The Internet’s Permanence Scares Me

A beautiful aspect of Dragon culture is their dancing flight patterns. They are wild without being random. “Fierce, willed concord” (farthest Shore, 222) rather than whimsy or competition. They are so inspiring, Arren responds to the incredible sight with “I do not care what comes after; I have seen the dragons on the wind of morning” (Farthest Shore, 222). These circles and patterns remind me of the Long Dance. “The Long Dance is held on every island of the archipelago, though the steps and songs may vary” (farthest Shore, 190). Just as humans in Earthsea have this universal tradition of expressing themselves through song and dance, Dragons have developed their own art form tailored to their wings. We don’t know a lot about Dragons, what with our first introduction coming after speech has been ripped from them, as well as the fact that it is just “not easy—talking to Dragons” (Farthest Shore, 231). Nonetheless, their value for the powers of both the mind and the power of the body is clear.

Art by the amazing Tired Artist: https://alatarielartanisnerwengaladriel.tumblr.com/post/668699207121633280/scholarlypidgeot-borgesperovago-moonxtal-i 

After reading Finlayson’s “The Women of Palmyra,” it was clear that vital to the significance of Palmyra was the fact that “in these early eras, no one merchant or caravan enterprise was seemingly able to transverse the complete length of the Silk Road from East to West” (Finlayson, 2, footnote 1). Palmyra was a necessary stop on the Silk Road, where items such as silk were “sold, resold, or traded, and then moved forward along a route deemed the safest by the caravan leader” (Finlayson, 2, footnote 1). In many cases the women of Palmyra might have been responsible for adding embroidered designs to the silk to increase their value (6).

Women played central roles throughout the city, including even ruling, and “through carefully orchestrated marriages guaranteed wealth and access to trade routes through clan alliances” (4). And they created silk funerary headdresses. 

Viewing Lorbanery as a place defined by its product, silk, it reflects the idea of a factory town. Usually small towns built to house employees and their families, factory towns, and Lorbanery, possess a distinct culture born from that shared occupation. When an entire town is focused on one job, and the success of all depends on everyone working hard and collaborating, it seems like there is a greater sense of community. Additionally, there is a greater pressure to perform well and work hard. The citizens of Lorbanery accordingly emphasize that “Honest folk live here and do honest work” (137). 

I looked into the town of Bagdad, Arizona as one of the two remaining company towns in the state. It’s known for copper. I’ve never visited, but to all appearances it looks like the kind of tight-knit community you would expect. The town is owned by Freeport-McMoRan, and as a result enjoys amenities free for the public such as a golf course and gym. The town is currently thriving, but not all company towns are as lucky.

There is a reason there aren’t many company towns around anymore. Although the citizens of Lorbanery are quick to conclude that “the luck’s run out” (122), the truth is they are not alone in their situation. Factory towns often have the ever present danger of becoming ghost towns because everyone in it is tied to one industry. If progress makes the product no longer relevant, the town loses its purpose.

D. Bruce Dickson gives a comprehensive review of public human sacrifice. He sheds light on the fact that we cannot know with certainty how the victims of such rituals really viewed the practice. It is possible that they went willingly, but we would find evidence of that even if they hadn’t, because that is how the regimes that utilized such methods want them to be perceived. As Dickson puts it, “The grave sites contain the remains of political dramas or spectacles. They display only those aspects of society favorable to the powers that orchestrated the dramas” (132).

In Earthsea, the wizards’ magic is practical, concrete and solid, because it gets at the fundamental truth beneath the surface of the world. By harnessing true names, wizards come to understand their world more deeply, and can then affect it.

The power of the Kargad priestesses, however, is much more vague. It is ancient, but it is so secretive and buried, that one does not know what is truly at its core. In fact, a lot of the rituals the Kargad participate in seem mostly empty. Arha and the other priestesses sing “songs whose words no man understood” (60). And perform the same rituals over and over with no result obvious to the reader. One gets the impression that they act because they’ve been told that it has an affect, and whether they believe it or not, this is how it is done. 

