Hey everyone! I just started a new series on my youtube channel centered around the biggest names in Dark Fantasy and Sci-Fi. The support I got on my first video ('Confronting our Shadows: Le Guin and A Wizard of Earthsea') was amazing, and I've decided to post my edited video scripts here for all you Wattpad folks to enjoy should you wish. You're welcome to watch the full video essay (with some lovely shade thrown at J.K. Rowling for good measure) at the link below. Enjoy!
Have you ever had a moment where you're reading a story and think 'there's something here that's more than fiction. There's something in this book that transcends the matrix of the world the book is set in. Something in the words that rings true – that you know, somehow, even though there are no fire breathing dragons or immortal sorcerers playing with life and death in your life – somehow, this fictional world contains the essence of a kind of psychological or social truth. And that thought is just as terrifying as it is liberating.
Hello ladies and gentlemen, I'm Traversing the Dark and I'll be your guide through the forest of Dark Fantasy and Science Fiction. Welcome to my Masters of Darkness series where I'll be looking at some of the key writers, books, films, and video games that take a walk on the darker side of these often-underappreciated genres. I'll be focusing on some of the underlying elements that make these tales work – and what gives them an enduring appeal to modern audiences.
I'm starting with a personal favorite and make no apologies for my bias when I present to you Ursula K Le Guin – a writer of both fantasy and science fiction that was a pioneer of the genre in many ways. Writing amidst towering contemporaries in her chosen genres like Margaret Atwood, Philip K Dick, Terry Pratchett, and Harlan Ellison, Le Guin its fair to say helped transform science fiction and fantasy into genres with serious literary resonance since she began writing seriously in 1966.
She was a woman writing against a current of male dominated writers in a predominantly white dominated genre – one where the tendency to reduce the problem of evil in the world onto people and cultures was all too common (see Tolkein's 'orcs' and 'Mordor' races and places that are simply defined as objectively 'evil' as examples, or take RA Salvadore's 'Dark Elf's' with their racially determined penchant for sexual discrimination and matriarchy – except for Drizzt but he's dumb, and everyone hates him).
In this climate, Le Guin's work breathed new life into a genre that was becoming metaphorically stunted. She knew the limitations of her own genres had been born out of readers' expectations of fantasy:
'1. The characters are white. 2. Fantasy land is the Middle Ages. 3. Fantasy by definition concerns a Battle between Good and Evil' (Le Guin, 'Some Assumptions about Fantasy', 2004)
Le Guin's work can be taken as a response to such trends – her corpus challenges these seemingly fundamental tenants of the fantasy genre, and in so doing, heightens the nature of the narratives that fantasy can provide, paving the way for authors like Neil Gaiman and Salman Rushdie.
Further, Le guin elaborates that the battle between good and evil in fantasy is always combative, always martial, and usually played out in large scale conflicts like war between two sides – which she argued was a completely reductive approach to this metaphysical battle:
'War as a moral metaphor is limited, limiting, and dangerous. By reducing the choices of action to 'a war against' whatever-it-is, you divide the world into Me or Us (good) and Them or It (bad) and reduce the ethical complexity and moral richness of our life to Yes/No, On/Off. This is puerile, misleading, and degrading...All too often the heroes of such fantasies behave exactly as the villains do, acting with mindless violence, but the hero is on the "right" side and therefore will win. Right makes might." (Afterword to A Wizard of Earthsea, 2012 edition)
But Le Guin was not just concerned with overruling the prevailing narrative of fantasy in her period. Rather, she was infusing it with something at once new, and old – a kind of psychological resonance that served to capture her readers' imaginations. And that's why, I'd argue, her fantasy remains far more universal in scope than Tolkein's Lord of the Rings or Pratchett's Discworld series – both hugely influential, epic, and brilliant works in their own right. But lacking something that Le Guin understood as the missing piece of the fantasy puzzle: balance (scales pic)
Wizard of Earthsea.
