"A Wizard of Earthsea" by Ursula K. Le Guin

It’s quite odd; I cannot figure out how I feel about this book’s prose. I could politely describe it as hyper-efficient and concise. Less politely, the prose is often reminiscent of a summary. In some ways it harkens back to mythological texts — painted in broad strokes, focused when important — simultaneously straightforward and poetic. It’s clear that A Wizard of Earthsea is written to evoke that comparison to mythology: the introduction and final paragraph both frame the events of the story as a story being retold. I don’t feel equipped to explore this to any meaningful depth, but it felt important to acknowledge because it makes A Wizard of Earthsea stylistically distinct from anything I’ve read recently. I find it interesting even if I’m not sure how I feel about said stylistic distinction.

The parallels to how mythology is written is intertwined with the detail I loved the most and actually want to talk about: magic is nebulous and dangerous. More accurately, magic is a power that must be respected; magic is a force of nature that, if misused, impacts the user as much as the world. It’s not a novel concept for magic to be unknowable or dangerous (at the time of this novel’s release, the One Ring had been destroyed over a decade ago) but A Wizard of Earthsea felt unique in that — like Tolkien’s One Ring — the danger of magic felt present and real for the entirety of the book. Because it becomes foundational to Ged’s character, it stays important to the reader — the intentionality and respect that Ged approaches magic with as he matures is a constant reinforcement that despite wielding great power, said power needs to be used with immense care. The over or misuse of magic is a danger to both Ged and those around him, especially due to how powerful of a wizard he becomes. In Earthsea, magic is something only explained to the reader via core concepts, concepts often focused around the potential danger of it. The wizards dedicate their lives to studying magic, but neither the wizards nor the reader will ever fully comprehend it, and it is a fool’s errand to try and know.

“Details” is this novel’s strongest point. Despite its short length, A Wizard of Earthsea is overflowing with interesting ideas and thoughtful nuance that makes its magic and world intriguing despite a lack of details on the former, and limited time spent in the latter. It’s strange to compare this to the other (massive) fantasy novels that I’ve read recently, The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie and The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss, because of how much A Wizard of Earthsea is able to pack in to its comparatively minuscule runtime. I don’t mean this as a criticism of Abercrombie or Rothfuss — their stories are fundamentally incapable of being told in a mere 60,000 words — but rather to highlight how impressive it is that A Wizard of Earthsea is able to do so much, and have such a compelling conclusion, while being such a short book. I’m being vague because I don’t want to give away anything more than necessary. This book is worth reading, not just as a foundational piece of modern fantasy, but as its own story.