Now I truly understand the reason why I have such a profound love for these stories, despite the fact that they may lack the grandeur of epic magic or the intricate details of a fully realized world. It is because they offer a sense of comfort. Her books possess a unique charm that is both magical and deeply humane. They are short and subtle, yet they manage to leave a lasting impression, reaching the very core of my heart.

And, of course, another part of the reason is that I don't believe I have ever felt such an intense admiration for an author as a person. She seemed to have an abundance of respect for all human beings and possessed a remarkable depth in her thoughts. How I wish I had known about her before her passing.

Ursula K. Le Guin wrote stories and fables that didn't need to be novels to hold great significance. She demonstrated that page count does not necessarily equate to the value of a work.

As she so beautifully put it in the quoted passage: "Nothing is immortal. But only to us is it given to know that we must die. And that is a great gift: the gift of selfhood. For we have only what we know we must lose, what we are willing to lose. That selfhood which is our torment, and our treasure, and our humanity, does not endure."

"In our minds, lad. In our minds. The traitor, the self; the self that cries I want to live; let the world burn so long as I can live!"

"When I was young, I had to choose between the life of being and the life of doing. And I leapt at the latter like a trout to a fly. But each deed you do, each act, binds you to itself and to its consequences, and makes you act again and yet again. Then very seldom do you come upon a space, a time like this, between act and act, when you may stop and simply be. Or wonder who, after all, you are.”

Her words continue to resonate and inspire, inviting us to reflect on the nature of life, self, and our place in the world.

As is often the case with Le Guin's works, the plot progression isn't her forte. Instead, it's more about the cumulative experiences and discussions that the characters engage in, if that makes sense. So, while this particular book has a more cliched plot compared to others of hers that I've read, there are, as always, several truly wonderful moments and profound insights. She delves further into the themes of balance and equilibrium, carrying on the conversation from "A Wizard of Earthsea". Here, Earthsea is being overwhelmed by a sense of greyness, a complete absence of joy, courage, or conviction. Sparrowhawk sets out to address the problem, but as he is growing older, the philosophical aspects naturally deal with balancing life and death, finding a successor to continue the fight, and understanding the value of one's own life, among other things.

In particular, I was quite taken by some of her musings on life, death, and rebirth. It seems to imply that the very reason we cherish and relish life is because we are aware that our time is limited and we will eventually die. If we were immortal, would we truly say, "Ah, now I can finally have the time to do all those things I should do and the things I've wanted to do"? I'm concerned that I might instead say, "Ah, now I don't have to feel guilty about sitting on the couch reading trashy fantasy novels all day because I know I'll have all the time in the world to do everything I want to do... later." And perhaps then I would descend into a state of greyness and never do anything interesting again. The knowledge of our mortality (and, for that matter, deadlines in general) is what propels us to keep moving, acting, and living.

Of course, that's not the entire picture. I'm aware that my parents left Communist-era Poland because greyness can also stem from a system that offers no outlets for individual passion and ambition (beyond currying favor with the rulers). If you'll receive the same rewards regardless of how hard you work, there's no incentive to put in the effort. This will kill any desire to take pride in your work, without which nothing truly good can be accomplished. Le Guin also points this out: "For discipline is the channel in which our acts run strong and deep; where there is no direction, the deeds of men run shallow and wander and are wasted."

Sure, I may be reading more into it than perhaps she explicitly intended. But in that case, the fact that it got me thinking makes it a rather good book, doesn't it?

Next up: Tehanu

Son bölümler hatırına puanı artırıyorum. Başlar zorladı ama dili de hoşuma gittiğinden çok takılmadan okudum. Ana üçleme sona erdi, bakalım kalanlar nasıl olacak.

The story started off a bit tough, but as I got into it, I really liked the language and was able to read it without much difficulty. Now that the main trilogy has ended, I'm curious to see how the remaining parts will be.

I'm looking forward to seeing what new adventures and challenges the author has in store for the characters. Will they face even greater obstacles? Or will they find a way to overcome their difficulties and achieve their goals?