In 1968 Le Guin penned the first book in what would become known as her Earthsea Cycle: A Wizard of Earthsea, conceptualized as a children's novel and marketed as such. The story follows a young boy in the land of Earthsea, Ged, who lives on an isolated island famed for its brilliant wizards. He comes to find that he's super magic awesome himself and quickly seeks training from his aunt, the local witch. However, he slowly begins to develop powers beyond even her control – able to call hawks and other birds down from the sky and perch on his shoulder with relative ease. This eventually earns him the moniker 'Sparrowhawk'
In Earthsea, magic works through knowing the 'true name' of all living and unliving things. Everything on earth has a true, objective form, much of which has become unknown to ordinary people. Only the wizards who study the ancient language of the dragons have the knowledge of such things, hence why they can cast such potent spells. Ged hears such rumors on his island – about the great wizard Ogion who hailed from his home and stopped a volcano erupting with his bare hands and words of power. He lusts after such strength, but finds himself limited by his village where such knowledge simply doesn't exist.
Ged's hope to prove himself and gain the apprenticeship by a real wizard is realized when raiders from a nearby island set out to attack his hometown. These raiders are brutish thugs – think Vikings in the classic sense – no magic for them, just clubs and other spiky things. Thinking fast, the young Ged uses his knowledge of the true name of fog to summon one to blanket the whole village – concealing the villagers who manage to dispatch the raiders with ease from within the cloud. Hearing of this, the great mage Ogion himself comes to the village and takes Ged under his wing, vowing to take him to the magic school of Roke where he will learn how to achieve the power of a true wizard.
However, Ged becomes more confused by Ogion's teachings than anything – as his new teacher tells him about the integral balance that the world exists in. You can't just hurl fireballs willy nilly – every spell takes something from the world. Energy, life, form – these things need to be given back to the world in some way so that harmony can be maintained. Such an idea was clearly influenced by Le Guin's belief in ancient Chinese teachings contained in Taoist philosophy, stemming from works such as the Tao Chi Ting, which she wrote a translation of. This faith places value on the idea of balance – that the universe exists in a state of entropy –
'Light and darkness, action and inaction, hot and cold must coexist to create harmony in life' (Laozi, Tao Te Ching, 2016 translation)
You can't simply impress your own will on the natural world and not suffer as a result. In doing so you throw both yourself and the world out of balance, and hell will follow. Ged is told as much:
'You must not change one thing, one pebble, one grain of sand, until you know what good and evil will follow from that act. The world is in balance, in Equilibrium. A wizard's power of Changing and of Summoning can shake the balance of the world. It is dangerous, that power' (Le Guin, A Wizard of Earthsea, 1969)
Le Guin's magic is infused with such an idea. Power is something to wield with more than just a sense of responsibility, but almost a sense of primordial fear – knowing the corruption that exists in all human beings, a wizard must remain vigilant to their own capacity to alter the natural order of the world, and use such power sparingly, if at all.
Of course, Ged does not heed such a warning. Like any young person with such immense power at his fingertips, it's difficult to convince him that magic is subservient to the world and not the other way round. He's much more excited about Ogion's story about stilling the volcano, about fighting with dragons, and about making a name for himself just like the other great wizards of his island.
So, he goes to magic school on Roke, the academy for wizards (eat your heart out, JK Rowling – Le Guin did magic school years before you did. In fact, this isn't the only comparison we'll see between these two works, but that's a tale for another time.) So, what's the result of Ged's education? Well, for one thing he learns more true names and the ability to manipulate them, but he also meets kids from other islands and cities – some of whom would make the bullies in a slice of life school-based anime look like kittens. (Nagatoro) One of them in particular causes him grief – Jasper, who's everything Ged is not – skilled, has good connections with people, comes from a noble family – basically looks down on this scummy peasant boy like he's a speck of dirt on his shoes. Think Draco mawfoy but without the luscious blonde locks, or Damien from Spy x Family if you want a more fun comparison.
The result of this rivalry is that Ged becomes more and more obsessed with becoming a better wizard. And, one night, he does the unthinkable: he stealths into Master Ogion's room, steals an ancient tome of names, and tries out the coolest spell he's ever seen: one that can raise the dead.
And we all know how necromancy goes...
