Ursula K. Le Guin

The EarthSea Cycle — (1968-2001) Young adult. Publisher: Ged was the greatest sorcerer in all Earthsea,  but once he was called Sparrowhawk, a reckless  youth, hungry for power and knowledge, who tampered  with long-held secrets and loosed a terrible shadow  upon the world. This is the tale of his testing,  how he mastered the mighty words of power, tamed an  ancient dragon, and crossed death's threshold to  restore the balance.

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A Wizard of Earthsea: Beautiful award-winning fantasy

If you haven’t read any Ursula Le Guin, you need to put her at the top of your list! She’s way up there with Tolkien, and perhaps the only reason she’s not as famous is because she came a bit later and, therefore, like everyone else, is in his shadow.

Her writing is beautiful — lyrical and powerful. I love how she makes all of her words count. They are all necessary, there’s no fluff or redundancy — it's simple, natural, alive, and vivid. Her understanding of different people and cultures (her father was an anthropologist and her mother was a psychologist) enhances her ability to create imaginative, creative, and believable characters and worlds. When you step into Earthsea, you feel like you're in a real world with real people. It's deep and engrossing right from the start.

I also like Le Guin's system of magic: knowing the "true" name of something gives you power over it. You just have to find its true name.

This is the original boy-finds-out-he’s-a-wizard-and-goes-to-wizard-school novel and it's suitable for adults and kids. I should mention, though, that it's not a "happy" or humorous book. Ged is a fallible character who makes big mistakes and pays the consequences. Some of that is quite uncomfortable.

I listened to A Wizard of EarthSea on audio (Fantastic Audio edition). It was very entertaining.  —K.H

A Wizard of Earthsea: Great standalone book, start of a very good series

With the recent Sci- Fi Channel miniseries, there is bound to be renewed interest in Ursula LeGuin's classic first book in her Earthsea series, as there should be. This remains a classic fantasy for good reason. The world within which the characters move is fully developed, having a sense of past, present and future as well as a sense of a larger "there there", as opposed to some fantasies that feel like a Hollywood stage set, as if nothing exists beyond the narrow social/geographical worlds the characters move through. Such is not the case with Earthsea. One feels it is real from the start and the ensuing books in the series only deepen that feeling with regard to its social and political structures, its people, its mythic past.

The characters are equally strong, especially Ged, the young boy who grows to adulthood in true coming-of-age fashion—through pain, loss, self-destruction, and eventual slow growth of wisdom. The depiction of his younger years as he first learns of his wizardly power and potential, apprentices to a single wizard then rejects that slow, dull path in order to attend the more exciting wizardry school (do not think Harry Potter here, style, tone, and environment are quite different) is right on. He is impatient, cocky, self-sure, quick to anger, impulsive, moody. In short, he is an adolescent. As such he has no time for the slow pace of his masters, for their constant warnings about the "balance" (the universe is in constant equilibrium and one change someplace effects another change, for good or ill, somewhere else) and its restrictions on use of power. The idea of the balance is the more you know, the less likely you are to act. Ged, in impetuous and realistic fashion sees it as the more you know, the more you can act.

As one might expect, his blithe self-confidence sets him up for a major fall, as he accidentally opens a portal, allowing an unknown "shadow" to enter the world. Roughly the first half of the book leads up to this event, the second half follows what happens afterward, as Ged is hunted by the evil he has let into the world, an evil that can cause great harm unless he does something about it. Along the way, he slowly grows in wisdom (the steps toward adulthood are gradual but nicely marked), helped along by his former tutor whom he rejected for his dull passivity and his closest friend from the wizard's school at Roke, Vetch. The end, without giving details away, is simply perfect in its resolution, in its tone, and in its complexity. Don't expect simplistic happy ending or heroic battles against overwhelming odds; this is a personal journey, a personal victory, though it has larger repercussions.