The idea of unbelief is interesting in that you wouldn’t find a wizard of Earthsea ceasing to believe in his power. The evidence is clear. However Arha ultimately realized “the existence of unfaith, and had accepted it as a reality even though it frightened her” (77). And this unbelief isn’t reserved for a clearly wrongheaded person either. Her friend, the gentle Penthe lacks true conviction in their cause. And of course there is Kossil, who “had no true worship in her heart of the Nameless Ones or of the gods. She held nothing sacred but power” (77). 

If one so good as well as one so high up in the religion can posses unfaith, it casts doubt upon the entire system. One wonders if either it is all lies, or if there is a truer way to worship the Nameless Ones that has been lost.

Knowing others is intelligence,

knowing yourself is wisdom.

Overcoming others takes strength,

overcoming yourself takes greatness.

Contentment is wealth.

Boldly pushing forward takes resolution.

Staying put keeps you in position.

To live til you die

is to live long enough. 

(Tao Te Ching, 33)

Chapter 33 of Ursula Le Guin’s translation of the Tao Te Ching speak a lot to the struggles and themes present in the last chapter of A Wizard of Earthsea. Though Ged has an above average ability to figure out people’s true names, this intelligence regarding others is not all he possesses. It is through knowledge of himself that he is able to recognize and embrace his shadow, both knowing and overcoming himself at once. 

The second stanza relates to his journey. Ged believes in the necessity of his task, telling Vetch “I must go where I am bound to go, and turn my back on the bright shores” (198). Despite his desires and wishes, Ged presses on. And by not abandoning his goal, he remains grounded in who he is. 

Finally, there is the acceptance of death. At his journey’s end, Ged has not quite come to accept Lao Tzu’s truth that “To live til you die is to live long enough.“ He feels regret for all that he thinks he’ll never have the chance to do. “I was in too much haste, and now have no time left,” (198) Ged tells Vetch. They dream together of all the faraway lands that Ged had dreamed of visiting since he was a child. Nevertheless, he remains steadfast in his mission, only allowing himself a “brief lament,” a song of “fear and regret” (198). Though he does not wish to die, he does accept the necessity of it, and is willing to sacrifice his life. He is going to his death with the knowledge that he has lived long enough to undo or rectify the damage he did to the world. 

The Kargs of Earthsea are raiders with particular savagery who frequently attack seaside villages, carting off loot and people. Remind you of anything? You guessed it, pirates. Those cutthroat thieves that pillaged regardless of flag. 

Or was it Vikings? Pirates are mentioned on the same page the Kargs are introduced, which makes one wonder the difference. Le Guin writes that “the Lords of Gont were busy with their piracy and paid small head to the woes of other lands” (A Wizard of Earthsea, 8). Later, she again emphasizes that Gont was not famous for warriors, “but goat-thieves, sea pirates, and wizards” (A Wizard of Earthsea, 9). However, while the Gonts seem to engage in piracy, Kargs seem more closely inspired by Vikings for a few reasons. Why then are Kargs described as evil and the Lords of Gont merely apathetic?

“The slave markets of the Viking world: comparative perspectives on an ‘invisible archaeology’” by Ben Raffield, at one point refers to the Vikings as pirates: “Viking groups regularly engaged in conflict with each there, either as mercenaries or in order to further their  own political ambitions, while Adam of Bremen noted that pirates in the seas around Denmark during the eleventh century would regularly attack shipping in order to take captives” (Raffield, 686). So what is the real difference? Well Vikings are a type of pirate, but it is a much more specific term. The Vikings were confined to a specific era, and they had a stronger sense of culture than pirates in general. They had particular ways of burying their dead, customs regarding mingling with local populations, and their own styles of fighting and seafaring. The fact that the Kargs are carrying out calculated raids, and the level of brutality they exhibit, make them seem much worse than the pirates from Gont, who aren’t acting out of a sense of nationalism, and aren’t described as unnecessarily brutal. It will be interesting to see what other aspects Kargs share with Vikings as we read on.

In Chapter 1 of A Wizard of Earthsea, Ursula Le Guin uses the setting to contrast Ged’s repressive and mundane home, source of “blows and whippings” (2), with the place he seeks out, the “heights above the forest, from which he could see the sea, that broad northern ocean where, past Perregal, no islands were” (2). The fact that there are no islands makes one wonder what is there, or beyond there. Ged seeking to climb higher mirrors his potential to achieve greatness and escape his ordinary life in Ten Aldars. The landscape itself promises the ascent into legend that is teased at the start. 