Ged's spell backfires in front of all the students of the academy. He summons not a person, but a living mass of shadow that attacks him with black teeth and claws, scarring his face for life. It takes the strength of Professor Dumbledore, ehm, sorry, Master Nemmerle, the Head of the academy, to banish the creature – though he loses his life in the process. Ged is then told that the creature he has loosed on the world is a thing of purest dark defined as a Gebbeth – a type of Nameless One he has dredged up (basically the most evil of all creatures to inhabit the world – and the most ancient – aspects of pure chaos, pieces of the void that made up the universe when there was no world at all and therefore, such beings have no names.
As the one who spawned it, the creature will pursue Ged for all his life as soon as he leaves the island – and so Ged, now a lot more humble, and a lot more reserved – and a lot more struck with guilt, sets out on a personal quest. His mission? Destroy the creature of darkness that he has let loose, and free himself from this evil curse.
At first glance, this might seem commensurate with the approaches of other fantasy authors like Tolkien or C.S. Lewis – here we have a strictly evil entity, an otherworldly shadow beast often described in the book as an animalistic, dog like entity. But as the story goes on, and Ged experiences nothing but more and more pain as he confronts the creature on both land and sea as he attempts to both hunt it and gain any advantage he can over it, we see that there's more going on here.
Le Guin herself said that her characters should be seen less as people and more like 'psychic factors' – symbolic representations of aspects of the human psyche. Her characters journeys are intensely personal in nature – not huge, epic quest narratives, but introspective battles that offer her characters opportunities to reflect on themselves and their own limited attitudes. Her characters exemplify psychological journeys – their greatest foes, really, are the mental barriers to growth and development that we all face. This focus comes in part from her interest in Taoism, but more predominantly from her relationship to the works of a western psychologist – Carl Gustav Jung.
We're kind of going through a new appreciation of Jung in popular culture due to the voice of psychologist turned political pundit Jordan Peterson, but for any who don't know, Jung was a student of Freud who broke away from the old master of psychological study and founded his own field – analytical psychology. Jung had many ideas which I can't do justice to in this video, but the relevant thoughts he has for us are his focus on the development of the individual and concept of individuation – basically, how we become a well-adjusted person that can make a valid and meaningful contribution to society while maintaining a stable mental aptitude. In order to realise this state of wholeness, we (our Ego – or our socially constructed self) need to acknowledge and integrate with our 'Shadow' – the unconscious, base desires that exist in all of us at the very depths of our animalistic beings (what Freud called the 'ID') This journey of self-actualisation is the bedrock of A Wizard of Earthsea – in actual fact, the book can be seen as basically a digestible fantasy-version of Jung's psychological theory.
How do we know this? All we have to do is look at the narrative Ged's life follows. He begins consumed by singular emotion – the desire for power. He's a child – and sometimes we forget that that's the time in our lives when we're at the most megalomaniacal. If you want another example of what happens when you give literal a child access to unlimited power watch Akira, and then scream really loud. As a kid who holds great power at his fingertips, Ged is consumed by one singular emotion – he's unbalanced from the start, and uninformed. He knows nothing about the wider world he lives in, but knows how he can affect it – a dangerous combination. At Roke this desire leads to disaster – and a shadow being is born. Now, that being is often represented in the story as a kind of animalistic, almost wolf-like being. That's appropriate, because as much as Ged tries to destroy it – it ends up hunting him too. He suffers dreams, pain, and attacks – because the shadow Gebbeth always knows where he is at any given time, and its only desire is to kill. Ged as an adult, locked in an almost constant battle with this being he's unleashed on the world, is is far different from his childhood ego. He is practical, he asks questions, and he lives a relatively simplistic life on the sea or simple towns of Earthsea. But the question is this: if this being of unnameable shadow is so powerful, so potent, then why does it seem so preoccupied with Ged alone? How can Ged fight it if it doesn't have a name? Why isn't it destroying villages, killing other wizards, and generally terrorizing the land if it is totally uncontrollable due to its nameless nature? The reason is, because it does have a name, and Ged's old mentor, Ogion, helps him realise this:
'"The evil thing, the shadow that hunts me, has no name.
