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| (Cover Artist: Rebecca Guay) |
Out of all of the books in the Earthsea series, Tehanu is often characterized as the point where Le Guin undertook the most fundamental departure from the themes of her earlier work. The first three original Earthsea novels (1968's A Wizard of Earthsea, 1971's The Tombs of Atuan, and 1972's The Farthest Shore) are usually described as fantasy epics following the style of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. That is, the protagonists of these novels are traditionally heroic figures who do battle with dragons, infiltrate supernatural cults, and ultimately voyage into the world of the dead to slay an evil sorcerer.
By contrast, Tehanu is an outwardly much more sedate novel, with its story following a solitary woman who adopts an abandoned child who is found injured in the woods near her home. The book still takes place in a world populated by wizards, and dragons, and evil sorcerers seeking immortality, but this material has shifted to the background of the main narrative, with it being this new story which gradually becomes much more expansive than it's scope initially implies.
This makes it easy to see why Tehanu is often characterized as something of a reimagining of Earthsea on Le Guin's part--a work which eschewed the archetypal fantasy adventures of Le Guin's earlier work in favor of a much more subtle (though no less weighty) plot. That Tehanu's original date of publication (1990) represented a gap of nearly 20 years from the conclusion of the original Earthsea trilogy only seems to reenforce this reading. In a sense, Le Guin had already finished the Earthsea series when she decided to continue it decades later.
I think this characterization is mistaken, though not because Tehanu does not represent a fascinating addition to the Earthsea stories. Rather, the reason I question the assertion that Tehanu is the moment where Le Guin reimagined Earthsea is that such a statement implies Le Guin's first novels to have in some way been incompatible with the feminist themes and perspectives which Tehanu later adopted. It's true that the first three Earthsea novels sidelined their only female protagonist in favor of the male characters, and that this was a failing that Le Guin was aware she needed to address (she said as much in multiple interviews and articles after Tehanu's publication). What is not the case is that the "new" version of Earthsea appearing in Tehanu is so utterly changed as to become unrecognizable from earlier renditions.
Which is to say that if Le Guin's prior work had any failing, it was only through omission, and as a result the addition that Tehanu represents to the Earthsea stories doesn't so much feel like a reimagining of those earlier novels as it does a reorientation of them. Moreover, this is a reorientation that fits so well with the series on the whole that it almost could have been planned--a change in scope which ultimately deepens the themes not only of the books which would come afterwards, but also the ones which came before.
Tehanu (Summary)
Tehanu is very much a book about characters who find themselves stranded between contrasting identities, and the experience of navigating the expectations placed upon them as a result. The novel begins with a chapter titled simply "A Bad Thing," and follows a woman named Goha who lives alone in a small cabin after the death of her husband. One day, after hearing from a neighbor that a young child has been found severely beaten in the forest, Goha takes this girl in and names her "Therru." In this way, she sets to work on the quiet but essential task of healing this child's wounds, and fostering her emotional recovery after the unseen trauma this girl has experienced.
Le Guin's prose handles these moments with a quiet deference that gives the book a gentle quality even in spite of the severity of the material it deals with. It's only in the second chapter--almost a year later in the novel's timeline--that the significants of these events slowly begin to come into focus alongside the other books in the Earthsea series. Almost as an afterthought, we learn that this self-described "old widow" Goha is in fact the protagonist of the second book of the Earthsea series, Tenar. Previously depicted as a young girl who escaped a deadly religious cult to return an ancient treasure to the king of Earthsea (saving the lives of thousands in the process), Tenar (or Goha) is now shown to be living a humble and solitary life, with most around her knowing nothing not only of the dangers she faced decades earlier, but also the immense personal sacrifices she made on behalf of the larger world.
In any case, Tenar's continuing efforts to heal Therru and foster her recovery are interrupted when she receives a message from the elderly wizard Ogion, who lives in the mountains nearby. Having grown ill and realized he is nearing the end of his life, Ogion wishes to speak with the woman who was his final (albeit failed) apprentice one last time. Taking Therru with her, Tenar makes her way up the mountain to Ogion's secluded cabin, and there receives some cryptic instructions from this man the moment he lays eyes on the child she has taken in.
"Teach her, Tenar," he whispered. "Teach her all!--Not Roke. They are afraid.--Why did I let you go? Why did you go? To bring her here--Too late?" (p.26)
It's in this way that Tehanu sets up a quiet, overarching mystery that stays with the novel to it's ultimate conclusion. Tenar herself knows next to nothing of magic, and as a result can't understand what it might be that a wizard as powerful as Ogion wishes for her to teach Therru, or why it is that he's so adamant that what she teach her be "not Roke" (Earthsea's famous school for wizards being closed to women anyway). Moreover, after Ogion's peaceful death beneath an open sky several days later, the child Therru turns out to be completely ambivalent to the prospect of studying the ancient books of magic Ogion had spent his life collecting, or learning the "true names" of the rocks and trees which surround his home.
