Hilary's Book Blog

To my surprise, this time through I thought that the beginning was quite weak; it gets off to a very slow start and it wasn’t until Lorbanery, almost half-way through the book, that I felt gripped. Arren’s character isn’t very distinct initially and since it’s really told through his eyes, that’s a big drawback. Once they’re on the rafts of the Children of the Open Sea, it’s a great book. The Children of the Open Sea for me echo both the floating lands of C.S. Lewis’ Perelandra, and the gray geese of T.H. White’s Once and Future King—an idealized culture free of many of the trappings of civilization, a respite for the narrator, a period out of time.

The Earthsea Trilogy and this one in particular I think helped shape my feelings about death. The images of the low stone wall, the slope that goes downwards into darkness in the dry land, and the dead as emotionless shades—all have stayed with me. The Taoist feeling, the emphasis on balance, the importance of being a part of the whole, still feel deeply right to me.

“There is no safety, and there is no end. The word must be heard in silence; there must be darkness to see the stars. The dance is always danced above the hollow place, above the terrible abyss.”

…

“That selfhood which is our torment, and our treasure, and our humanity, does not endure. It changes; it is gone, a wave on the sea. Would you have the sea grow still and the tides cease, to save one wave, to save yourself? Would you give up the craft of your hands, and the passion of your heart, and the light of sunrise and sunset, to buy safety for yourself–safety forever?…That is the message that those who know how to hear have heard: By denying life you may deny death and live forever!

Wow, although I had been thinking about how non-Christian this book is (Philip Pullman, eat your heart out!), not until I transcribed it did I specifically notice the reference in “those who know how to hear.”

Skimmed & decided to get rid of. Boring, obvious, weird mixture of “humor” and advice. But: “If you have a spin dryer, remember to put a bowl under the waste pipe or you’ll have a kitchen awash every time.” There used to be a spin dryer in the basement of our apartment building, which people still used for sheets and towels even though electric dryers had come in. It was scary—vibrating as though it would pull its bolts right out of the floor—but fascinating.

Brian Gafney, a library patron, saw the movie and asked me to get the book through interlibrary loan. I’d just seen the movie too so I borrowed it when he was done with it, and we’ll get the next one too. (I just found a paperback copy in my collection…) Begun with great enjoyment but shrank on me a little. Russell Crowe’s portrayal of Jack Aubrey impresses me more in retrospect having read the book–Paul Bettany was good as Stephen Maturin, but not quite the Maturin of the book (who is physically different anyway, described as small and dark).

Both the accusations of “Tom Clancy on the high seas” and the hyperbole of “great literature” seem off the mark. The depth of characterization too well-done for the former, the tinge of “look how much research I’ve done!” too striking for the latter. I was also left with an impression of disjointedness overall.

Brian said this doesn’t hold a candle to C.S. Forester, whom I don’t recall ever reading. I found Commodore Hornblower in my collection, so I’ll put that in the “read pretty soon” pile. I remember enjoying Mr. Midshipman Easy (Marryat), and the Swallows and Amazons series (Ransom) were favorites at one time, but I’m not that familair with sea stories as a genre.

Portraits of British post-war types, from Lady Something to Professor Blank, which originally appeared in Punch. I forget how great Searle used to be–although actually it turns out I was thinking of Ralph Steadman. Did Searle also not get all spiky and disturbing later? No, but he did start drawing very debauched-looking cats. Anyway, the caricatures in this book are wonderful, although the whole thing leaves rather a depressing flavour. The types are either unhappy or held in contempt by the author. This was a birthday present to my dad when he was 23, one of the books that I rescued from my mother after their divorce–must see if my dad wants it back. I read it as a teen, and don’t remember noticing that the portrait of Esmé, the balletomane, is gender-indeterminate.

Just finished re-reading The Tombs of Atuan by Ursula LeGuin, for probably the 15th time. The Earthsea Trilogy has been one of my favorites since I first read it–age 12 or so? I just recently got Tales of Earthsea, the sort-of fifth volume, and that prompted me to embark on the whole journey once more.

Each of the first 4 volumes is “my favorite” in its own way. I didn’t think I would like Tombs intially because it starts so far away from the dragon/wizard/magic world of A Wizard of Earthsea, but Tenar/Arha is, to me, Leguin’s most fully-realized and sympathetic female character. It’s interesting that she is better at male characters, and that her greatest books all have male protagonists, since later she adopted so many feminist trappings.

Tales of Earthsea continues the revisionist trend started by Tehanu. The tradition of male wizards is recast with a strong flavor of paternalistic oppression. The association of women/witches with the “Old Powers” of the earth is now positive. Yet in Wizard and particularly Tombs, it’s clear that the “Old Powers” are not just amoral but evil. There’s even a little Lovecraftian overtone:

The Earth is beautiful, and bright, and kindly, but that is not all. The Earth is also terrible, and dark, and cruel. The rabbit shrieks dying in the green meadows. The mountains clench their great hands full of hidden fire. There are sharks in the sea, and there is cruelty in men’s eyes. And where men worship these things and abase themselves before them, there evil breeds; there places are made in the world where darkness gathers, places given over wholly to the Ones whom we call Nameless, the ancient and holy Powers of the Earth before the Light, the powers of the dark, of ruin, of madness….

I do admire LeGuin’s desire to rework a mythic patriarchal society into a more egalitarian one, and she does as good a job as I can imagine. But bringing it about within the lifetime of one character, when the narrator’s beliefs have clearly changed so drastically, doesn’t quite work for me. Tombs is free of the faint whiff of didacticism that passes through some of Tehanu, and even more so Tales. Nonetheless I’m glad to know, in reading Tombs now, that Ged and Tenar will eventually come together, and it’s fascinating to see the unexamined subtext of wizard asexuality (which was very convenient for the young adult market in 1971!)

I am mostly awed all over again by how right every word is without being flashy, and how true every aspect of the book seems. LeGuin has the power to create archetypes that resonate more deeply within me than anyone else’s. So much happens, especially psychologically, in the last twenty pages. And how does she manage to show Tenar’s true character, from the very beginning, with the tiniest and subtlest of cues?

Coming off the Blueberry Festival–the 24th annual fundraiser for my library, my 12th festival & therefore more exhausting than fun. I didn’t have to dress up as Newberry the Blueberry this time as I had a number of young assistants. Time was I would have thought they didn’t stick to some of the important rules, like trying to hide your face so it looks like the character and not a person wearing a character suit…but Newberry’s old and tired-looking, I’m older and tireder, and who cares? Not the four-year-olds who are Newberry’s natural fan base. Theme song for this Festival was Stereolab‘s “Captain Easychord,” which I played constantly as I drove around putting up & taking down signs, getting a bullhorn from the elementary school to replace the PA we couldn’t use in the rain, etc.