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The Other Wind (The Earthsea Cycle Series Book 6) Kindle Edition
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Alder seeks advice from Ged, once Archmage. Ged tells him to go to Tenar, Tehanu, and the young king at Havnor. They are joined by amber-eyed Irian, a fierce dragon able to assume the shape of a woman.
The threat can be confronted only in the Immanent Grove on Roke, the holiest place in the world, and there the king, hero, sage, wizard, and dragon make a last stand.
Le Guin combines her magical fantasy with a profoundly human, earthly, humble touch.
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"Ursula K. Le Guin creates imaginary worlds that restore us, hearts eased, to our own."-The Boston Globe
Praise for Tales from Earthsea
"A treasure . . . It is at the top of any list of fantasy to be cherished."
-Andre Norton, author of Witch World
"Stellar . . . A triumphant return to the magic-drenched world of Earthsea . . .
Le Guin is still at the height of her powers, a superb stylist with a knack for creating characters who are both wise and deeply humane. A major event in fantasy literature."-Publishers Weekly (starred)
"Richly told. . . . Le Guin hasn't lost her touch. She draws us into the magical land and its inhabitants' doings immediately."-Booklist
Praise for THE TELLING
"Le Guin presents a literary masterpiece that is heartwarming, life-affirming, and touching."-The Christian Science Monitor
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
"Hello," the traveler said, and after a while said it again a bit louder.
The leaves shook and the man came briskly down the ladder. He carried a handful of plums, and when he got off the ladder he batted away a couple of bees drawn by the juice. He came forward, a short, straight-backed man, grey hair tied back from a handsome, timeworn face. He looked to be seventy or so. Old scars, four white seams, ran from his left cheekbone down to the jaw. His gaze was clear, direct, intense. "They're ripe," he said, "though they'll be even better tomorrow." He held out his handful of little yellow plums.
"Lord Sparrowhawk," the stranger said huskily. "Archmage."
The old man gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. "Come into the shade," he said.
The stranger followed him, and did what he was told: he sat down on a wooden bench in the shade of the gnarled tree nearest the house; he accepted the plums, now rinsed and served in a wicker basket; he ate one, then another, then a third. Questioned, he admitted that he had eaten nothing that day. He sat while the master of the house went into it, coming out presently with bread and cheese and half an onion. The guest ate the bread and cheese and onion and drank the cup of cold water his host brought him. The host ate plums to keep him company.
"You look tired. How far have you come?"
The old man's expression was hard to read. He said only, "I wouldn't have guessed that."
"I'm from Taon, lord. I went from Taon to Roke. And there the Lord Patterner told me I should come here. To you."
It was a formidable gaze.
"Because you walked across the dark land living..." The stranger's husky voice died away.
The old man picked up the words: "And came to the far shores of the day. Yes. But that was spoken in prophecy of the coming of our King, Lebannen."
"You were with him, lord."
"I was. And he gained his kingdom there. But I left mine there. So don't call me by any title. Hawk, or Sparrowhawk, as you please. And how shall I call you?"
The man murmured his use-name: "Alder."
Food and drink and shade and sitting down had clearly eased him, but he still looked exhausted. He had a weary sadness in him; his face was full of it.
The old man had spoken to him with a hard edge in his voice, but that was gone when he said, "Let's put off talking for a bit. You've sailed near a thousand miles and walked fifteen uphill. And I've got to water the beans and the lettuce and all, since my wife and daughter left the garden in my charge. So rest a while. We can talk in the cool of the evening. Or the cool of the morning. There's seldom as much hurry as I used to think there was."
When he came back by half an hour later his guest was flat on his back asleep in the cool grass under the peach trees.
The man who had been Archmage of Earthsea stopped with a bucket in one hand and a hoe in the other and looked down at the sleeping stranger.
"Alder," he said under his breath. "What's the trouble you bring with you, Alder?"
It seemed to him that if he wanted to know the man's true name he would know it only by thinking, by putting his mind to it, as he might have done when he was a mage.
But he did not know it, and thinking would not give it to him, and he was not a mage.