Not understanding what else to do, Tenar instead opts to teach Therru the most useful things she can, instructing this child in how to keep goats, spin wool, and chant the seasonal songs she and the other residents of the nearby village sing at local festivals. Later in the novel, Tenar describes the dilemma she faces, in the process reflecting on the humble path that her own life took in the wake of the "adventure" that encompassed the events of The Tombs of Atuan.
"But I should be teaching her" Tenar thought, distressed. "Teach her all Ogion said, and what am I teaching her? Cooking and spinning?" And then another part of her mind said in Goha's voice, "And are those not true arts? Needful and noble? Is wisdom all words?" (p.148)
Yet this dilemma forms only one part of Tehanu's narrative. Several days after Ogion dies, the dragon Kalessin appears on the horizon carrying the wizard Ged. Catatonic from exhaustion after the events of the previous book in the series, The Farthest Shore, Ged has expended the last of his magic to heal an unnatural rift in the barrier between the realms of life and death. Now having relinquished his title as Archmage of Roke, Ged has chosen to seek refuge on the island of Gont on which he was born. Nursed back to health under Tenar's care, he awakens to the bleak reality that as an elderly man with no meaningful skills to speak of, he now faces a future where the power, status, and authority he once commanded as Earthsea's greatest wizard is permanently beyond his reach.
True to his down-to-earth character in earlier books, Ged makes the most of his new situation, but his efforts to assume the humble life that his mentor Ogion famously (or, according to some, infamously) cherished are complicated when the main protagonist of the previous novel, Prince Lebannen, also arrives on Gont. Soon to be anointed King of Earthsea, Lebannen wishes for Ged (a man who had previously guided him back through no less than the barrier between life and death itself), to attend his upcoming coronation, and assume the coveted role of his royal advisor.
Lebannen's good intensions force Ged to choose between two bewildering futures. In one, he struggles through life in a state of relative poverty that might at least afford him some semblance of peace, while in another he faces a life of opulent luxury whose authority nonetheless will forever remind him of the real power and status he has lost along with his magic.
This dilemma is complicated still further by the arrival of other wizards from Earthsea's school of Roke, all of whom come to the island of Gont searching not for Ged, but for an answer to a bewildering prophecy that was meant to predict who should be Ged's successor as Roke's next Archmage. Rather than selecting one of the famous school's esteemed teachers, the prophecy instead spoke simply of "a woman on Gont."
Yet for the duration of Tehanu, all of these events remain largely in the background of the story. Instead, the primary focus of the book is Therru's gradual emotional recovery from the abuse she seems to have endured before Tenar took her in--an abuse which is deliberately never spoken of. Slowly, via Tenar's skillful guidance and down-to-earth outlook, Therru begins engaging with the world around her, and taking joy in the simple tasks of daily life.
Review
The events of Tehanu occur in the forefront of what would normally be characterized as a much larger story concerning the future of Earthsea and its institutions, and this only strengthens what seems to be the book's core theme--a challenge to the basic duality assumed to exist regarding stories of people who have power over others, and the supposedly simpler stories of people who in one way or another are construed to be powerless. Where as previous novels in the Earthsea series focused primarily (though also to be clear not exclusively) on the generally male authority figures of Earthsea, Tehanu represents a very overt attempt by Le Guin to reposition the vantage point from which these stories could be told.
Many of the more memorable scenes in Tehanu take this change of perspective as their fundamental subject, and explore the ways in which ostensibly wise characters are suddenly revealed to be hopelessly entangled in their own egos and status. One example, for instance, comes when Tenar happens to encounter an outwardly kind village wizard called Beech, and thinks to ask him what exactly Ogion might have meant when he instructed that she teach Therru "all, but not of Roke."
Upon hearing Ogion's cryptic advice, Beech immediately jumps to the simplest possible interpretation of Ogion's words--assuming that Ogion had hoped that Therru might become a village witch (an occupation which in the world of Earthsea is looked on by many as at best a minor crime, and at worst an indication of evil intent). What's worse is that Beech makes it clear in the passage that follows the exact extent to which he feels a child like Therru has little if any place in the world thanks to the scars she now bears on her face (scars which Beech feels make it unlikely she will ever find a husband when she grows up). Specifically, he says of Ogion's words:
"He meant that learning of Roke--the High Arts--wouldn't be suitable for a girl" he explained. "Let alone one so handicapped. But if he said to teach her all but that lore, it would seem that he too saw her way might be the witches way." He pondered again, more cheerfully, having got the weight of Ogion's opinion on his side. "In a year or two, when she's quite strong, and grown a bit more, you might think about asking Ivy to begin teaching her a bit." (p.197)
This passage is interesting not only because it demonstrates an implicit sexism on Beech's part, but also in that it explores how this sexism manifests for Beech as a strange sort of misplaced kindness. Acknowledging that Therru will likely be a social outcast due to the ways in which her injuries have left her face disfigured, Beech is nonetheless incapable of conceptualizing a life for this child that exists outside of the dichotomy of "esteemed wizard" and "village witch."