The book succeeds in pretty much all it does. Its world creation is rich and full and three-dimensional. Its characters are sharply detailed, realistic, complex beings. Its plot exciting, its language vivid (sometimes classified as young adult—I'm not sure why—it does not talk down to a perceived younger audience, in terms of complexity of language or philosophy). And in the best test of a good book, it leaves the reader wanting much more; luckily LeGuin provides with several more books in the series. Very highly recommended.   —Bill   Comments

A Wizard of EarthSea

Ursula Le Guin writes with style and imagination. A Wizard of Earthsea is a wonderful coming of age story that presents a lot of excellent lessons in personal growth and maturation without losing the core of being an entertaining story.

Le Guin's Ged is a well thought out main character who's existence and eventual life story are very well developed. The description of events in Ged's early life sets up a realistic background from which to understand later occuring events, not only in this novel, but the others in the Earthsea series.

I enjoyed the philosophical points that Le Guin makes when pointing out some of the flaws (e.g, pride, vanity, overconfidence) that are so common among adolescents and can lead to some very real problems.  And, importantly, the development and personal growth of Ged the hero is not so sudden that it becomes unrealistic. This is, to me, a part of what makes her writing so special.  —John H.   Comments

A Wizard of EarthSea: "What is it that Hunts You? Name it to Me..."

In the realm of fantasy there are several names that stand out: Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Lloyd Alexander, Susan Cooper, Diana Wynne Jones (and more recently, Philip Pullman, J.K. Rowling and Garth Nix). Ursula le Guin also belongs in this category, contributing to the world of fantasy literature her beloved Earthsea novels, chronicling the life and times of the wizard Ged.

The strength of the storytelling comes in the unashamed use of archetypes and symbolism. The story as a whole could be easily aligned with Carl Jung's theories or Joseph Campbell's "Hero's Journey" complete with Departure, Initiation and Return, and archetypes such as the wise mentor, the female temptress and the shadow. It's practically a textbook case, but rather than being predictable and dull, le Guin's skill as a writer means that the series is densely packed with meaning and intrigue.

But the use of archetype has its downside too, particularly in the portrayals of men and women; Ged attends a wizarding school that is populated entirely by males, in a later book The Tombs of Atuan, he is pitted against a cult of malevolent priestesses. Le Guin has recently expressed regret for these borderline-stereotypes and in later books makes the conscious effort to balance out the gender inequality that permeates the earlier books. For me however, (and probably to most readers) it is no big deal—we are, after all dealing with traditional archetypes and in one very important way (that I probably shouldn't even be mentioning) le Guin completely breaks the mould on typical fantasy stories. Ged and nearly all of the other characters have copper complexions. Can you think of any other major fantasy novel in which the protagonist is not Caucasian? I can't.

Le Guin's finest creation is her world of Earthsea, a world made up of ocean currents and a myriad of different islands, each one with their own cultures and customs, rich and detailed. It is second only to Middle-Earth, and only becomes richer and deeper with each passing novel. Likewise is le Guin's system of magic, based on the power of names and speech; the reason why Ged goes through so many name-changes (he is born as Duny, given the name Sparrowhawk at puberty and has Ged as his 'true name', his name of power). It is a powerful and consistent system and based on real ancient beliefs (read some Egyptian mythology if you don't believe me).

Ged is born to a poor farming island, though with immense potential for wizardry which he is all to eager to engage. After he assists in saving his community through the instigation of magic beyond his years, he is approached by the great wizard Ogion who offers to mentor him. Enraptured with dreams of power and glory, he follows Ogion only to be frustrated by his slow teaching methods, opting instead to travel to Roke and enroll in the great wizarding school there.

It is there he enters a friendship with fellow student Vetch and a rivalry with another student named Jasper. Letting his pride and resentment get the better of him, Ged attempts to summon up a spirit from the dead, but only manages to unleash a terrible shadow upon the world. Now hunted by his own creation, Ged takes to the seas, hopping from island to island, in the attempt to escape—and then destroy—the evil he has unleashed.

