Tehanu by Ursula LeGuin, 1990.

Almost twenty years later, a fourth book in the Earthsea series, set shortly after the third. As I think I said earlier, each of the books is a favorite in its own way. Motherhood, one of the central themes, is particularly well-done, as we see Tenar adopt the abused child Therru. Therru is a very believable child, and yet the climactic revelation of her dragonhood is a pefect fit to what came before. I've accused this book of didacticism, which is a little shy of the mark. Rather, the cognitive dissonance with the unity of first three books is what I find unsettling. All of a sudden we're seeing the world through a modern and feminist lens, and we've moved from classic high fantasy to a much more earthy plane. Although Ged as he aged in the trilogy was clearly in touch with the everyday, it all had an Arcadian glamour. Here the simple country life is shown both peaceful and brutal, and the psychological ramifications explored are more realistic. The loss of Ged's magic parallels the switch to realism, I suppose, but it's still a huge contrast.

But again I admire LeGuin's desire to integrate issues like patriarchy and child abuse into this high fantasy universe she's created, and in most ways she does succeed. There is nothing knee-jerk about her depiction of gender differences.

"Is [magic] different, then, for men and for women?"

"What isn't, dearie?"

"I don't know," said Tenar. "It seems to me we make up most of the differences, and then complain about 'em."

One of my favorite LeGuin quotes is about "making love, for love needs to be made over and over, like bread." I thought it was from this book, but I guess not. Well, that's a good excuse for re-reading all the rest of my LeGuin collection. I had a hard time getting through Always Coming Home, which is not so much a book as a hodgepodge, and I never finished any of her regular fiction--time for another try. One more quote:

A few [village witches], having wisdom though no learning, used their gift purely for good, though they could not tell, as any prentice wizard could, the reason for what they did, and prate of the Balance and the Way of Power to justify their action or abstention. "I follow my heart," one of these women had said to Tenar when she was Ogion's ward and pupil. "Lord Ogion is a great mage. He does you great honor, teaching you. But look and see, child, if all he's taught you isn't finally to follow your heart."

Tenar had thought even then that the wise woman was right, and yet not altogether right; there was something left out of that. And she still thought so.