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damgoodfantasy · 2 years
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The Age of Dragons
Almost universally in fiction -- traditional mythology and modern fantasy -- dragons are defined by two things: age and power. These two are often linked together in a sort of linear relationship, i.e. older dragons are also more powerful, either physically or magically. In Ursula Le Guin's The Farthest Shore we see this same relationship played out on a cultural level among the dragons, or at least we do at first. In how she characterizes dragons, it highlights the strengths and weaknesses of man in quite a beautiful way.
When Ged and Arren make their trip down the Dragon's Run, the size of dragons they encounter becomes larger and larger, until at last they meet Orm Embar, whose sheer size makes Arren realize "how small a thing a man is." I think it is by design that we see all interactions with dragons through Arren's eyes in this book, since he can't comprehend their speech, yet it still fills him with awe and reverence. Here too we see the crucial relationship dragons have with their language. Without it, they are literally winged beasts, cannibals who cannot help but feast upon their dead -- a chilling parallel to humans; without language, what else separates us from beasts?
But this power, this incredible scale, is subverted near the end of the book. In Orm Embar we saw power and age as one, but [SPOILERS] the so-called "greatest" dragon dies like any mortal creature by the hand of one man. After Ged and Arren's quest is complete, however, we see one more dragon, the very oldest of their kind: Kalessin. This iron drake is old, so old its sides are "scored and scarred" and "the long teeth yellowed and blunt." Arren does not cower in awe or fear at Kalessin, and just looks into his eye, where he describes "the mourning of the world was deep in it." So here we see the price of age, the cornerstone of dragon culture. The relationship is not linear; they grow, become powerful, and they too wane like men, reduced to scars and blunted teeth and memories.
Dragons in Earthsea are deeply, fascinatingly human, which makes sense in world, but really helps drive home the themes of The Farthest Shore. We see a culture upheld as something vast, unknowable, and infinitely powerful reduced to cannibalism and ruin. Those believed to be its oldest and wisest sit by, the weight of their memories dragging them down. The writing is subtle and leaves much to the imagination, like much of Le Guin's work, and I won't pretend to make some grand point here. I just really appreciate how she is able to humanize something so wonderful and quintessentially fantasy without losing any of the magnificence of a dragon.
And if you're reading this post when it goes up, Happy Thanksgiving!
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