The Farthest Shore by Ursula K. Le Guin: A review

This is the third book in Ursula K. Le Guin's fantasy Earthsea series. In the first, A Wizard of Earthsea, we met Ged/Sparrowhawk as a young child who would be trained as a wizard. In the second, The Tombs of Atuan, we scarcely meet him at all until near the end when he encounters Tenar, the high priestess of Atuan, and together they take the lost half of the sacred ring of Erreth-Akbe from the said tombs. The whole ring, when reforged by Ged's magic, will help to ensure peace in Earthsea. Now, we meet him as a middle-aged man in his full power as a wizard. He is the Archmage (I imagine it as something like the pope) and he is a dragonlord, one who can ride dragons.

But all is not well in Earthsea. The world has fallen on hard times and darkness threatens to overtake it. The wizards who have kept things on a peaceful, even keel are losing their powers. Ged is determined to find out the cause of this disastrous turn of events.

He embarks on a treacherous journey to the ends of Earthsea to discover the cause of the evil that threatens to overwhelm his world. With him, he takes a young man named Arren, a prince of Enlad. In order to fulfill their quest, they must travel to the farthest reaches of their world and into the realm of death itself.

I have noted in my previous reviews of this series that it is unusual for a fantasy series in that it does not feature death and destruction on a massive scale and the protagonist does not seek the annihilation of anyone other than the evil force that threatens Earthsea. That continues to be true in this entry. His philosophy - and this book contains a lot of philosophical musings - is rather one of acceptance. Acceptance of what life brings and, finally, acceptance of death as a part of life. Ged says at one point, "A man does not make his destiny: he accepts it or denies it."

And again:

“Life rises out of death, death rises out of life; in being opposite they yearn to each other, they give birth to each other and are forever reborn. And with them, all is reborn, the flower of the apple tree, the light of the stars. In life is death. In death is rebirth. What then is life without death? Life unchanging, everlasting, eternal?-What is it but death-death without rebirth?”

This was, without a doubt, my least favorite of the three books I've read. I began to find the prose really labored and difficult to read. Often I would find myself losing focus halfway through a passage and would have to stop and think, "Now what was this about?" Sometimes I had to reread a section to remind myself. Certainly this could partly be my fault as a reader, but clean, crisp prose would have made my reading task a lot easier.

There were parts of the book that I did really enjoy, my favorite being the descriptions of the Children of the Sea, people who live entirely on rafts that are connected together and float about in the great ocean, following the gray whales in their migration. It was a pleasant interlude in a book that otherwise did not give me great pleasure.

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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