Despite my praise, the story isn't perfect; I always felt that the prose was a little stiff and un-involving, almost as if we were reading a detailed overview of the story rather than one told from a person's intimate point of view. Likewise, the story takes forever to really get started—since the chapters are quite long, it takes a while before the shadow is unleashed. However, the patient will be rewarded, in this and subsequent books.   —Rebecca   Comments

The Tombs of Atuan: Shift style and character but still strong second book

The Tombs of Atuan is the second book in the Earthsea series that began with Wizard of Earthsea. Wizard is a true classic, and it wouldn't be much criticism to say Atuan doesn't match it. It's true, but Atuan is still well worth the read, quite strong in its own right.

The book is a near complete shift of character, setting, and style. Ged, the protagonist of Earthsea, is present, but mostly off-stage for much of the book, giving way to a young girl called Tenar. The setting, rather than an episodic tour of the Earthsea archipelago, is much more narrow, taking place on a single island, in mostly two very limited areas—Tenar's priestess palace and the labyrinth below it where Ged is trapped. And the pace is much slower, with less action and magic, with more of a focus on introspective analysis of character.

Tenar was taken from her family while still quite young, seen as the reincarnated Priestess of the Tombs of Atuan, where the Nameless Ones dwell. She is now known as the Eaten One, and she is indeed for her life is to be completely dedicated to the rites of her job. We follow her the slow swallowing of her life and feeling by the dark cult of the Nameless Ones, aided by an older, harsh priestess. Ged makes his way into the story via his attempt to find the second half of a magical amulet important to the unity and peaceful progression of the archipelago. The Nameless Ones are more powerful than he had expected and Tenar comes across him weak and lost in the labyrinth. Rather than reveal his intrusion, Tenar imprisons him. At first he is a plaything, one of the few things she has "power" over. But as her conversations with him continue they move from mocking self-assurance to self-doubt—about her religion, about her role in it, about her own sense of self and morality. In the end she must choose, in a slanted echo of Ged's dilemma from book one, between the darkness and the light, between life and death, between power and freedom.

As in book one, the choice is not as simplistic as it seems on the surface and as is so often portrayed in fantasy. Tenar's confusion and misery, her sense of being torn between what she has been living her whole life and what she is now learning about herself and the outside world, is nicely conveyed and while Ged takes on a more active role toward the end, his role is mostly as catalyst for Tenar's coming-of-age.

The language, as one expects of Le Guin, is spare and precise, beautiful in many places, efficient as always. The issues are, as in book one, larger and more human than the story's surface plot. It is a very character-centered book, with its focus on Tenar's internal conflict and the slowly evolving relationship between her and Ged. It is a much quieter book, a more slowly paced book than Wizard of Earthsea, with less action, much less overt magic, few characters, fewer peaks and valleys, but while it may surprise those who enjoyed Wizard, it should still please in a different way all but those who are more "action"-focused. Strongly recommended.  —Bill   Comments

The Tombs of Atuan: "I Know Where the Great Treasure Is..."

This is the second book in Ursula Le Guin's Earthsea series, but I would hate anyone to think that these books are meant to be read in any particular order. True, the character of Ged ages in each one of them and Tombs was penned by author Ursula le Guin after A Wizard of Earthsea, but...these books are unique. Like The Chronicles of Narnia, many make a big deal about the correct reading order when in fact it's not that big a deal. Think of it like Diana Wynne Jones's Chrestomanci series or even George Lucas's Star Wars trilogy and its prequels. Sometimes things are better when they are read out of chronological order. And sometimes they aren't. That's the best part about Earthsea — it doesn't really matter.

As a young child Tenar is taken from her home to serve as "Arha" (or, "The Nameless One") in the Tombs of Atuan, identified as the reincarnated One Priestess. Her name is taken from her, she is now known as "The Eaten One", servant of the Nameless Ones, subjected to repetitive ritual and ceremonies, revered as a holy being and yet alone and friendless. Amongst the desolate tombs and stone buildings of the desert, Tenar lives out a meaningless existence in the service of speechless, invisible gods.