No matter what happens, I'm sure it will be an exciting read. I can't wait to find out!

To my mind, this is the best of the series so far.

It harks back to book 1, yet it takes the story much further. Geographically, it ventures to the farthest shore of Earthsea, and it also delves into the end of Ged’s career.

The writer has ingeniously created a companion for him on his quest. This companion is not only brilliantly conceived but also provides the perfect foil, adding depth and complexity to the narrative.

The climax and the epilogue are tremendously moving. They showcase Le Guin as a great writer, capable of excelling in any genre. Her ability to craft a story that engages the reader on multiple levels and evokes powerful emotions is truly remarkable.

This installment of the series is a must-read for fans of the genre and anyone who appreciates masterful storytelling.

I firmly believe that young people should give more attention to reading Earthsea rather than just focusing on Harry Potter. Earthsea offers a profound and thought-provoking exploration of various themes that are essential for personal growth and understanding. It delves into the complex emotions and challenges related to confronting the fear of death, which is a universal experience that everyone must face at some point in their lives.

The story also examines the themes of greed and immortality, highlighting the negative consequences that can arise from an excessive pursuit of these desires. It teaches us the importance of humility and respecting the land, emphasizing our connection to the natural world and the need to care for it. Additionally, Earthsea encourages us to divest from power and instead focus on inner strength and wisdom.

By reading Earthsea, young people can gain a deeper understanding of themselves and the world around them. It can inspire them to think critically about their values and beliefs, and to make more conscious choices in their lives. So, I encourage all young people to pick up a copy of Earthsea and embark on this remarkable literary journey.

For a book that delves into such abstract concepts, The Farthest Shore presents its ideas in a much more comprehensive manner than others in the series.

While A Wizard of Earthsea reached its meaning through a moment of pure epiphany, and The Tombs of Atuan illustrated its own through the personal angst of Tenar, this installment of the saga repeatedly summarizes its message in both passages and speeches that are scattered throughout the story.

Nevertheless, even though Le Guin leaves little subtext to uncover, she is always able to offer thought-provoking observations, regardless of how directly she presents them. It is an impressive accomplishment considering how much adventure she manages to pack in.

The waters of Le Guin's fantasy world are vast, and this culture of raft people has always been regarded as a mere myth. When Sparrowhawk and Arren get to know them, they begin to understand just how far removed from civilization they truly are.

The people in this floating village are unconcerned with any of the problems on land. Their concerns mainly revolve around marriages, pregnancies, and the general琐事 that make up their daily lives.

It is not that the purity they represent stems from their unfamiliarity with sorrow. On the contrary, if a storm strikes, they are all too aware that countless among them will be lost. However, the way in which they accept the reality of death is so peaceful that they can hardly envision fighting against a threat like the one Sparrowhawk and Arren come to encounter.

This contrast between life and death lies at the heart of The Farthest Shore. The islands and the sea have always served as a metaphor for it, and the placement of the raft communities within this idea demonstrates just how much can be understood about a culture of people by examining their relationship with their own mortality.

After all, they float atop an abyss that could claim their lives if the weather turns, yet they continue to exist as they do, content that no matter what happens, things will unfold as they should. Of course, this mindset has been present in the series from the very beginning.

It is heavily influenced by Le Guin's abiding interest in Taoism, a philosophy that emphasizes humility as a means of achieving harmony with the unpredictable rhythms of the universe, and you can see hints of it again in the growth of Sparrowhawk's young companion.

Although there are sequels beyond the original Earthsea trilogy, it would be another seventeen years before Ursula K. Le Guin set out to write them. In the time following The Farthest Shore's publication, she was beginning to reevaluate her views on feminism and how they conflicted with the choices she made in her fiction.

So, despite the fact that the saga would continue, it is worthwhile to examine what made this book work as a conclusion. Coming of age stories are some of the oldest forms of fiction. Whether told in the guise of an ancient myth or a modern superhero film, they often serve as a benchmark for the ideals that a person should strive for.

