Review of The Telling by Ursula Le Guin

Ursula Le Guin, having incorporated Daoism into numerous works of her fiction (see The Lathe of Heaven and all of the Earthsea Cycle), sought to take matters a little closer to home.  Utilizing a more hard-line ideology of contemporary China, her 2000 The Telling presents a Cultural Revolution scenario in a sci-fi setting.  The novel examines life on a planet where all traditional customs, beliefs, and practices have been outlawed, and its violators processed with impunity.  Playing off this well worn theme, Le Guin produces a book that confirms the tradition of dystopian novels featuring authoritarian excesses, while simultaneously injecting the value of storytelling. 

   

The Telling is the story of the anthropologist Sutty, a young woman who has been sent by the Ekumen to the planet Aka as an Observer of the people’s traditional beliefs and customs before they become entirely extinct.  The government, a purely capitalist institution called The Corporation, has passed laws that forbid anything related to the past.  Lawbreakers punished and reeducated, the old ways are slowly dying out.  Sutty, in an effort to find what few remnants of the past are still alive, takes a trip to the countryside and there encounters quantities of culture beyond her dreams.  Keeping it alive, however, may take her life. 

Review of The Word for World is Forest by Ursula Le Guin

Given Ursula Le Guin’s penchant for mixing real world social, political, and cultural concerns, it should come as no surprise that her voice could be heard on the Vietnam War.  The Word for World is Forest, published in 1976, is some of Le Guin’s most overt commentary on war and colonization.  A revision of her eponymous 1972 novella, the novel comments directly on the presence of major political powers in less-developed areas for profit, all in highly personal and well-told fashion.  

The Word for World is Forest is set entirely on the planet Athshe.  Humanity (called the Terrans) has arrived and set up mining, logging, and other resource-based enterprises, enslaving the indigenous to perform labor in the process.  A smaller, greener, hairier version of humanity, the natives also sleep in a significantly different fashion.  In fact sleeping little at all, they rather fall into a state of lucid dreaming at random periods of the day.  Thinking them to be lazy and avoiding work, the humans, in particular a man named Davidson, routinely beat and otherwise abuse the Athsheans, forcing them to perform the labor whose profits are sent to Earth.  It isn’t long, however, before the natives rebel against the humans, the resulting fight deciding the sentient fate of Athshe.

Review of "The Other Wind" by Ursula Le Guin

At age 82, it’s safe to say (I think) that Ursula Le Guin will not be publishing additional books in the Earthsea Cycle.  Though this has been said before, the qualities of the last book to be published, The Other Wind, particularly the subtle and cathartic value of its denouement and the state in which the main characters are left, make the extension of the Cycle beyond six books unlikely.  Walking away on a high note, the Cycle is concluded in grand style.

Unlike the personal storylines of the original trilogy, The Other Wind sees the continuation of the pattern established by Tehanu and Tales from Earthsea: groups of characters take center stage rather than individuals.  All of the characters who have appeared in previous novels are drawn together.  Their purpose: to eradicate the larger ills plaguing the archipelago.  The dragons are uneasy and are disappearing to the west amidst internecine violence.  The dead in the dry land haunt the living in their dreams, begging for release.  And political tension are rising as the Kargish have sent a princess to Hardic lands with the intent of marrying her into the fold, uniting two old enemies.  

Le Guin resolving matters as only she can, interrelationships toward social harmony prove a more useful tool for solving the issues than magic and wizards in The Other Wind.  Another soft fantasy novel, she again defies the clichés of epic fantasy with her plot structure and mode of conflict.  Events arising and unfolding in realistic fashion that does not involve mammoth wars or wizardly duels, instead, diplomacy, understanding, and perennial wisdom save the day.  Moments of strong tension do exist, but they are the result of the social and political forces at play rather than the threat of imminent violence.  A man’s longing to escape his dreams and be with his wife; a king’s lack of willingness to take responsibility for his role; a woman’s fear she will be unable to perform the task set out for her, and a master’s pride in the face of tradition are just a few of the back stories causing the more overt threats to the archipelago.

While inter-cultural politics play a role in the novel, the fairy tale glass through which Le Guin presents the theme sometimes distracts from the seriousness of the scenes.  The message burning at the heart is meaningful, only the delivery lacks a certain maturity of tone, in turn reducing impact.  Given the overall import of the theme—its parallel to our own world affairs—a lot can be forgiven given the poignancy of the implications.

In the end, The Other Wind is a well rounded finale that resolves all of the major plotlines both in- and external to the novel.  Ged, Tenar, Arren, Tehanu, and a variety of other character story arcs receive treatment and are concluded not only in satisfactory fashion, but in ways that meet Le Guin’s literary goals.  The story subtle and concerned with social and political conflicts less discussed in fantasy, readers should thus expect a narrative more in line with the second half of the Earthsea Cycle rather than the original trilogy.  

