The Tombs of Atuan

Here I've been going around thinking [b:The Left Hand of Darkness 18423 The Left Hand of Darkness (Hainish Cycle #6) Ursula K. Le Guin https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1488213612s/18423.jpg 817527] was my favorite Le Guin novel, but no, it's definitely The Tombs of Atuan.This book made such an impression on me as a kid that I have carried Arha's labyrinth in my memories for all the years since. Rereading it as an adult (and a feminist) was an absolute joy: it contains everything I remembered with such fondness, and much more.When I read Earthsea as a kid, I was stunned by how different it was from any other fantasy story; decades later, I still am.I could write an essay about the symbolism and the gender dynamics and the lessons about male and female power within society, but here, let's just use these quotes from the afterword in the Kindle edition:But since I was writing about the people who in most societies have not been given much power—women—it seemed perfectly plausible to place my heroine in a situation that led her to question the nature and value of power itself. The word power has two different meanings. There is power to: strength, gift, skill, art, the mastery of a craft, the authority of knowledge. And there is power over: rule, dominion, supremacy, might, mastery of slaves, authority over others. Ged was offered both kinds of power. Tenar was offered only one.In the Archipelago, strong, active magic belongs almost entirely to men, witches being untrained and mistrusted; and the Old Powers are commonly described as misogynists describe women: obscure, dark, weak, and treacherous. In The Tombs of Atuan, the Old Powers, the Nameless Ones, appear as mysterious, ominous, and yet inactive. Arha/Tenar is their priestess, the greatest of all priestesses, whom the Godking himself is supposed to obey: But what is her realm? A prison in the desert. Women guarded by eunuchs. Ancient tombstones, a half-ruined temple, an empty throne. A fearful underground labyrinth where prisoners are left to die of starvation and thirst, where only she can walk the maze, where light must never come. She rules a dark, empty, useless realm. Her power imprisons her.Rereading the book, more than forty years after I wrote it, I wonder about many of its elements. It was the first book I wrote with a woman as the true central character. Tenar's character and the events of the story came from deep within me, so deep that the subterranean and labyrinthine imagery, and a certain volcanic quality, are hardly to be wondered at. But the darkness, the cruelty, the vengefulness . . . [...] Maybe it was the whole primitive, hateful idea of the feminine as dark, blind, weak, and evil that I saw shaking itself to pieces, imploding, crumbling into wreckage on a desert ground. And I rejoiced to see it fall. I still do.