He knew nothing about this Alder and must wait to be told. "Never trouble trouble," he told himself, and went on to water the beans.
--from The Other Wing by Ursula K. Le Guin, Copyright © 2003, Ace Books, a member of The Penguin Group, Inc., used by permission.--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
- ASIN : B004H1U22E
- Publisher : Clarion Books; Reissue edition (September 13, 2001)
- Publication date : September 13, 2001
- Language : English
- File size : 8775 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Print length : 266 pages
- Lending : Not Enabled
- Best Sellers Rank: #70,363 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- Customer Reviews:
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Top reviews from the United States
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Also, It’s important to read tales of Earthsea before this one. I was a bit confused and almost read this one first, but you have to read this one last.
The book did start out great. With some more editorial guidance, something really great could have been achieved.
Top reviews from other countries
The thing that struck me once I’d finished this book was that it felt unnecessary. LeGuin seems to have written it to retcon the nature of death in Earthsea, making the Dry Land of the dead into a perversion of the natural cycle of reincarnation, a prison for the dead who suffer there, but in “The Farthest Shore” Ged says that the ghosts in the Dry Land are merely shadows and names; the people those things belonged to are reborn in the world of the living. LeGuin retconned this to devote a whole book to the assertion that because death exists, it is necessary and better than eternal life. And if you take that claim solely within the context of Earthsea this is true because LeGuin made the only alternative an eternity of stasis devoid of human connection, but she clearly wanted to write something profound and true about the real world, and I cannot say she succeeded. Not only does her argument lack applicability to the real world (and present no meaningful difference between reincarnation and straightforward death), LeGuin doesn’t seem to realise she refutes it. In a scene near the climax, the Summoner of Roke says, “But it is not right to want to die… For the very old, the very ill, it may be. But life is given us. Surely it’s wrong not to hold and treasure that great gift!” To which Lebannen replies, “Death also is given us,” but you’re not obliged to keep or use a gift if you don’t want it.
Which isn’t to say this book lacks anything of value; it is an Ursula LeGuin story after all and she could always write well. The characterisation’s mostly good as well; I was touched by Tenar’s pleasure in having someone to speak her native language with, and her relationship with Tehanu was well done. I also liked the wizard Onyx: his respect for Alder and Seppel as fellow magic-users in spite of Alder’s lower social status and the stigma of Seppel’s magical tradition was nicely endearing. Lebannen comes across better than in his previous appearances in that we see bits of him being a wise king, and his frustration with the Kargish princess dumped on him as a fiancée, while not pleasant, is at least sympathetic as the reaction of someone constrained as he is.
That said, he might just be frustrated with the problematic aspects Seserakh brings with her: she comes from a Kargish culture that feels very much like a Middle-Eastern stereotype. Her people are native to a desert and have extreme patriarchy (Tenar suggests Seserakh’s father might kill her if Lebannen rejects her as a bride, and Seserakh veils herself in the presence of men); if it weren’t for the fact that the Kargs are white I’d assume it was straightforward racism, but with this and in light of the previous books it feels more like LeGuin’s desire to critique the patriarchy, her previously-established worldbuilding, and her desire to avoid fantasy’s typical Eurocentrism all converged to produce these weird uncomfortable implications. (I am white, though, so it’s not like I have any kind of definitive opinion on this.) Then there’s how thinking about Seserakh causes Tenar to slip into a whole paragraph of the kind of gender essentialist rubbish I thought she’d got past in Tehanu, and the conflation of going unveiled with confidence and fearlessness, which… I’ve read the words of Muslim women on wearing veils and all I can say is that I don’t get the impression that LeGuin did. The veil thing just gets even more uncomfortable when Lebannen’s friend says “If anyone gave me a package like that… I’d open it.” Why is that line given to someone we’re meant to like? Finally, Seserakh seems to start liking Lebannen on the basis of very little interaction, and it feels like LeGuin was trying too hard to convince us they’d have a happy marriage.