"All things have a name," said Ogion'
The reason the creature is so focused on Ged is because this isn't just any old shadow – its Ged's shadow.
When Ged uses the forbidden spell of resurrection, consumed with the desire only for power and status, the spell backfires – he's too out of balance for such a powerful incantation to work.
'You have great power inborn in you, and you used that power wrongly, to work a spell over which you had no control, not knowing how that spell affects the balance of light and dark, life and death, good and evil. And you were moved to do this by pride and hate. Is it any wonder the result was ruin?'
Instead of summoning some long dead warrior, he splits himself (kind of like Voldemort with the horcruxes *cough* *cough* sorry) he splits himself apart – his shadow (in the Jungian sense – the piece of him that is full of raw, powerful, and unchecked emotions and desires) becomes separated from his body. And such desire without a human body to limit it is an evil force to be reckoned with. Ged realizes this after he speaks with his old mentor Ogion, in a scene where he narrowly escapes as the shadow destroys his boat and leaves him for dead on the open sea.
Aloud and clearly...Ged spoke the shadow's name and in the same moment that shadow spoke without lips or tongue, saying the same word: "Ged". And the two voices were one.
Ged's realization here is profound on a few levels. For one thing, he learns that fighting himself – the piece of him with such base, hateful desires – is pointless. Denying this shadow – his darker desires - only causes him more harm. Why? Well, that's the second thing he learns: all of us carry light and dark within, and to simply remove one as opposed to the other throws us out of balance. Light cannot exist without the dark, and dark must return to snuff out light every now and then.
'To light a candle is to cast a shadow'
This kind of co-dependence, this balance, is part of what makes us human. And when Ged sees that, by actually listening to his old mentor this time, he knows what he has to do.
He confronts his shadow one last time on the sea – and slowly it morphs from its wolven form into his own shape. He stares into the abyss of his own soul, and acknowledges that it is real. He calls it by his own name. Then, instead of fighting, he throws his staff to the side, and embraces the shadow – accepting it as an inexorable part of himself:
'Ged reached out his hands, dropping his staff and took hold of the shadow, of the black self that reached out to him. Light and darkness met, and joined, and were one.'
The shadow struggles against this imprisonment, but is ultimately subsumed into its old host – and the story ends with a thought that we all need to remember:
'Ged had neither lost nor won but, naming the shadow of his death with his own name, had made himself whole: a man: who, knowing his whole true self, cannot be used or possessed by any power other than himself, and whose life therefore is lived for the life's sake and never in the service of ruin, or pain, or hatred'
This is where Le Guin shined as an author – her fantasy is personal and focused on intensely human experiences. The symbolism of accepting both the light and dark inside ourselves is significant, and has become almost a staple in well written narratives throughout the world of fantasy fiction: being seen as motifs in works like Harry Potter, and the RPG Planescape Torment (which deserves a video on its own – man that game is well written.) But unlike Harry Potter, the pandering sentiment that 'there's a little bit of good and evil in all of us, but its what we do that counts' is NOT what Le Guin preaches. Rather, we finish A Wizard of Earthsea with a much more realistic, if unsettling moral:
'What is a body that casts no shadow? Nothing, a formless, two-dimensional, a comic-strip character. The person who denies his own profound relationship with evil denies his own reality. He cannot do, or make; he can only undo, unmake.' (Le Guin, The Child and the Shadow', 1971)
In other words, we WILL act on dangerous, impure impulses in our lives. And we WILL act on benevolent impulses. Sometimes you don't get the choice – for in choosing to live as ONLY good or evil, you deny your own humanity. And that is what leads to destruction.
In a world where we've been tending increasingly towards polarization – political left and right, perceiving countries that are 'good' and 'bad', conceptualizing the globe in terms of 'The East' and 'The West', and other one-dimensional contemporary narratives – Le Guin's fiction provides some welcome acknowledgment of what makes us all human – and entertains the thought that, in the end, we'll act on both the light and darkness within us in equal measure. That's balance – and acknowledging that this balance exists in you just as well as everybody else, is a prerequisite to understanding both the people and the world around us on more equal terms.