The Tombs of Atuan, Ursula Le Guin

This always used to be my favourite of the series, both for sheer atmosphere and because it featured a female-centred world, in complete contrast to the first book. It’s almost the opposite, in that way: Ged isn’t the POV character anymore, and instead we follow Arha/Tenar, seeing her experience in a different land, seeing Ged as an outsider. That latter is especially fun, because though he talks about not learning Ogion’s lessons, it seems that he really has. And there was always an attraction for the dark rituals, Arha’s dance in front of the Empty Throne, the drums struck softly at heart-pace. Le Guin didn’t just blindly throw together a bunch of superstitions and fake rituals: it hangs together as a cohesive whole, and the fact that even the characters find the rituals meaningless, strange, the significances lost in time… that also works for me.

One image that always sticks with me is that of Ged asleep on the ground, the small thistle by his hand. That image somehow epitomises the book for me: his serenity and trust, his link to the world around him, and also the way Tenar sees him, truly sees him, alive and in the world and not at all a part of the dark existence she led before… it’s hard to put into words, but that image does it.

Rating: 5/5

A Wizard of Earthsea, Ursula Le Guin

This month’s challenge in the Book Club on Habitica is reading (or rereading, in my case) Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea books. I scarcely need the encouragement to come back and read them again, so of course, I was in for this. It’s interesting reading this first one as an adult, having gone through my own coming of age and seeing Ged as young — just seventeen! It’s also interesting because I’ve read some of Le Guin’s critiques of her own work: the lack of place for women, “weak as women’s magic”, the typical male-centred quest story. It’s interesting to think about what could’ve been changed, and how that would have changed the canon of fantasy.

At first glance, the world of Earthsea is relatively typical fantasy. Yet there’s a spirituality here, too, and Le Guin’s interest in anthropology — her references to the customs like Sunreturn and the Long Dance — give it depth. It’s definitely its own thing, not derived solely from the fantasy tradition. And I’ve thought of Ged’s flight away from and then toward his shadow in very personal terms for a while now: to me it echoes my struggle with my anxiety, the way that I was weak and unable to fight it whenever I tried to pretend it away or avoid it. I had to face it and admit it was part of me, as Ged does with the shadow he’s unleashed. And like Ged, I didn’t stop being scared of it, but I gained strength from finding the way to fight it.

(Don’t get me started on the parallels in The Tombs of Atuan between the forces of the Nameless and depression, abuse. Now that I’ve thought about it, I think I could write a paper on it.)

“Only in silence the word, only in dark the light, only in dying life.”

Rating: 5/5