Nonetheless, rather than simply using the standard events of these stories as a means to give her wizard something to do, Le Guin once again crafted a layered fable that connected theme, plot, and character to become more than just a superficial empowerment narrative.

The lessons within The Farthest Shore's pages bring to light elements that were always present in the series but never at the forefront, such that a reading of the book can help you discover elements in the previous installments that might not have seemed so crucial before.

(Don't forget to check out the full video analysis: https://youtu.be/pclsfdelZXQ )

I don't really know what there is to say about a book that managed to evoke both some of the most difficult moments and the most wonderful moments I've ever experienced.

The discussions of death, depression, and suicide are intense and very real. It's as if you can feel the weight of those emotions pressing down on you. Yet, at the same time, the moments of beauty are equally powerful.

Late in the book, Arren thinks to himself, "I do not care what comes after; I have seen the dragons on the wind of morning." When I read that, I immediately recognized that feeling of breathless appreciation. It's the kind of feeling I have only ever known to be prompted by the perfect moment in nature or truly great art.

Le Guin was, without a doubt, both a great artist and a great appreciator of the beauty in life. Her ability to capture these complex emotions and vivid images is truly remarkable. And both of these qualities are very apparent in this book. It's a work that will stay with you long after you've turned the last page, making you think about life, death, and everything in between.

Hm. This book truly felt like an epilogue to Wizard of Earthsea. It shared the same profound themes, the same overall concept of a quest that lacked a clear direction, and the same moments of glorious discovery.

CONTENT WARNING: (no actual spoilers, just a list of topics. Perhaps a slight spoiler for Wizard of Earthsea) This entire series seems to be deeply intertwined with the theme of death. Its nature is explored in great detail. Additionally, the theme of addiction is also present.

Things to love:

- The writing. Ursula K. Le Guin's writing is simply amazing. Her words have the power to transport readers to another world and make them feel as if they are a part of the story. What more needs to be said about her talent?

- Ged. Poor, serious Ged is a wonderful character. He works so hard just to exist and find his place in the world. Although he may seem somewhat distant in this book, his presence is still felt and his journey is engaging.

- The quest. The adventure part of the story was great fun. It took readers on a thrilling journey through different lands and introduced them to a variety of interesting characters.

Things that weren't up to par:

- The story. It was very similar to Wizard of Earthsea, but with an additional character tagging along. This made it feel a bit derivative and lacking in originality.

- The conclusion. It was rather abrupt and seemed to tread the same themes as the previous books in the series. It left some readers feeling unsatisfied and longing for more.

Overall, the book was enjoyable and quick to read. It was better than Tombs, but it also felt like the seed of an idea or an offshoot of an old one that could have been more fully developed and integrated into the rest of the series.

It's truly an arduous task for me to pen a review for this book. From the very beginning to the end, this book has dramatically altered my perception of it.

At the outset, as I delved into it, I was really captivated by how the story was unfolding. However, then Le Guin commences introducing a plethora of philosophy in the middle. At that moment, I was left wondering what on earth was going on? What was I reading? Was this a fantasy or a philosophical tome? But she manages to tie everything together masterfully at the end, such that I devoured this book in just three days.

I truly gleaned numerous insights from the story she was endeavoring to convey. For instance, how death is crucial in understanding the value of life, or the nature of the relationship between a master and his disciple. Also, how when one is young, they tend to take things head-on without even considering the ultimate consequences it will lead to. But as one grows older and wiser, they start to realize the folly of it all and ultimately desire only peace.

The story of this book is rather straightforward and can be expounded upon in a few lines. But I believe Le Guin is attempting to convey a great deal in the subtext, which is the significant aspect of this book and what appealed to me so profoundly and transformed my perception.

The elements that appealed to me in this book are:

1. Ged

2. Relationship between Ged & Arren

Let me now elaborate on the above points.

