Embedded Files
Ursula Le Guin
This is the second book in the Earthsea series and it shows, there must be a freedom to writing a follow up to a successful book and this takes advantage of it well. It would be tempting when writing a sequel to tell a very similar story again (and many writers do) but Ursula Le Guin has managed to create something here much more unusual. A Wizard of Earthsea is deeper and more thoughtful than a lot of fantasy books and tells its story a way that focuses on an inner journey rather than the affairs of state; this seems to take that even further. It builds slowly in a way it feels hard to imagine a first novel being allowed to do. This gives a depth to Tenar's character though, a life entirely constrained by the tombs, but also one that shows individuality and an instinct to question. The frame within which those questions can be asked though is limited by those around her and the controlled nature of her existance. This creates interesting fluctuations of character. One who desires to make her own way but who does so with a very limited set of options and while fundamentally holding many of the beliefs of the society that binds her. In some ways it feels an extreme version of the conditioning that society gives us all to see the way things are as a natural order and the courage needed to see other paths.
The treatment of religion is interesting, Tenar has faith implicitly and it is only on finding Penthe doesn't have that faith that she even considers it as something possible to not have. That in turn allows her to see how some who profess faith and who live supported by its structures and institutions simply see it as a means to an end. The more unusual point made is that whether to worship doesn't have to depend on arguments of truth. You can accept the existance of higher powers without it being right that you should worship them. This is a refreshing and unusual position to take, most fantasy books where gods exist have some form of worship or deference to them as automatic, characters might honour different ones but being an atheist in a world with gods is never presented as an option. Here power is questioned and challenged, not seen as due automatic defference. This also stands out in the depiction of Ged. I liked the focus on the underground and the dark, for much of the book it felt, to my reading, something creepy and somewhat malevolent on its own terms but that was imbued with that power by the belief of those around it and our cultural expectations of the dark. When that twists later and the dark takes a more actively malevolent position it is powerful and forces you to understand parts of the book again.
Ged is shown as both inately human, vulnerable and seemingly powerless, and as almost superhuman in his awareness of himself and that human vulerability, he carries his weakness with a surety that is all the more wonderful and strange. Here the links to Daoism come back, much of Ged's strength comes from his willingness to surrender and trust, Daoism talks about the greatest strength being in maleability; that water, following its way, working around rocks and wearing away at mountains has great strength. It talks about weakness giving strength and in Ged's moments of weakness or vulnerability he allows people to think in different ways and to feel safe to reach for the darker parts of themselves. The openness and weakness allow him to be seen not with instinctive stereotype but in thoughtful individuality.
Whereas A Wizard of Earthsea had relatively few female characters, and those it had generally had fairly background roles this gives women a lot more scope. There is Tenar, obviously, but I also really like Kossil's scheming and both Thar and Penthe (who feels in many ways the tragedy of the book) had nicely different aspects to their personalities. It was interesting to move in focus from patriarchal organisations of the archipelago to a matriarchal one here. I am intersted to see as I keep reading Earthsea if the series shows more interwoven power structures too.
One of the things I loved most was that the excape from danger wasn't the end. The exploration of what freedom means to one who has never experienced it and who takes it all at once rather than by degrees (as most of us do) was wonderful. It paints freedom as this harsh, terrifying thing, almost another form of dark. In many ways this feels like it elevates the last section of the book. Where many others would wrap things up with an epilogue this makes that ending the actual story and discourages settling upon simple answers, it shows that just living can be hard but puts a powerful case for optimism in the face of that.
Frustratingly, while Puffin have used another different cover illustrator he has also made Ged white. Sadly too, this book lacks the Ruth Robbins illustrations of the first.
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