“Only in silence the word,
only in dark the light,
only in dying life:
bright the hawk’s flight
on the empty sky.”
— The Creation of Ea
(The Wizard of Earthsea)
Some books have a profound influence on one’s thinking. A lasting impact of years after they have been read, unlike perhaps other pieces of literature, which are enjoyed, but more easily forgotten.
For me, one such book, or rather a series of five books, which fall in the former category, are of the Earthsea cycle, written by one of 20th century’s most admired authors — Ursula K Le Guin. Already an ardent fan of the classic fantasy genre (JRR Tolkien, CS Lewis, Lewis Carroll, and others), Le Guin’s books plunged me again into a world of adversity and adventure, and I was awestruck by their sheer magic!
Written in 1968, the first of these novels, A Wizard of Earthsea, is till date one of the most widely praised American fantasy novels of the past half century. What captivated me also was that it is written in pleasingly simple — and yet poetic prose and its remarkable plot is imbued with a gripping denouement in a world entirely of the author’s creative making.
The above verse (The Creation of Ea) with which the book begins is a key idea in the narrative – one of an interdependence of opposites – the two parts almost like binaries that would make something whole.
The hero of the book, Ged (or Sparrowhawk), is born on the island of Gont, and finds out quite accidentally that he possesses immense magical powers. Even at a point when he is not a trained wizard, he is able to save his village from pillaging marauders. The story of his deed spreads far and wide, and brings into his life a gentle but powerful wizard — Ogion the Silent. Realising the young boy’s potential, Ogion takes him in as an apprentice wizard. But during the course of the next few months, Ged fails to truly appreciate Ogion’s manner of training. An impatient boy with a wild heart, he wants action and glory. Eventually, Ogion sends him to the school of magic at Roke Island, where Ged learns his craft quickly and surely. However, he is also too proud of his achievements, overconfident and competitive. The momentum of the book is set in motion when in an ill-judged display of his skills, Ged imprudently attempts a terrible spell, which has drastic consequences not only for himself, but also for Earthsea — and thus, the very magic community he is a part of. Ged attempts a spirit-summoning spell, and also releases a shadow monster from the death lands, which attacks him immediately, scarring him for life. The Archmage of Roke saves Ged, but dies after banishing the shadow from Roke. Much chastened and even crippled by shame and humility, Ged continues his studies and eventually graduates as a wizard. He leaves Roke Island and accepts his first posting as a wizard in the fishing village of Low Torning. In the western part of the Archipelago, it is not a place wizards would usually be placed. However, dragons that have overrun the island of Pendor are now terrifying the inhabited coast, and Ged must protect the people of this area. He eventually strikes a deal with the old dragon — a very arduous feat, indeed! No being on Earthsea could talk to dragons, but Ged, in his power and his accumen, manages to do just that. He becomes the youngest Dragon Lord alive on Earthsea. But still, the shadow he released at Roke Island pursues him relentlessly, and Ged now embarks on an almost bildungsroman-esque journey over sea and land hoping to repair the damage he has caused. The most entrancing catch here is that Ged has to confront his shadow and name it. This is when he realises that it is the shadow of his own arrogance and pride… and once he accepts responsibility for his actions, and stops trying to escape them even as he chases their manifestations, the shadow merges with him. And he can be whole again.
The very name — Earthsea — suggests a balance: of land and water. Thus every action must bear its consequences, and when magic is performed, it is the performer who must bear full responsibility for it because they are the ones who have actually disturbed the balance of the universe. The aim of magic then is the understanding of the true nature of things, and not their possession. The greatest of wizards know this, and will avoid using their craft without cause. And why is this? They understand and value that at the very foundation of the cosmos are the qualities of balance, equilibrium and appropriateness.
Le Guin’s Earthsea, made up of an archipelago of many islands, is borne of her ingenious imagination — the almost dream-like domain of our unconscious. Earthsea may be a secondary world, but it is one that our heart recognises as both meaningful and true. Characters and their action here have a greatness and depth, and resonate with mythic beauty. Songs, poems, runes, spells — in fact, words — matter considerably in Earthsea, especially those in the ‘Old Speech’, a language that is known only to wizards and dragons. To wield a spell, a wizard must know the ‘true name’ of the object or person, which is actually its intrinsic and essential soul. In such a world, to know a person's true name is to hold power over them. Thus, “a mage can control only what is near him, what they can name exactly and wholly.”
The Earthsea books have been described as “intensely moral and deeply humane” — I believe they are some of the most simple, yet compelling fables of modern times. This is myth-making at its best! What is also intensely satisfying is that in Earthsea, Le Guin has created an ancient world for both young and old readers. I have re-read the series over the years, and each time, there is something new I have perceived. In effortless but enthralling writing and a profound core, Le Guin subverts several stereotypes and presents what notable critics have described as the “finest high fantasy”.
The Earthsea Trilogy (i.e. The Wizard of Earthsea, The Tombs of Atuan and The Farthest Shores) was written between the years 1968 to 1970. As many as 19 years later, in 1990, the author added — much to the delight of all her fans — a fourth book, Tehanu. This was followed by the last book in the series, The Other Wind, published in 2001. There is additionally a sixth book of short stories that is a part of this cycle of books called, Tales of Earthsea, compiled in the early years of the 21st century.
Le Guin published her first novel when she was 37 years old. She went on to win numerous distinguished awards, including the Hugo, Nebula, Locus, and World Fantasy awards (each more than once), as well as the National Book Foundation’s Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters and the Library of Congress’s Living Legend Award. Today she is known, loved and respected not only for her fantasy and sci-fi books but also for her essays and poems and her children’s literature.
Le Guin passed away on January 22, 2018 — and in her own immortal, magical words, from Tehanu, that speak of a deep spiritual balance, she writes: “… when I die, I can breathe back the breath that made me live. I can give back to the world all that I didn’t do. All that I might have been and couldn’t be. All the choices I didn't make. All the things I lost and spent and wasted. I can give them back to the world. To the lives that haven’t been lived yet. That will be my gift to the world that gave me the life I did live, the love I loved, the breath I breathed.”
Sushma Kapur
Visiting faculty in English