1. Ged

The Ged we encountered in the first book and the one presented to us in this book is a completely transformed character. What we initially witnessed was a wizard who was eager to take on the world and thought the approach of his master Ogion was lacking for a wizard.

But now, when we meet him in this story at the age of forty, he realizes that his actions not only impact him but also those around him. Consequently, he is reluctant to use magic for everything and is concerned about the equilibrium of magic in this world.

Although he has become a preeminent mage of his guild, he longs for the peace that Ogion offered at the start of the first book and often contemplates what his life could have been if he had followed in the footsteps of his master. Gone is the Ged we first met, and I truly adored how Le Guin has portrayed him in this book.

2. Relationship between Ged & Arren

The story commences when Prince Arren of Enlad is dispatched by his father to the island of Roke to apprise the guild of magicians regarding some disconcerting news in his land. His father has instructed him to do whatever is necessary to find a solution to the crisis they are facing and has given him only a sword of their inheritance, which is magical as it cannot be used for killing.

When Arren crosses paths with Ged, he perceives a powerful wizard who can assist him and swears an oath to him. Thus begins a journey that will truly put the oath Arren has sworn to Ged to the test.

The relationship between Ged and Arren was, for me, the most outstanding part of the book.

I rate this book 4/5 stars, and I firmly believe that this book far surpasses the first two books in the series.

People often like to discuss "The Golden Compass" as the atheistic counterpart to C. S. Lewis' Narnia series. However, Ursula Le Guin's series has a much stronger claim to this title. In these books, the most incisive critiques of religion and the most compelling arguments for humanism are presented.

In the first book, the greatest adversary lies within the protagonist, who must confront and name his darkest self to overcome it. Old powers are omnipresent, and fear is their weapon. This is replicated in the second book, where religion is depicted as the worship of darkness and fear. Throughout, the wizards' power stems from knowing names, which corresponds to science.

But it is the final book that most poignantly attempts to convey the problems that Le Guin associates with religion. In this book, people lose their joy in life as their longing for eternal life intensifies. The protagonist has to persuade his friends to turn back from the brink of abandoning life and sanity in their pursuit of eternal life and engage in a battle with the one who makes such promises. It is a captivating book, with simple sentences painted into vivid pictures. In one especially memorable passage, the wizard of Earthsea visits a city rife with addictions, overcome by greed, and ruled by chaos. For students of the modern city, the description rings true. One could visit Atlantic City or, instead, read the book.

Anyway, I had to thoroughly consider the thematic implications of this book. It is indeed the case that for a long time, faith in an afterlife has led many Christians to doubt the goodness of this life. Examples abound, and I find the Shakers, with their prohibition of sex, particularly relevant. Recent interpretations of Paul suggest that this was not the intention of the early church; rather, it was about the redemption, not the discarding, of this creation. Jesus was not raised as a spirit but as a body. To quote Bryan Appleyard interviewing Marilynne Robinson, "sitting in a 'porch swing', a hanging sofa, swings continuously for two hours. The sounds, the swinging, and the damp, dim light make me feel we have been sitting here forever. In a way, in Robinson's faith, we have, for here is heaven. 'In Revelations, what is promised is a new heaven and a new earth...' she says, 'which sort of suggests what we have here... I would not ask for more. It's a vastly more moving idea to me than the idea of pearly gates. I mean, this' - she sweeps her hand in a gesture that takes in the house and the deep green, soaking garden - 'would be heaven enough for me.'"

Therefore, I can view this as an honest critique of what faith often becomes, but not of what it should be.

I truly wish that this trilogy was not over. I would rank it among the top five fantasy series I have ever read.

It really surprises me, and not a little, that many people say they abandon Terramar. I know that tastes vary, but ever since I have delved into its stories, I see so many current references to them. I am deeply moved when learning its myths. Reading about it fills me a great deal.

Terramar seems to have a certain allure that draws me in. The rich tapestry of its tales and the way they connect to the present make it a fascinating subject. Each time I explore its myths, I discover new layers of meaning and significance.