A similar though somewhat more dramatic example of these themes takes place when Tenar finds herself confronted by the egotistical wizard Aspen. In contrast to Beech's well-meaning ignorance, Aspen harbors a deep-seated resentment against Tenar--angered that a so-called "farmer's widow" heard the last words of a wizard as powerful as Ogion. Eventually, Aspen's resentment grows so strong that he corners Tenar and prepares to place a deadly curse on her.
His actions are interrupted only when envoys who have accompanied Prince Lebannen to Gont happen onto the scene, and promptly intercede on Tenar's behalf. Skillfully redirecting Aspen's anger with a banal politeness, these men effectively save Tenar's life, yet they do so in such a way that also legitimizes Aspen's threat of violence. After the altercation, the text reads:
She went on down the road to Re Albi at last, shaken by the shock and the change of things, the wizard's flying hatred, and her own angry contempt, her terror at the sudden knowledge of his will and power to do her harm, the sudden end of that terror in the refuge offered by the envoys of the king.[...]She turned to look back. The two envoys were walking up the road with the wizard Aspen. They seemed to be conversing with him amicably as if nothing had happened.That sank her surge of hopeful trust a bit. To be sure, they were courtiers. It wasn't their business to quarrel, or to judge and disapprove. And he was a wizard, and their host's wizard. Still, she thought, they needn't have walked and talked with him quite so comfortably. (p.144)
Similar to how Beech shows even his own attempts at kindness to be rooted in an entrenched social hierarchy, this passage demonstrates the way in which the actions of the envoys who save Tenar's life still take place within an established set of norms and cultural expectations predicated on maintaining a status quo. The implication is that the actions of the envoys are not so much altruistic as they are an effort to save face, and avoid having Aspen "make a scene" by causing Tenar harm.
However, equally interesting are the few moments in Tehanu where characters from earlier books are revealed to be just as humble and wise as they were originally depicted. Ged is one such example, with the story of how he struggles to accept his own loss of magic treated by Le Guin with a surprisingly subtle compassion--his grief more akin to an artist deprived of their art rather than someone pining for lost power.
Something similar is true with Ogion, whose continual skepticism of Roke (first demonstrated in his reluctance to send Ged to this school back in A Wizard of Earthsea) is here paralleled with the odd conviction he seems to have held that whatever vital wisdom Therru needs to be taught, Tenar is just as qualified to teach it to her as he was. Meanwhile, even in spite of how his envoys treat Tenar, Prince Lebannen himself holds the ambiguous but significant distinction of being the only male character in the novel of considerable social status and authority who is willing to listen to Tenar, and consider her his equal.
These odd moments often appear suddenly, and are almost startling in how they contrast with the surrounding landscape of the story. Yet they also deepen the novel's examination of its subject by distancing the book from the simplistic thesis statement that things like sexism would instantly vanish if people were simply nicer to one another. Characters like Ged and Ogion clearly possess the wisdom to view Tenar as an equal, and yet they alone are also incapable of commanding others in authority to abandon their own prejudices.
Similarly, while Lebannen's willingness to acknowledge Tenar is genuine, these actions are also shown to be ineffective due to the clumsy way in which his status as soon-to-be king of Earthsea distances him from Tenar's and Therru's lives. Characters like Lebannen, Ged, and Ogion are perfectly respectful toward Tenar, and yet while their respect is by no means meaningless, it is also not in and of itself presented as the sole solution to the broader social issues which Le Guin is exploring.
Concluding Thoughts
While Tehanu does represent a significant change in storytelling philosophy for Le Guin, the underlying issues that the book explores ultimately fit very neatly into the themes of the larger Earthsea series. While novels like A Wizard of Earthsea or The Farthest Shore did ostensibly fall into the conventional male-centric "hero's journey," almost from its basic conception the Earthsea series was a story about questioning clear delineations between set categories and perspectives. Even the title of the fantasy world that Le Guin created in this series was a combination of two seemingly opposite terms (Earth + Sea), while the magic system of Earthsea (an ancient language of true names by which the forces of nature can be given commands) was never treated by Le Guin in absolute terms. As one character remarked in an earlier book, even the drops of water in the ocean cease to know their names if you sail far enough over the horizon, to which another character replied by suggesting that perhaps the drops of water over the horizon simply have different names.
In light of this open-minded sentiment, it only seems natural that Le Guin would one day turn the focus of her Earthsea stories to the assumed dualities existing even within her fictional society, and in so doing place at the forefront of her narrative the many people whom the fantasy genre at large has been too eager to overlook.
In short, even before Le Guin set out to overtly adopt feminist themes and perspectives into her fiction, the underlying philosophy of her work still encompassed a set of ideas questioning the rigidity of social hierarchies and systems of thought. In Tehanu, Le Guin doesn't so much negate her earlier work as continue it from a new perspective, and the result is a complicated and nuanced story that balances the prior journeys of Ged and Lebannen with the new ones embodied by Tenar and Therru in one single novel.
Ultimately, Tehanu is a story which questions whether these contrasting narratives truly are as incompatible as they outwardly seem, and in the process finds an entirely new story that would have otherwise been left untold.