True Names

Schools of magic are now common in the literature world of fantasy, Hogwarts simply being the most famous and widely known. The storylines are familiar – young precocious student who has suffered early loss finds way to magical school where an inborn spark is honed into talent. Protégé, possibly still raw with more to discover, is forced to grow up quickly and embarks on quest – typically to conquer some evil or malevolent force.

 

I don’t know who first came up with this narrative arc, put possibly the writer who brought it to a large swath of readers is Ursula K. Le Guin in the now-classic A Wizard of Earthsea from 1968. I’ve read some of Le Guin’s sci-fi, but had not gotten around to the Earthsea series. I finally read the first book this morning in a single three-hour sitting. It reminded me a little of the Prydain Chronicles beginning with Lloyd Alexander’s The Book of Three from 1964 in terms of story arc and intended audience (younger readers and teenagers). I can see where A Wizard of Earthsea borrowed ideas from Tolkien’s world where dragons are concerned, but mostly I see where others have borrowed from it.

 

The magic system is sympathetically tied to the natural world, as elaborated and expanded upon in the more contemporary and grittier The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. The power of magic comes from knowing the true names of entities. These true names are hidden in an ancient mostly forgotten language. Incantations have power because by truly naming something, you have power over it. The lite version of this can be found in occasional Latin-ish spells in the world of Hogwarts, although I don’t think as much thought was put to tie those incantations into a self-consistent system. Tolkien, a master of words and languages, doesn’t take this route and the magic of Middle Earth is much subtler.

 

In Earthsea, as in many other fantasy novels, arcane knowledge is key to magic. It’s not easy to learn this on your own, and that’s why a school of magic is needed. Teachers who themselves study and practice the magical arts are key to the whole endeavor. In these magical worlds, education is key. In our world, where science and technology are magic’s counterparts, perhaps the same holds true. Cutting-edge science is not so easy to learn on your own even with Internet access, and good teachers are key. Perhaps my job as a teacher of chemistry will hold out for a while against the A.I. bots who may one day replace me.

 

Earthsea’s magic is closely tied to the natural world: physical, chemical, biological. To manipulate the elements requires a close knowledge of them. Much of elementary magic begins in casting illusions – things that seem real, but lack substance. More powerful magic allows for true transformation, but potentially upsets the equilibrium of the natural world with far-reaching consequences. The use and manipulation of energy is emphasized as a cost in performing magic, sometimes with tragic results. But at its heart, magic relies on the abstract knowledge of true names, akin to glimpsing the invisible Forms of Plato behind their physical and visible substantiations. Knowledge is power. Maybe.

 

I’ve said little of the journey of the young protagonist wizard in the first Earthsea novel so as not to spoil the story. Growing up, maturing, learning some things the hard way, are key themes of any young adult novel. Strip away the magical elements, and the best stories are those about personal human struggles, and the hard choices of right, wrong, and plenty of grey all around. That journey is perhaps growing into one’s true name, not the one given to you at birth, but the person you are becoming. It is perhaps a deeper, older, magic, one that Aslan the Lion knew about, that a power-hungry White Witch failed to comprehend; or something that Dumbledore understood that Voldemort disdained.