This book has firmly secured its place in my top 10 fantasy reads of 2021. To learn more, check out the video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9pwG...

I truly believe that Le Guin is ascending to the ranks of my all-time favorite authors. I have now read six of her books, and not only are they all exquisitely written, but they also have the power to make you think deeply. They touch on profound topics such as race, gender, power, and faith. However, "make" might not be the most accurate word. Her stories are delicate and artfully crafted, handling sensitive topics with finesse and grace, rather than being heavy-handed.

This is my second time reading Tehanu, and I found it much more enjoyable this time around. I think the first time I read it, I was impatient. I craved dragons, Ged casting spells and vanquishing villains, action, and intrigue. But for having such expectations, I was severely disappointed. This time, I approached Tehanu with an open mind and no preconceived notions, and I was richly rewarded with Le Guin's signature elegant prose and some truly meaningful reflections on gender, power, trauma, and empathy.

"Power belongs to men. If women had power, what would men be but women who can't bear children? And what would women be but men who can?"

And yet, this story centers around women and also a man who has lost his power. It delves into how we find purpose in life when our power is taken away, how we find meaning when power is out of our reach, and it explores trauma and empathy through the tragic tale of the titular Tehanu.

It's not a flawless book. The plot, to the extent that it exists, is slow-paced and meandering. It could easily put off those readers who are seeking or expecting something different. But if you approach it with the right mindset, it's yet another beautiful and thought-provoking addition to the Earthsea Cycle.

Story - 6, Language - 9, Ideas - 9, Characters - 8, Enjoyment - 8, Overall - 8

Tehanu is a book that questions the place of women in society. The main theme of the fourth book of Earthsea is women. Ursula Le Guin distances the reader a little from the magic of Earthsea and shows the social aspect of those lands. When texts where gender inequality is predominant combine with magic, a wonderful book has emerged. Now it's time to take a break from the series and digest Le Guin's pen.

Le Guin's exploration of gender roles in Tehanu is both thought-provoking and eye-opening. She delves deep into the experiences and struggles of women in a fictional world, but the parallels to our own society are impossible to ignore. The book forces us to confront the ways in which gender inequality persists and the impact it has on individuals and communities.

By taking a step back from the magic and adventure that typically define the Earthsea series, Le Guin is able to shine a light on a different aspect of this fictional world. This makes Tehanu a unique and valuable addition to the series, one that offers a new perspective and a deeper understanding of the complex issues surrounding gender.

I’m gonna keep this relatively brief considering that this is a review on the fourth book in the series and no spoilers.

What I can say is that Ursula K. Le Guin was truly an author ahead of her time. When Earthsea was being written, she was doing things that nobody else did. This book follows a middle-aged woman, while most fantasy today still focuses on powerful and heroic young people. Here, we have characters well past their prime, trying to survive and deal with the consequences of their past experiences. It’s a brilliant concept.

I also really enjoyed the acknowledgments in my edition. The author clearly explains why she made the choices she did and how she defied the norms of the time. I wish more fantasy authors today would do what Le Guin did thirty years ago. Not to mention that she chose a diverse cast of characters, which was quite remarkable for the time.

The characters in this book are likeable, and the story is easy to follow and refreshing. I haven’t read a large amount of traditional fantasy, as the few I have read are often full of tropes, sexist, and seem like Tolkien clones. This book, however, doesn’t feel that way. The author took risks and did things that weren’t entirely safe, and I appreciate that.

Another thing I like about this book is that it’s hard to classify it into a specific genre. It has adult themes such as grief, trauma, rape, and murder, yet the length is suitable for middle-grade readers and shorter than most YA novels. I think this series can be enjoyed by anyone who is familiar with language and rhetoric, which is great.

Now, these books aren’t my absolute favorites. I’ve read better stories and liked more characters. That’s why I’m giving it a four-star rating, just like the first four Earthsea books. As someone who reads a lot of adult fantasy, I always hope for more depth, detail, and worldbuilding. While there is some depth and detail in this book, the author could have gone further. However, I understand her reasoning for keeping it within a certain target audience.

Overall, I give this book an 8/10.

This is the fantasy book that I've always hoped would be written but thought impossible in the genre. It is a beautifully crafted tale of humanity where the magic and dragons take the back seat.

Even if it isn't the best fantasy you've ever read, to me it's the most perfect fantasy novel. It makes me aspire to be a better reader, a better writer, and a better person.

In 2017, I dedicated so much time to reading ULG that many of the 133 books I read that year began to pale in comparison. I haven't tallied up all the pages, but between the entire Earthsea cycle, all of her novellas, two books of short stories, and a Hainish cycle book, I can firmly say that I'm an Ursula Le Guin acolyte. She is truly a treasure.

The world is a better place because she chose to put pen to paper and share her wisdom and teachings with us.

