The Farthest Shore

So Arren spoke, fiercely and with command. He had been overawed and frightened too much, he had been filled up with fear, and he had got sick of it and would not have it anymore. He was angry with the dragon for its brute strength and size, its unjust advantage. He had seen death, he had tasted death, and no threat had power over him.

The story starts slowly but soon turns into what is absolutely the most philosophically rich entry in the Earthsea series so far (as I read them in order), beautifully written in Ursula Le Guin's unrivaled eloquence. Every page contains a passage that in most books would be one of the most insightful quotes. The trials I am personally facing right now made the hero's journey in this book speak to my core on a level that I have not experienced before. Neil Gaiman got it right with "Her words are written on my soul."

"The Farthest Shore" est le troisième tome du cycle Earthsea d'Ursula K. Le Guin, également connu en français sous le nom de cycle de Terremer.

On y retrouve à nouveau Ged, le héros du premier tome et personnage secondaire du deuxième, désormais vieillissant et Archimage. Il est cette fois accompagné dans sa quête par Arren, un jeune prince. Leur but ? Découvrir pourquoi la magie disparait peu à peu des îles d’Earthsea.

Leur voyage les mènera dans le sud et l’ouest de l’archipel, à la rencontre de peuples que nous n’avions pas encore eu l’occasion de découvrir jusque là. Personnellement, j’ai une tendresse particulière pour le peuple des mers. On retrouve également avec plaisir des dragons, souvent cités mais rarement aperçus dans les romans précédents, hormis une scène marquante du premier.

A travers les aventures du vieux mage et de son jeune compagnon, Ursula K. Le Guin nous parle de la mort et du rapport des êtres humains à cette issue qui peut être terrifiante et malgré tout inévitable. Encore une fois, le récit peut sembler très classique mais révèle une réelle profondeur au lecteur prêt à l’accueillir. Le tout dans un style fin et poétique auquel l’autrice nous avait déjà habitué dans les deux premiers tomes.

Ce roman met fin à la trilogie originale d’Earthsea, publiée au tournant des années 1960 et 1970. Je vais désormais poursuivre mon voyage dans l’archipel avec les trois tomes suivants, publiés dans les années 1990 et 2000.

I actually found this to be the weakest book of the trilogy. For the first two books, while I didn't love the flowery, yet dry writing style, I found the story to be interesting and cohesive for each. This one I found to be quite disjointed and poorly paced. I didn't really end up loving the characters, and I found the climax to be extremely underwhelming.

As for the series as a whole.. listen, I didn't walk into this expecting to love it. I love Le Guin as an author, primarily from her science fiction works (more specifically her Hainish Cycle books). I find her commentary to be expertly crafted and timeless. She is always just so correct about everything, and it is even more impressive to think that she was writing these extremely popular yet controversial books in the 1970's. She's an icon. Which is why I wanted to read these books, to really get a sense of her progression as an author. I wanted to see how her writing style evolved and improved, and I certainly got to see that.

The Earthsea books are quintessential classic fantasy. Largely inaccessible, dense writing without a lot of character voice. But at least they're very short. The did what they sought to do. I'm actually really looking forward to picking up the next book, Tehanu, as it was published much later when I believe Le Guin really solidified her writing style. Here's hoping!

I have a confession to make: I've never been able to get into Le Guin's books. I've read The Left Hand of Darkness and the Earthsea trilogy, and there's something to the voice that I find dry and intolerable, like an anthropologist clinically describing observed events. Under this voice, even the most exciting scene is relayed in the monotonous drone of a professor lecturing ungrateful freshman. The Farthest Shore has the additional problem of the apparent main character, Arren, having little-to-no agency for 95% of the book, the plot being driven by Ged and the Other.

Which is a shame, because, otherwise, these books are amazing.

Outside of Doctor Who, it's difficult to find stories where violence does not solve all of your problems. I just reviewed Wolves of the Calla, solution: gunslinger violence. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, solution: violence against androids, then feel bad about it. The Slow Regard of Silent Things, solution: make soap (this might be one of the reasons why I liked this book as well). Cloud Atlas, solution: violence of every genre. Star Wars, solution: lightsaber violence.

You get the picture.

In The Farthest Shore, violence is never the ultimate the solution. Sacrifice, life, balance, mercy, wisdom, these are the answers. Some quick violence in the service of protection may be necessary, but never as punishment or revenge, and always as a small piece of a greater solution. When I think of books I want my daughter to read as she grows up, Le Guin's sit far ahead of King's, or even Sanderson's (who's been my favorite author for a long while now). I just wish I could get into them myself.

One might argue that, ultimately, in Return of the Jedi the solution was mercy, given that Luke won by showing mercy to Vader, but one would be forgetting that this mercy was not the final solution; Vader throwing the Emperor down a conveniently placed reactor shaft holds that honor. And Lando blowing up the Death Star. And Han blowing up the shield generator. And Admiral Akbar fighting off the Imperial navy. And, ultimately, you have to consider the Endor holocaust. My point is, the solution was violence on a massive scale, likely killing billions living on the Death Star alone.

But it isn’t wrong to want to live?’
‘No. But when we crave power over life – endless wealth, unassailable safety, immortality – then desire becomes greed. And if knowledge allies itself to that greed, then comes evil. Then the balance of the world is swayed, and ruin weighs heavy in the scale.’

Ged and Arren/Lebannen go on a long quest to find out what is taking the magic out of Earthsea. One can read the story as a story which meanders in adventures between the isles of Earthsea until they reach the end of the world or the titular farthest shore to find the culprit.

‘And this is one man’s doing – the one the dragon spoke of? It seems not possible.’ ‘Why not? If there were a King of the Isles, he would be one man. And he would rule. One man may as easily destroy, as govern; be King, or Anti-King.’


After reading Le Guin's essay on literature and genre (Genre: A Word Only a Frenchman Could Love) from book [b: Words are my matter|29363335|Words Are My Matter Writings About Life and Books, 2000–2016, with A Journal of a Writer's Week|Ursula K. Le Guin|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1470694965s/29363335.jpg|49608748] the story reads different fro me. Deeper and more like a parable. Though a parable of what I can't quite say or put into quite such eloquent words as Le Guin did.

This was first published in 1972. Neither the language nor the story has suffered from being 46 years old (at the time of writing this) and it is still highly relevant today.


I stand in daylight facing my own death . And I know that there is only one power worth having . And that is the power , not to take , but to accept . Not to have , but to give . ’