Tuesday 21 December 2010

The Earthsea Quartet by Ursula Le Guin

Well, I know now that despite Tehanu being labelled ‘The Last Earthsea Book’, the quartet has now become a quintet, or perhaps a quin-and-a-half-tet, with a book of short stories. However, I read a collection comprising four books, so I’ll review those first four now. Let me say from the start that I’m keen to track down and read the others.

The first three books in the series were written between the late sixties and mid seventies, the fourth in 1990. There is a distinct difference in styles and thematic interest observable after this isthmus, but the quartet also coheres in an interesting way, most obviously in the fact that the books alternate between overtly masculine and feminine emphases.

The Wizard of Earthsea is first, and shows that fantasy really hasn’t changed much since the sixties, and if anything, there’s more of the prototypical fantasy adventure novel here than in Tolkien’s books. Le Guin apparently saw the figure of the wizard so often presented as a mysterious old man in fantasy stories that she wanted to write the story of where one came from. So the book tells the thin story of Ged, who discovers his magical potential in childhood, becomes an apprentice mage then a student at a school for magic. His competitive pride releases a dark force, which he then spends the rest of the novel fighting against. My problem with this novel is that Le Guin uses a very dry style that brings to mind an old storyteller sitting at a campfire relating a brisk tale for an audience. The detail is scarce, there are lots of little references to what legends say to give a veneer of realism, and all the characters are thus kept at a distance. So while we get a very compelling image of the world of Earthsea, where magic is controlled by words and (refreshingly) not everyone is a beautiful Caucasian, it’s hard to care about Ged or his extremely artificial quest against a magical McGuffin.

The Tombs of Atuan is better. It’s title is very cheesy, but surprisingly, the story is not. A very slow set-up describes a small, isolated holy shrine where one young priestess grows up knowing nothing but the rituals she is constrained to by birthright, and slowly begins to explore the underground labyrinth there, where great treasures are hidden. Until Ged comes along looking for one. The book works because of its realism and detail, because of the absolute completeness of the tiny encapsulated world bound by centuries of tradition Le Guin constructs around Tenar, the priestess. Unfortunately, the book is rather too short or perhaps too lacking in plot ideas, making it feel like it’s all a set-up, even as the abrupt, rather lazy ending slots into place. One thing that struck me, though, was how Ged appeared and did not immediately win the day with his amazing powers. Indeed, he was rather useless. I was slightly disappointed at first, hoping for some powerful display, but the fact that something a little different was done was perhaps better – I confess to having mixed feelings on that point! Of course, we’re later told that all his power is being used to keep himself defended, but the bathos of his first appearance is something that I will certainly always remember.

Best by far of the four books is The Farthest Shore, which Goro Miyazaki is adapting into Gedo Senki. Ged takes a young noble on a quest to find out why all magic is beginning to fail. The plot is weak, but the book is hugely enjoyable because of the relationship between Ged and Arren. Arren’s hero-worship, disillusionment and final restoration of trust are very obvious plot elements, but it’s done so well, and so sweetly, that it was compulsive reading. The plot is a fairly loose one, a simple case of getting to the enemy and then beating him, but some of the setpieces are wonderful. Oddly, it’s the most sexualised of the books: Arren seems prone to getting naked at every opportunity.

Finally was Tehanu, a bit of an odd book. Ged has lost his power. Tenar is living as a farmer’s widow, her children having grown up and left home. She has adopted a little girl horribly deformed by an abusive family (I think that if I take issue with anything in the movie, it’ll be how they’re portraying Therru, as a pretty, very moe young teenager with a fetching pink mark for a scar, but I’m sure I’ll just think of her as a wholly different character). The book essentially deals with Tenar trying to protect the girl, and to come to terms with her life and the patriarchal, prejudiced world around her, as well as Ged trying to become a normal person, and experience sexuality for the first time (it seems wizards cannot). It is certainly a more mature look at the Earthsea world than its predecessors, but really, very little happens, the whole thing feels entirely inconsequential, and the showdown at the end really had very little to do with anything. Interesting for its change in tone, and a good experiment, but totally lacking anything memorable or compulsive in story terms, which is what was needed to make the bold change work.

Overall, one of the better fantasy series I’ve read in recent years; I shall be happy to read the rest – eventually!

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