The story begins in Ged’s own village where he, a kid of 7, learns his first magic from his aunt. Five years later it helps him defend his village from fierce warriors, and soon afterwards he receives a true name and becomes an apprentice of Ogion the wizard. But Ogion teaches him patience – not magic – so Ged leaves him and sails to the island of Roke to learn the Art in a real School of Magic. That’s where his boyish pride makes him play childishly with forbidden spells thus releasing a terrible Shadow.

The rest of the book describes his futile attempts to escape the Shadow, followed by his hunt for it. Finally, Get guesses its secret and saves the world – and himself – from a terrible danger. He knows now that patience is indeed the greatest of arts – and the hardest to learn, and names Ogion his only true master.

On his way to achieving his quest he saves people from an old and huge dragon, flies across the sea in the shape of a hawk, escapes a few traps and also learns that the schoolmate who once made him jealous and induced him to that reckless and tragic thing – releasing the Shadow – has proven a mediocre sorcerer, unworthy of a wizard’s staff. Ged could have proven his superiority by simply waiting a little bit longer – the irony of it.

We all, who have no magic in us, could still learn a lot from this extremely fascinating book. Wisdom of our world is the same as wisdom of Earthsea.

“To hear, one must be silent.”

Ursula Le Guin makes every word sing – her prose is more poetic than poetry and more musical than some music. She grabs the readers’ attention without effort; she fascinates them and guides them along the intricate paths of her world; she leaves them hungry for more. She’s made me want to try my own hand at fantasy – and I might one day. I know now why people who have read at least one of her books say her name with awe.