Her only solace is in the underground labyrinth, a place where light is forbidden and where only she dares tread. Somewhere in the twisting tunnels is the great treasure room, where a priceless artifact lies. It is for this that the wizard Ged (now middle-aged) secretly enters the labyrinth so that he might restore its power to the world above. But he has underestimated the difficulties of the labyrinth, and now lies at the mercy of the Arha. Fascinated by this traveling wizard, she is loathe to have him executed—not when he is incapacitated by the labyrinth and thus completely in her power. A battle of wits emerges; with the Arha gradually becoming aware of life beyond her service to the Nameless Ones and Ged desperately bartering for his life.

The desert, the tombs and the underground labyrinth are all detailed and descriptive— in fact, it can get a little claustrophobic down there in the labyrinth! It's not quite as vivid as Alan Garner's descriptions in The Weirdstone of Brisingamen, but the detailed descriptions of the pressing darkness and the twisting tunnels certainly made me sigh in relief every time Tenar emerged once more into the sunlight.

Most fantasy stories cater to a quest motif, and although this is partly the case here, what with Ged searching for the ring of Erreth-Akbe, the fact that the story is told entirely from Tenar's point of view makes it quite different. The Tombs of Atuan is best described as a character study of a young woman who has been raised in extra-ordinary circumstances. How many other fantasy books can be described thus? Rather than the quest for the ring (I couldn't help but toy with the idea that le Guin chose a ring as the McGuffin so that it would be purposefully contrasted with The Lord of the Rings) the author concentrates solely on the thoughts and experiences of her detached and proud protagonist, in whose young hands lie the power of life and death. For this reason, many readers may be put off. There is very little action throughout the course of the book, and the pacing is almost excruciatingly slow. But this is precisely the point: it is the best way to convey the monotony and misery of Tenar's life.

The loss of faith, the shock of freedom, the loneliness of power, the terror of being responsible for another's death —these are the hefty issues at the forefront of the novel, and ones that are handled brilliantly by the author. It's not an easy book to get through, and perhaps not even a re-readable one; but for anyone claiming to be a fantasy-fan, or even someone who claims to be a reader of all the classics, it is essential.  —Rebecca   Comments

The Tombs of Atuan: audiobook edition

The Tombs of Atuan is very different from A Wizard of Earthsea. It focuses on a young woman who has spent her life cloistered in the tombs of gods who she serves but doesn't know. Just as the reader feels completely miserable at the state of this disillusioned young lady, Ged (who nobody would describe as particularly cheerful or up-beat), arrives and brings with him a much-needed ray of sunshine, even though he spends most of the book under the earth. After Ged's arrival, things start to slowly make more sense to Tenar and it is interesting to watch her well-developed character gradually move from darkness to light.

This is a slow-paced book. There's not a lot of action until the end, but Ged's quest in the tombs is related to the rest of the Earthsea series, so it's valuable in that sense. And, of course, an Ursula Le Guin is always a pleasure to read and this audiobook version is very good. —Kat   Comments

The Farthest Shore: One of the strongest books in the series

The Farthest Shore is the third book in Ursula Le Guin's Earthsea series, and the concluding one for several decades. Since it's highly recommended to have read the first two, I'll work on the assumption that the reader has. If book one, Wizard of Earthsea has the most action/magic and book two, Tombs of Atuan, is the slowest and most introspective of the opening trilogy, then The Farthest Shore is a nicely-balanced blending of the styles.

We return to many of the basics from Wizard. Ged is once again the main character instead of a side character as in Atuan, the setting once again moves island to island throughout the archipelago rather than being limited to a single place as in Atuan, magic is much more present than in book two, and there is an actual villain in opposition to Ged unlike the more abstract problems in the previous book. All of these will probably be welcome changes to those who found Atuan too slow or limited in place and character. Shores shares with both Wizard and Atuan a coming-of-age theme, in this case it is Arren, a young prince who has come to Roke to tell Ged and the Master Wizards that magic is bleeding away in his land only to learn that the same is true all over Earthsea. Arren joins Ged in the quest to find out what (or more accurately who) is causing magic to die away, and why/how.