Perhaps those who abandon Terramar simply haven't taken the time to truly understand its depth. Or maybe they have different interests and preferences. But for me, it is a source of inspiration and wonder. I will continue to explore and learn from its stories, and I hope more people will give it a chance to touch their hearts and minds as it has mine.

This is the third book in the Earthsea Cycle, which brings the trilogy to a close, although the captivating tales of Earthsea persist in subsequent volumes. The narrative commences years after the conclusion of the second book. Ged, now middle-aged, has ascended to become the Archmage of Roke, the epicenter of wizardry in that world, housing a school for trainees. Roke is secluded yet well safeguarded against hostile incursions. However, this offers little solace to Ged when he learns that wizards in other regions of Earthsea have lost their magic and the incantations to invoke it. This news reaches him via a messenger, a young prince named Arren, who has journeyed far to convey it. Ged discerns something in the young man, just as Arren perceives something entirely different in Ged. Together, they embark on a quest to uncover the truth behind what afflicts the wizards of Earthsea and the possible cause of what appears to be a plague, despite the warnings of the other wizards of Roke, who fear for Ged's safety. But as Ged explains to Arren during their travels, he has chosen a life of action over a life of passivity.

During their arduous journey to discover the truth about the disappearance of magic in Earthsea, Arren and Ged encounter a plethora of challenges. They come across fearsome dragons, men ensnared by a viscous mind-eating drug, hostile primitives, and people inhabiting a town floating upon the sea. Their odyssey will take them to the farthest reaches that the living can venture and perhaps even beyond. Along the way, Arren matures and Ged completes a full circle during a quest that will put their physical and mental strength to the test.

I truly relished the dynamic interplay between Arren and Ged, between youth and age, which the author later deftly twists into something unexpected, eschewing clichés. Arren is passionate and impetuous, in contrast to Ged's near stoicism and steadiness. At one juncture during their journey to uncover the root of the evil plaguing Earthsea, Arren becomes frustrated with Ged's wait-and-see philosophy rather than him utilizing his magical powers. In response to Arren's challenge to act, Ged states, "Do you see, Arren, how an act is not, as young men think, like a rock that one picks up and throws, and it hits or misses, and that's the end of it. When that rock is lifted, the earth is lighter; the hand that bears it heavier. When it is thrown, the circuits of the stars respond, and where it strikes or falls the universe is changed. On every act the balance of the whole is changed..." To this, Arren retorts, "But then, is the balance to be kept by doing nothing? Surely a man must act, even not knowing all the consequences of his act, if anything is to be done at all." "Never fear," Ged replies. "It is much easier for men to act than to refrain from acting. We will continue to do good and to do evil."

I often forget that these books in the Earthsea Cycle are targeted at middle school-aged individuals since they are as engaging as books for adults. They are books with profound themes to contemplate amidst the quiet manifestations of magic, so they are not suitable for those seeking non-stop action. The wizards of Earthsea learn their craft to serve their communities. They assist in making the crops and herds thrive. They tend to the sick when possible. They summon creatures or change form for the greater good and not for personal glory. The allure of these books lies not in their destination but in the journey, which is paved with poetic, rhythmic language that both soothes and astonishes. It is interspersed throughout the book but never intrudes to the extent that it overshadows the characters and plot. Here are two passages that I particularly savored:

"Golden and supple, the boy played and basked in the water and the light until the sun touched the sea. And dark and spare, with the economy of gesture and the terse strength of age, the man swam, and kept the boat on course, and rigged up an awning of sailcloth, and watched the swimming boy and the flying fish with an impartial tenderness."

"Darkness came, and light again, and dark, and light, like drumbeats on the tight-stretched canvas of the sky."

As I previously mentioned, this book is not for everyone. Like the previous books in the series, it demands patience and an open heart and mind. I was saddened to see this book conclude, even though the story continues in other volumes. If you wish to read the first three books and conclude there, I can assure you that they form a self-contained trilogy, ending on a beautiful, bittersweet note.