The dragons still aren’t as compelling as Yevaud was in “A Wizard of Earthsea”, but we get a clearer picture of their alien amorality and freedom. We also get a picture of the various cultures of Earthsea working together to solve a problem, and an implication that this example of people with different cultures and worldviews sitting down, talking things through, and cooperating is the template for Earthsea’s future.
“The Other Wind” isn’t as good as the first four books. I’m not sure if it’s better or worse than “Tales From Earthsea”. It is a fitting close to the series, which is good because despite the muddled half-finished state in which she left her examination of Earthsea’s gender politics I think LeGuin had run out of anything new to say here. Ultimately I don’t think I can give it more than three stars – there’s half a good novel in this, but sadly LeGuin wasn’t able to free it from the other half.
You see, "Tehanu" is not the story of that character. It is, almost entirely, the story of Tenar; the female protagonist of "The Tombs of Atuan". It mainly covers what happened to her after the events of that book.
A big part of what Tenar did was adopt the child Tehanu, but in "Tehanu", Tehanu herself is very young and mostly silent. She emerges as a character only at the very end of that book, which - my opinion - has no business being called a 'novel' in it's own right at all.
You need to have read "The Tombs of Atuan" to know who Tenar is and her relationship to Ged. You need to read this book to get the remaining three-quarters of Tehanu's story. Once you have the whole thing, it's wonderful stuff, but you do need to have all of it.
For a long time I thought of her Earthsea novels as a trilogy. But then along came 'Tehanu' to make it a quartet. With 'Tales of Earthsea' I lost track of what to call the series – a quintet? a pentalogy? – maybe just a collection.
Then, just a few weeks ago, I discovered a sixth book, 'The Other Wind'. I had a momentary fear that she might not have kept up the standard for yet another novel in the series, but she has. What’s more, it was a joy to read it so short a time after we lost her – it was as though I could hear her voice in something new, to me, from beyond the grave.
That, by the way, is an apt starting point to think about Earthsea. Because if there’s one characteristic of the cycle (hey, maybe that’s the word to use - I notice that others do) that is striking above all others, it’s her handling of the theme of death. These novels never were just a series of children’s books with a wonderful and whimsical mixture of magic and adventure, but even if they had been, the way she handles this difficult theme sets them way above the run of the mill in that genre.
In the world of Earthsea, certain wizards, and in particular the protagonist Ged have the ability to enter a strange land where a dry and dusty hillside slopes down towards a low dry-stone wall. Beyond it, nothing grows, nothing changes, strange stars hang forever static in the firmament above.
Few indeed are the living who can cross that wall and discover what lies beyond. And if they do, they come away with no edifying picture: the dusty landscape is dotted with silent towns, where the dead wander the streets without joy or hope or love, where even if they meet the great passion of their lives, they pass them by without a spark or even recognition.
In 'The Other Wind', Ursula le Guin returns to this theme and wraps it up for us. At the start of a book, we meet a young man, Alder, not even a wizard, merely a village sorcerer, who has been afflicted with a recurring dream. In it he finds himself at that wall and beyond it stands the wife he loved and lost – and she reaches across to touch him. He even bears the mark of that touch, in waking life.
As the dream returns again and again, more and more people join her, pleading with him to set them free, and trying to tear down the wall.
Now Alder is looking for Ged, who has retired from his role as Archmage and lives as a simple farmer on his native island of Gont. The advice Ged gives him will lead to the assembly of a broad group of disparate beings: wizards of both the main schools of Earthsea, representatives of the main groups of men – and women, for women play a major role in this novel – including the inhabitants of the Kargad lands, with their different mythology, a mythology that casts a vital light on the developments that are perturbing them. And the dragons, too, will join them.
Between them, they set out on the urgent quest to find out why the dead are trying to break down the wall and return to the world of the living, and to find a lasting solution to the fearful difficulty they represent.
The resolution is entirely worthy of Ursula le Guin and, indeed, paints a picture of death consistent with her world outlook. It is a view, indeed, I find much the most comforting in all those we’re offered. For that reason alone the book’s worth reading.
And, as it wraps up a series to which she’s not around to add any more, it acts as a wonderful epitaph.
This is as powerful, beautifully written and enthralling as the original quartet was. Recommended.