The broadening of characters that began in Atuan continues in Shore. Though Ged is once again the main character, he is not the sole focus as Le Guin gives considerable attention to Arren's growth as well as, though to a lesser extent to the other Masters of Roke. In fact, the small scenes involving the Masters are some of the most exquisite and most moving. Much of the same personal reflection and introspective nature of Atuan is also present in Shore, mixed in nicely with more dramatic, action-oriented scenes. Ged is an old man at this point, and mortality is an issue as it really hasn't been before. Death and its flip side Life are in fact, the a major subjects of the novel, and as we have in the past, we cross over that stone wall separating the land of the living and the land of the dead, though in this book we go much farther. While the first two books dealt with larger themes through the focus on a single individual, this one deals with its themes both individually and socially as well. Much more than the other works, Ged deals here with a problem that has an impact that affects the greater society more deeply and broadly than other obstacles he has overcome.

The book is darker than the first two, but also more moving, more achingly beautiful, more poignant. Ged's age and sense of caution are artfully counterbalanced by Arren's youthful innocence and impetuosity, the more philosophical discussions nicely balanced by the more dramatic action scenes. And the ending, as one should expect by now, is not nicely wrapped up in sweet, comforting fashion.

As always, the language is sharply vivid, highly efficient and beautiful; the world-creating sense of history and backstory is quickly yet fully conveyed; the characters are fully fleshed out and utterly believable. Wizard may be the most "fun" book of the series, Atuan is certainly the slowest and most introspective (simple description, not criticism), but in many ways, The Farthest Shore is the strongest, a judgment I think holds true considering the books that come after as well as those that come before. Highly recommended. —Bill   Comments

The Farthest Shore: "I Do Not Mistake You for Any Finished Thing..."

This installment takes place a number of years after A Wizard of Earthsea (in which the character Ged was a boy) and The Tombs of Atuan (in which he was a grown man). Now he is edging into late middle-age as the Archmage of the Wizards, and a much younger man has come to the island of Roke, seeking his aid.

Arren is a young prince of the isle of Enlad, eager to serve and awe-struck at the great wizard Ged, but he comes with sobering news. Magic is leaking out of the world, leaving imbalance and chaos in its wake, news that matches reports that the wizards have been receiving from all over Earthsea. A wizard council is held, and Ged announces that he will go forth to find the cause of the magical entropy, and stop it if he can. The untried Arren pledges himself to Ged and his mission, and —despite the trepidation of the other wizards— the two set out to find the symptoms, effect and cause of the plague upon Earthsea.

What they find is sobering. Without magic (defined in this fantasy world as knowledge of "True Names" for people, places and objects) all meaning and purpose is draining from the world. Wizards are going mad for want of their true identities and spells of all kinds are being forgotten by those who have used them for countless years. People are suffering from a lack of interest in living; and as the mage and prince gather clues to the mystery, Ged decides that the problem must be centered on an individual with an unnatural desire for immortality. But where to find such a man? The two must travel to the Farthest Shore— into death itself to defeat their foe and restore the balance to the world.

The Farthest Shore is generally considered the best of the Earthsea Cycle (although le Guin continues to surprise her readers by churning out another novel set in this fantasy-world just when we think she's done), an accumulation of all the themes and plot-points established in the first two installments. Her established mythology concerning both the history of the islands and the workings of magic are used to excellent effect, and elements that were left upon in the previous books (the empty throne in Havnor, Ogion's prophecy, Ged's relationship with the dragons) are all brought to their logical conclusions.

Le Guin's language is beautiful, effortlessly evoking the cultures of each island, life on the open water and the dull dreariness of the realm of the dead, where "those who had died for love passed each other in the streets." Likewise, her imagination seems to know no limits; my particular favourite was her depiction of "the children of the sea," a community that lives entirely on floating rafts, coming ashore only once a year to replenish their wood supply.