(For those who have read the book and the Earthsea Cycle as a whole, you may be interested in reading a paper I wrote on its Daoist tenets and angles on contemporary theory called "Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle: Paralleling Contemporary Theory with an Eye to the Past".  Part I is here and Part II, here.)  

(This review has also been posted at www.fantasyliterature.com)  

Review of "Tales from Earthsea" by Ursula Le Guin

In 1972 Ursula Le Guin completed The Farthest Shore and felt the Earthsea series was finished at three books.  However, in 1994 she published Tehanu:The Last Book of Earthsea in an attempt to revision the gender and social roles she’d laid out in that original trilogy.   Based on the title, this too was supposed to be the be-all, end-all.  Apparently not satisfying enough, 2001 saw Le Guin publishing two additional books in the Earthsea Cycle, The Other Wind and Tales from Earthsea, that both complement and redress the original books.  The former a novel that rounds out the entirety of Earthsea’s story into a nice whole, the latter is a collection of short stories that fills certain gaps Le Guin identified in Earthsea’s mythos.  The following is a loose breakdown of those stories.

“The Finder” – The opening story in the collection tells of the boy Otter, his imprisonment and escape, and subsequent joining of the Roke school of magic.  Not what is expected given the state of the school readers have become familiar with, Le Guin shows that education regarding wisdom and magic in Earthsea once had a different root.

“Darkrose & Diamond” is a short, simple tale of youth, lost love, and a person finding their way in life.  Traveling musicians and magic the motifs, Le Guin tells the story of a young man and the conflicts he has with an overbearing father.  A relatively light tale, thankfully Le Guin does not linger long on romantic elements, focusing instead on talent and the importance of understanding.

“The Bones of the Earth” – The shortest in the collection, it is the story of how Ogion saved Gont Town in his youth from an earthquake.  In addition to telling the real story behind the legends that have grown around the silent mage, the tale also tells of Ogion’s master and his training, proving there are different forces than nature to defy.

“On the High Marsh” is the story of a sick man wandering the wastelands of Semmel Island.  Suffering from fatigue and memory loss, the man knows only that he wants to help and heal.  He boards with a lonely family and offers what services he can to their inflicted livestock.  Given its themes of forgiveness and a new start, this may be the most emotionally impacting in the collection and is an excellent prelude to The Other Wind.

“Dragonfly” – Perhaps the least coherent story in the collection, “Dragonfly”, on top of being a sort of postscript to Tehanu, is the story of a young woman who becomes more than she is—or thought she was.  The symbolism inherent to In the tale’s conclusion slightly saccharine, not to mention the journey to that point overflowing with overt moralizing, the story nevertheless shows Le Guin walking the talk of her intentions to revision Earthsea from a feminist point of view.

“A Description of Earthsea” – Not a story, Le Guin offers a survey of the archipelago in demographic fashion.  Almost as if taken from her personal notes, the cultures, mages, history, dragons, islands, etc. are relayed in formal text that both summarizes what attentive readers already know, congealing the raw data of the setting and cultures into a single essay.

From the origins of the Roke school to the revelation of what happened to the Master Summoner in The Other Wind, Le Guin attempts to fill certain voids in the mythos of Cycle with Tales from Earthsea.  With the inclusion of thematic material like freedom of choice, gender equality, and the value of breaking from oppressive tradition, she likewise tries to bring into balance the qualities of theme in the Cycle as a whole.  Though not all the stories are award winners, they nevertheless have the desired effect: Earthsea becomes more multi-layered, and in turn relatable.  Recommended only for those who have read and loved the Cycle to date, including Tehanu.

(For those who have read the book and the Earthsea Cycle as a whole, you may be interested in reading a paper I wrote on its Daoist tenets and angles on contemporary theory called "Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle: Paralleling Contemporary Theory with an Eye to the Past".  Part I is here and Part II, here.)  

(This review has also been posted at www.fantasyliterature.com) 

Review of "The Farthest Shore" by Ursula Le Guin

Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle is often downplayed as YA given the style of writing and relatively simple structure of the plots.  Entirely unfair, the novels’ thematic material is complex—far from juvenile.  Self-actualization and discovering personal freedom the subjects of the first two books in the Cycle, A Wizard ofEarthsea and The Tombs of Atuan, respectively, Le Guin returns for a third bildungsroman.  Coming to terms with death the theme this time around, with The Farthest Shore Le Guin continues to challenge readers, young and adult, with heavy yet poignant subject matter in a highly imaginative setting and story.

The Farthest Shore is the story of the prince Arren and his conquering fear of death.  Ged having risen to Archmage since A Wizard ofEarthsea and Tenar having helped bring peace with the ring of Erreth-Akbe in The Tombs of Atuan, things would seem settled in Earthsea.  But subtly a new threat sweeps the archipelago, and the king sends his son, Arren, to inquire of the Masters of Roke what is to be done regarding this elusive threat.  The Masters collectively indecisive, Ged sets out with the young man in his old sailboat Lookfar to discover the source of the malaise engulfing the land and stealing the spirit of the people.  Ged and Arren face many hardships tracking down this intangible evil, but the fate they ultimately confront challenges them like no other, altering their lives forever in the process.  