Rest in peace, Ursula. Your gift to humanity will forever serve as a reminder that we are all made of stars.

Reviewing these books is a rather emotionally complex experience for me.

It's not an easy task as each book holds a unique place in my heart.

However, I must make it clear that if I had the option, I would毫不犹豫地 give Tehanu a whopping 6 stars.

This book has truly touched me in ways I can't fully express.

The story, the characters, and the overall atmosphere it creates are simply captivating.

It has a depth and a beauty that is rare to find in literature.

Every time I pick up Tehanu, I am transported to a world filled with magic, mystery, and profound emotions.

It's a book that I will cherish for a long time and one that I highly recommend to anyone who loves a good read.

Yes, it's obvious this book is written by a woman.

Your point, everybody?

Like, God, do you even understand how many books are "so obviously written by a man?" Historically, nearly all books have been written by men. Certainly most of the Western canon has been. And for most of those, there's no mistaking it: they were written by men, would not have been written by a woman, could not have been written by a woman.

Why? Because in them, female characters are written only as decorations and toys for the male characters, are drawn so vaguely and so stylized that they're barely recognizable as human beings with internal lives and self-driven motivations and needs.

(Let me just... let me just... have you ever read Hemingway? Seriously? Do you think a woman would ever, ever, ever have written a character as ridiculous and pathetic and unreal as Maria in For Whom the Bell Tolls? WHAT A JOKE.)

In any case, I hardly think that's what Le Guin has done here. Yes, she has richly drawn female characters around whom the story centers (can you even deal with it?) but her male characters don't suffer for it. Ged isn't exactly neglected or mistreated by Le Guin. In fact, he seems more complete and deeper and more real in this novel than in The Wizard of Earthsea.

Yes, there are a lot of shitty male characters, too. Of course, there are a lot of shitty men IRL. Them's the breaks.

That's the rant. Anyway, what Le Guin has done with Tehanu is nothing short of remarkable. It's sensitive, well-plotted and paced, sincere and warm and earnest. She treats the reader gently, tenderly, but firmly, and never succumbs to trite cliches. She never chooses the answer that is simply easier, or more exciting, if it reduces the bones of the story to something less honest.

Perfect afterword, too. "Maybe the change coming into Earthsea has something to do with no longer identifying freedom with power, with separating being free from being in control."

And what Le Guin says of the conversation between Moss and Tenar on the difference between men and women:

"Moss is pretty contemptuous of men in general, having been treated by them with contempt all her life. That's all right, and I find her discussion of men's power and women's power harsh, incomplete, but interesting. Then she goes off into an incantatory praise of mysterious female knowledge: 'Who knows where a woman begins or ends? I have roots, I go back into the dark!' And she ends with a rhetorical question- 'Who'll ask the dark its name?'

'I will,' Tenar says. 'I lived long enough in the dark.'

I've often seen Moss's rhapsody quoted with approval. Tenar's fierce answer almost always goes unquoted, unnoticed. Yet it refuses Moss's self-admiring mysticism. And all Tenar's life is in it."

UGH. Le Guin is just so... so together, so conscious, so self-aware.

I truly adored the first three Earthsea books. They were captivating and filled with奇幻元素 that kept me engaged from start to finish. However, this particular book, Tehanu, was just too odd for my taste. I never really paid attention to the fact that the first three books were written by a woman, nor did I care. Additionally, I didn't detect any political or social agendas in the first three books (in the sense of real-world agendas).

Tehanu is extremely strange and difficult to read as it is so vastly different from the first three installments. It really gives the impression that it was written by a woman, with a very prominent undertone of woman's suffrage. Moreover, it delves into very dark themes such as a young girl being raped and the main character's fear of being raped. Since when has rape and sexual fear been a theme in any of these books? It just seems highly unusual and out of place, making it almost unreadable for me. I persevered and read it to the end, constantly hoping that it would eventually transform into a book worthy of the Earthsea series. Alas, I was bitterly disappointed in this author for spoiling what was otherwise a perfectly wonderful fantasy series. It would be analogous to Tolkien penning a fourth Lord of the Rings book about Gandalf's life after his wizarding power has been stripped away and he's afraid of a local orc who taunts him, yet he can do nothing about it (you get the idea). Please safeguard your favorable image of Earthsea and do not read this book.

I've had such an intense and profound hankering to embark on a new fantasy series. The allure of creating a new world filled with magic and wonder is simply irresistible. However, upon further reflection, I then realised that there are six or seven series that I haven't yet finished. The Dark Tower, with its complex and captivating storyline. The Chronicles of Morgain, which weaves a web of mystery and adventure. And How to Train Your Dragon, a charming and heartwarming tale. And so the list goes on, a never-ending catalogue of unfinished literary quests.