Unlike the Shire, Ten Aldars was never meant to be an image of warmth and safety and all that is worth fighting for. Bilbo and Frodo are loath to leave their birthplace, and carry it with them through their entire journey. While I’m not far enough into the book to know how Ged later reflects on his home, when he is given the opportunity to leave with a mage, there is not even a thought of him staying. Though his home is just as naturally beautiful, and full of “all the people he knew in all the world” (17), his departure is matter-of-fact, and hopeful even, as training with a mage is the next step to fulfilling his potential. Where Bilbo’s departure is tinged with doubt—about whether he will survive the journey, whether he has any business going on an adventure, and whether he will regret not remembering his pocket handkerchief, Ged leaving home exudes an air of certainty. Like the vast ocean viewed from cliff-top, Ged’s small attempts at magic, and much in the first chapter, it is a promise.

As his journey continues, however, he gains courage, and remains true to his orders. “I am commanded to go to the land of Mordor, and therefore I shall go” (The Two Towers, 833). Frodo is doing his part to protect his home from evil, and preserve the simple, happy life in the Shire, even though, and Livingston points out in his article, Frodo’s trauma keeps him from returning fully to his first life.

Frodo’s persistence grows as they near Mordor, and he commits to finishing the mission unto death, saying, “If we can nurse our limbs to bring us to Mount Doom, that is all we can do. More than I can, I begin to feel” (The Two Towers, 816). I was reminded of this when reading Livingston’s article, where he quotes John Rawls account of battle. Rawls shows the weariness and sadness attached to the unceasing perseverance: “it is sad to think one has to go back to it, and back to it, and back to it, until one is hit” (Livingston, 81).

“There was another way. . .Let’s go and see if it’s still there” (638). Frodo had thought the decision was to turn back in fear or to continue. “If the One goes into the Fire,” Frodo had accepted, “and we are at hand? I ask you, Sam, are we ever likely to need bread again?” (624). Choosing to finish the mission unto death was not an easy decision, but nor was it a complicated one. There was only one path and one choice. Then, Gollum complicated the decision. 

With his promise of another, secret path, the chances of their mission succeeding are much increased. . .if it is true. Yet again, the Hobbits must decide whether or not to trust Sméagol, and whether to leave the clear path for the chance of finding a better one. Sam’s “mind was full of doubt” (638). Sméagol wanted to help them, but Gollum wanted only to get the upper hand and take the ring for himself. Either end could be furthered by leading the Hobbits into some obscure hole in the mountain with the lure of a secret path. 

According to Hume, “Halls had a positive value based on their role as protecting roofs and as centers for early Anglo-Saxon civilization” (68). It is this characterization as a stronghold of safety which makes them the narratively perfect settlement for Rohan. Wormtongue acts only in the name of protection, and does everything in his power to keep the Rohirrim safe and inert in their Hall. Gandalf combats him to draw forth their true bold nature. The part of them that doesn’t think twice about picking up everything and forging into the unknown to make a home somewhere new.

Hume discusses how newer archeological finds have supported the magnificence of halls that we read about in poetry. They also support the description of the aptly-named “Golden Hall” of Tolkien’s world. Rohan is described as having “mighty pillars” and a “lofty roof” (512). Everything from the floor to the pillars to special stones and full-sized seats have been resplendently carved. And then there is Théodin’s “great gilded chair” (512). These descriptions match the tales told about halls in Old English poetry.

The first indicator of Aragorn’s arrival at the Golden Hall are the barrow mounds. Aragorn surveys the many barrow mounds and is reminded of the rich history this Hall owns, home to generation upon generation. He clearly has a respect for this place. As it is under the rule of Men, it is his history, which is why he recognizes the painting of Eorl the Young with such enthusiasm. 

It is surprising, then, how little pride and enthusiasm the inhabitants of the Golden Hall possess. Tolkien’s description is utterly sedentary: “There sat other guards, with drawn swords laid upon their knees” (510). Although they are dressed in stunning raiment, they sit, idly, hardly on high alert for threats due to the “days of war” (508) they are living in. Likewise the King is merely sitting in his “gilded chair” (512). And Wormtongue is also sitting at his feet. The only person standing is Eowyn. She is the person chosen to “be lord to the Eorlingas” (523).