Ged is now beginning to show his age; no longer being the prideful and impetuous youth he was in A Wizard of Earthsea, his hair is graying and his physique weakening. But with age comes wisdom, and in many ways we are seeing Ged in his prime, especially when compared to the impatience and inexperience of Arren. I cannot bring to mind any other fantasy series that follows our protagonist from youth to old age (the great percentage stop when the hero reaches maturity, leaving the aging process as part of the "happily ever after") and it is for that reason I find the Earthsea cycle so unique. This is a person's entire lifetime we are experiencing, not just their youth; making it a much richer and deeper reading experience.

Anyone who considers themselves a fantasy connoisseur should pick up The Farthest Shore, as well as A Wizard of Earthsea and The Tombs of Atuan. Though not my favourite of all the fantasy series ever written, it is refreshingly unique and beautifully told.  —Rebecca   Comments

Tehanu: "A Witch Knows Another Witch..."

Hmmm. Where to begin.

First, a confession: despite my high marks for this and other installments of the Earthsea series, I never really warmed up to Ursula Le Guin's masterworks. It's like appreciating a painting by Picasso: I know that it's a magnificent piece of art, but that doesn't mean I'd want it hanging on my living room wall. Likewise, I can recognize the craftsmanship and skill that went into creating The Earthsea Cycle; there's so much skill in the writing, in the detail, in the mythological resonances (everything from Carl Jung to Joseph Campbell). Le Guin also had a masterful grip on the nuances of her story, as in the subtle affinity Tenar shares with thistles. But something kept bothering me, and it wasn't until this forth novel Tehanu that I realised what it was.

Set in the days just before Ged and Arren complete their mission as told in The Farthest Shore, a widow named Goha receives a summons to the wizard Ogion: he is dying, and he requests her presence. Along with her adopted child Therru, who was brutally beaten, raped and burnt by her family when very young, Goha makes the journey across the island of Gont. The woman is of course Tenar, now twenty-five years older than when we last saw her in The Tombs of Atuan, and she arrives in time to hear Ogion's last words: to teach the child, and to wait.

What she is waiting for is soon made apparent: Ged's journey to the farthest shore is completed, and he is delivered in the talons of a dragon to his home-isle, a wasted and magic-less shell of the man he once was. Despairing and empty, Ged seeks a level of healing and solace that he doesn't believe can ever be found. But the question of Therru remains a mystery; avoided by most of the island's inhabitants, Therru is a quiet and elusive child that even Tenar cannot fully understand. Between Ged's misery and the reappearance of Therru's family, Tenar struggles to balance out her life and keep those she loves safe from threats that are mundane in comparison to former enemies, but just as life-destroying as dragons, shadows and evil wizards.

Some credit must be given to the originality of the book; here is a fantasy story that has very little to do with the typical fantasy elements one would find in other books of the genre. With the exception of the imaginary setting and a few brief appearances from a dragon, Tehanu is a story that could be told in any context. Change around a few periphery details and Tenar and Therru's story could take place in any setting or time period, even a contemporary one. Because it is primarily concerned with issues such as gender issues, cruelty toward children, misogyny and other social illnesses, there is not as much scope for imagination this time around. There is certainly no quest narrative: Ged attempts to find inner peace, whilst Tenar escapes the men that have utmost power over her adopted daughter.

Here is when I figured out what bothered me about this book (and to a lesser degree, the previous three in the series). Le Guin speaks a lot about the balance, or the equilibrium of the world: life and death, man and woman, order and chaos, and so on. Unfortunately, le Guin tends to concentrate more on the darker side of life, human nature and the world, with very little uplifting, cheerful or even tranquil moments to balance out the pain and horror that she fills this particular story with. Although Ged's misery is eventually relieved through his late-blossoming relationship with Tenar, it is precious little light in a very dark novel.

For what it's worth Tehanu is a remarkably original and painstakingly plotted novel - but the final chapters are filled with such sickening misogyny and sadism that it left a sour taste in my mouth. I have no desire to ever read this book again, and that's something I hoped I'd never say about a Le Guin novel.   —Rebecca   Comments