But now, I've made a decision. I've decided to continue with a series that I fell in love with long ago. This series is so simple yet so elegant in its narrative. It was written by the queen of science fiction and fantasy herself, Ursula Le Guin. Her words have the power to transport readers to otherworldly realms and make them believe in the impossible. With her masterful storytelling, I know that I'm in for a treat as I delve deeper into this beloved series.

This book stands out as being quite different from the others in the series, despite continuing the plot of The Furthest Shore.

It contains a significant amount of misogyny and violence against women, which is both disturbing and unacceptable. The characters are highly annoying, with their motives and actions often being difficult to fathom and bordering on the stupid.

The endless philosophical discussions about "the nature of men's and women's power" come across as blatantly sexist.

Moreover, the plot itself is dull and entirely predictable, lacking any real excitement or surprises.

Overall, this book fails to live up to the expectations set by the previous installments and is a disappointment in many aspects.

Bello!

The book that I have liked the most so far in the Terramare saga.

The pace is always slow, but there are many interesting ideas.

The women are the real protagonists of the book and show a remarkable strength, like a bulwark against the abuses towards the weakest.

The style is always precise and pleasant and the book - quite short - is read well and quickly.

Little magic, but a lot of inner strength.

Overall, it's a captivating read that keeps you engaged from start to finish.

The characters are well-developed and the story unfolds in a way that makes you want to know more.

Despite the slow pace, there is enough action and drama to keep you on the edge of your seat.

I would highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys fantasy novels with strong female characters and a touch of realism.

It's a great addition to the Terramare saga and I can't wait to see what comes next.

"What cannot be healed must be transcended."


Spoilers follow, as well as some discussion of child sexual abuse.



So What's It About?


Tenar, who was last seen as a teenage girl in The Tombs of Atuan, is now well into middle age and widowhood. After feeling adrift for some time, she discovers a new sense of purpose when she takes in a severely burned little girl named Therru, who was left for dead by her abusive parents. Tenar and Therru settle into a life together, but their routine is once again disrupted when Ged returns to Gont near death and without his magic. What ensues is a profound reflection on the true meaning of power and what it means to live without it.



What I Thought


Very few books have had as much of an impact on me as Tehanu. In my opinion, it is nothing short of brilliant, a quietly transformative and meditatively powerful exploration of some of the most fundamental questions that define my own life. There are three key thematic strands that skillfully weave their way through the narrative of Tehanu, primarily dealing with trauma, gender, and power, and how these three elements are inextricably intertwined.



"What cannot be healed must be transcended."


There are some wrongs that may never be righted, and some hurts that will never fully heal. But if this is the case, how do we still move forward, find meaning in life, and become more than what has been done to us? Perhaps this transcendence looks different for each person. It is how Tenar chose to fight for a normal, peaceful existence with a farm, a husband, and children after the unimaginable darkness of her childhood. It is how Therru takes small, miraculous steps towards feeling safe and expressing herself through play, speech, and trust in adults. It is also how Ged gradually makes sense of his new identity after his entire life has been shattered.



Tehanu makes it clear that the act of causing harm to someone is also an act of exerting power over them. For example, Tenar thinks with rage, "It’s so easy, she thought with rage, it’s so easy for Handy to take the sunlight from her, take the ship and the King and her childhood from her, and it’s so hard to give them back! A year I’ve spent trying to give them back to her, and with one touch he takes them and throws them away. And what good does it do him—what’s his prize, his power? Is power that—an emptiness?" The power achieved through harming others is, as Tenar puts it, "an emptiness." However, even the allure of this empty power is enough for some people to justify their actions against others. What is agonizing about this is how incredibly easy it is to exercise this destructive power, while building true constructive power through love and connection is a delicate process that requires time, vulnerability, and trust.



There is also the issue of the stigma that accompanies trauma. Therru bears the physical marks of what has been done to her, and as a result, people fear and avoid her. They cannot bear the thought of a child being thrown into the flames, raped, or beaten, and they deal with this inability by projecting their fear and disgust onto the survivor rather than the perpetrator. Just as it is easier to tear someone down for empty power, it is easier to blame a victim than to confront a world where parents would be capable of doing what has been done to Therru. I have never loved Tenar more than when she insisted on how wrong this is and told Therru that she is defined by who she is and what she can do, rather than what has been done to her: “You are beautiful," Tenar said in a different tone. "Listen to me, Therru. Come here. You have scars, ugly scars, because an ugly, evil thing was done to you. People see the scars. But they see you, too, and you aren't the scars. You aren't ugly. You aren't evil. You are Therru, and beautiful. You are Therru who can work, and walk, and run, and dance, beautifully, in a red dress.”