It’s no secret that The Darkest Shore is the heaviest of Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle.  This, however, should not put off readers.  Dialogue bursting with perennial wisdom regarding life and death, a profound wisdom is expressed in its pages that not only pushes the book beyond YA status, but makes for positive, worthwhile reading on a subject rarely broached by fantasy.  Readers will encounter a viewpoint they perhaps have never heard before and be richly rewarded for lending an ear.

But for all the meaning of existence discussed, the book is also chock full of fantastical imagination.  Le Guin dresses the theme of death in clothes that never shy from reality, yet soften the discussion in an engaging and interest-building tone.  Dragons play their largest role in the Cycle to date, not to mention a variety of unique cultures and living standards are presented in a style coloring what would otherwise be a dreary story; Ged and Arren’s adventures take them through more than just the dark side.  The raft people, for example, are a singular creation of fantasy that prove Le Guin is in her element when writing, their culture reverberating with theme every water dance they perform.  

In the end, The Farthest Shore is another great Earthsea novel.  It combines unique storytelling, imaginative settings, profound theme, realistic characterization, and perennial philosophy in mythic tones no other writer on the fantasy scene can.  Accountable to all ages, those who dismiss the book as YA have obviously not looked deeply into the dialogue between Arren and Ged or the symbolism quietly tucked away in the story’s setting and character behavior.  Delivering a message and telling a story, readers could ask for little more in this third bildungsroman rounding out the original Earthsea trilogy.

(For those who have read the book and the Earthsea Cycle as a whole, you may be interested in reading a paper I wrote on its Daoist tenets and angles on contemporary theory called "Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle: Paralleling Contemporary Theory with an Eye to the Past".  Part I is here and Part II, here.)

Review of 'The Tombs of Atuan" by Ursula Le Guin

Having successfully penned a young man’s Jungian coming to terms with self in A Wizard of Earthsea, Ursula Le Guin set out to write another bildungsroman.  This time a young girl’s coming to terms with herself as a woman in society, The Tombs of Atuan was published three years later in 1971.  Certainly not as strong a feminist statement as later stories of the Earthsea Cycle, Tombs is nevertheless squarely focused on a young woman’s coming of age, filled out with all of the wisdom and insight into religion and culture we’ve come to expect from Le Guin.

The Tombs of Atuan opens with a child being taken from her parents to live at the temple tombs on the Kargish island of Atuan (the Kargish are a white-skinned, war-like culture appearing at the beginning of A Wizard of Earthsea).  Too young to know better, Arha, as she is called by the all-female priesthood, is led through the initiation ceremonies of their archaic religion and raised amongst the decay and ruin of its temples and tombs.  External influence at their remote desert institution non-existent, the dogma of Kargish religion molds and shapes Arha into High Priestess as years of tradition have done her predecessors.  Everything goes smoothly in Arha’s education until a mysterious man—a forbidden man—bearing wisdom acutely opposite to what she’s been taught comes to their temple.  That he also seeks the other half of the Ring of Erreth-Akbe only deepens the intrigue.

Containing significantly less of the magic, spells, and wizards of A Wizard of Earthsea, The Tombs of Atuan has its own identity as a fantasy novel in Earthsea.  The story of a young woman’s discovery of freedom, the narrative depends less on the supernatural and more on character interaction toward resolving the issues that arise.  A basic knowledge of ‘true names’, Earthsea cultures, and layout of the islands helps, but it’s not necessary to have read Wizard to appreciate Tombs.  

A great literary device as well as wonderfully described set piece, the pitch-black labyrinth which Arha explores beneath the temples is one of the most intriguing aspects of Tombs.  (Vital enough, Le Guin even includes a map of the maze-like tunnels.)  No stronger symbolism could be attached to the blinded manner in which the young ladies of the temples are led through knowledge regarding adolescence, sexuality, and men in general.  Without spoiling matters, Arha’s exploration of the labyrinth and her experiences walking the dark corridors make for great literature.  But how she unlocks the potential she finds there is the reason the book won the Newberry Honor Award. 

In the end, The Tombs of Atuan is Le Guin in full form, though she would later admit not having thought the entirety of Arha’s situation through.  (A certain channeling of masculinity stains what is otherwise a narrative of feminine discovery.)  Readers should expect a coming-of-age story, but one wholly different than Ged’s.  Elements of the supernatural do exist, but Le Guin uses them subtly, sending the characters out on stage for dialogue rather than magical pyrotechnics.  Like Wizard, Tombs is stuck somewhere between YA and adult, and can therefore be appreciated by both.  

(For those who have read the book and the Earthsea Cycle as a whole, you may be interested in reading a paper I wrote on its Daoist tenets and angles on contemporary theory called "Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle: Paralleling Contemporary Theory with an Eye to the Past".  Part I is here and Part II, here.)