somewhat male-centric series, it could have been better portrayed here.
While I was unsure about what Le Guin was trying to convey in those respects, the more introspective tone was suited to the advanced age of Ged and Tenar, who are closer to their ambitions of a quiet life that leaves adventure and travelling behind. It also hints (although this was probably not planned at the time of the novel’s publishing) of a new age in the Earthsea universe, with Lebannen on the throne and Therru offering the promise of another important, but younger, character for the story to follow.
In Summary
What I’ve outlined here is scratching the surface of the thoughts that were left in my mind after reading through this part of Le Guin’s world of Earthsea, and I suspect that individual impressions will vary widely from reader to reader. Quite frankly I could write an essay considerably longer than this review for each individual book, but I feel that this would be a pointless exercise since these novels cover such a wide range of issues and themes that my own patchy knowledge and experience wouldn’t even begin to do justice to. The prose is descriptive yet strangely soothing, educational and eloquent without coming across as pretentious or inaccessible, and the narrative so multi-layered that you could re-read them repeatedly and discover something new every time. The Earthsea series has long been regarded as a definitive and classic work of its type; a reputation that I believe to be thoroughly deserved.
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