Tehanu is equally concerned with questions of masculinity and femininity as it is with questions of trauma. There are several reflections on inherently "masculine" and "feminine" types of power. One of my favorites occurs between Tenar and a witchwoman named Moss. Tenar asks Moss what is wrong with men, and Moss replies, “The best I can say, it's like this. A man's in his skin, see, like a nut in its shell... It's hard and strong, that shell, and it's all full of him. Full of grand man-meat, man-self. And that's all. That's all there is." Moss then goes on to describe women as being completely different, with roots deeper than the island, deeper than the sea, and older than the raising of the lands. She claims that women are from before the moon, and that their power is deeper than the roots of trees and islands, and older than the Making. However, Tenar is not convinced by this view. She responds that the horrors of her childhood were perpetrated entirely by women, which complicates Moss's celebration of pure, mystical female power. Later, Tenar says to Ged, "It seems to me we make up most of the differences, and then complain about ’em." By arguing that we "make up most of the differences," Le Guin supports the idea that sex and gender are largely social constructs that we perpetuate in order to simplify the world into easy, false dichotomies. "Making up most of the differences" also challenges notions of biological essentialism that define certain traits as inherently masculine or feminine.



What is clear, however, is that while gender may have started out as a social construct, it has become an extremely real thing for the people who live within its rules, power dynamics, and expectations on a daily basis. The impact of gender expectations is most clearly conveyed through Ged's story. When Ged loses his magic - his masculine-coded power - he experiences a painful identity crisis. His shame puzzles Tenar, who thinks, "But even so she did not feel she understood his shame, his agony of humiliation. Perhaps only a man could feel so. A woman got used to shame." In this way, it is clear that Ged's shame as a result of his loss of power is gendered. A woman, who lives with a constant lack of power and the accompanying shame of being a denigrated gender, cannot be caught up in the conundrum of ego that masculinity causes.



For a significant portion of the book, Ged essentially sees himself as nothing without his magic. As a result, he is completely cowed, self-absorbed, and emotionally stunted, unwilling to care about anything but nursing his wounds and brooding over his downfall. He runs away like a whipped dog and never sends a sign or word to Tenar or Therru, only thinking about his own precious shame. This, Le Guin argues, is what our construction of masculinity can do to men. Even a courageous, heroic, and truly good man like Ged has built his entire identity on having more power than others. When that power is gone, he reverts back to being a terrified, emotionally-repressed teenager. The other wizards in the book are presented in much the same way - emotionally repressed, afraid of losing their power, and arrogant. It is only when Ged's worst fears come true that he is able to begin to live in a genuine way and forge a healthy identity for himself as a real man, rather than a man whose entire sense of self is constructed on notions of empty power. As Le Guin puts it in the afterward, "In Tehanu he can become, finally, fully a man. He is no longer the servant of his power."



This is the strange and pitiable paradox of masculinity: men have constructed themselves as the more powerful gender, but this construction of power leads to constant fears of being perceived as weak and unmanly. Again, we come back to the idea of empty power. If your power is built on others' fear and leads to your own constant fear of weakness, what is it truly worth? And with that in mind, what are the other ways that we might be able to define power in a healthier and more grounded way? The characters in Tehanu grapple with these questions, and in doing so, offer a quiet revolution that challenges our traditional notions of power and gender. “Why are men afraid of women?" "If your strength is only the other's weakness, you live in fear," Ged said. "Yes; but women seem to fear their own strength, to be afraid of themselves." "Are they ever taught to trust themselves?" Ged asked, and as he spoke Therru came in on her work again. His eyes and Tenar's met. "No," she said. "Trust is not what we're taught." She watched the child stack the wood in the box. "If power were trust," she said. "I like that word. If it weren't all these arrangements - one above the other - kings and masters and mages and owners - It all seems so unnecessary. Real power, real freedom, would lie in trust, not force." "As children trust their parents," he said.” Once again, what cannot be healed must be transcended. We must find a way to transcend what is unrepairable and unbearable in our current construction of power dynamics, and the quiet revolution of Tehanu offers just one promising alternative.

Though I relished every single book within this series, without a doubt, my preference leans towards when Tenar takes on the role of the main character.

In "Tehanu", Le Guin's exquisitely nuanced portrayal of Tenar's relationship with Therru is astonishingly profound in its comprehension of childhood trauma. She refrains from relying on the overused tropes of the "problem child" or the "adopting saviour". Instead, she delves into a thoughtful and detailed portrayal where both characters grapple with the challenge of understanding themselves and each other in an entirely authentic manner. Equally importantly, they strive to make sense of their place in a world that shows scant regard for women and even less for those with disabilities.

"All the greatness of men is founded on shame. Made out of it."

Surely this cannot mark the conclusion of the story? Therru/Tehanu must surely be the new archmage!

The way Le Guin crafts this narrative, it leaves the reader with a sense of anticipation and wonder. The relationship between Tenar and Therru is so richly developed that it feels as if there is still so much more to explore and discover. One can't help but hope that there will be more installments in this series to further unfold the story of these captivating characters.