First published a half-century ago, in 1968, A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula Le Guin has become a classic of children’s literature and one that I felt it was high time I revisited—which turned out to be a really rewarding experience.

The (main) character of Ged and the story being told both have real depth. The worldbuilding—particularly in terms of the magic system—is powerful and yet so understated I didn’t really notice its power overtly, but more through the innate satisfaction I felt throughout the reading experience. The writing is beautiful and evocative, too, and as elegant as the worldbuilding.

All in all, A Wizard of Earthsea is a thoroughly satisfying read in almost every way. I also believe it is a rare read in the Fantasy genre, whether for children or adults, because it is not about war and fighting, with the attendant tendency to glorify both. The focus of the book is on the inner and outward journey that the main character, Ged, also known as Sparrowhawk, must undertake to better understand himself and what it means to have a wizard’s power. He must also take responsibility for setting right a danger—chiefly to himself, but potentially to others as well—that he unleashed through arrogance and pride. In this sense A Wizard of Earthsea is clearly a coming of age story, but it’s a profound one. And despite not being about battles and war, the story is every bit as exciting and compelling as books that are.

A Wizard of Earthsea is also distinct from mainstream Fantasy because almost all the characters are people of colour: for example, Ged is far from unusual (among the people of the Archipelago) in having a coppery-brown skin and black hair and eyes, while his best friend, Vetch, is black. Overall, the societies of the Archipelago still have a medieval feel in terms of their technologies and the way people live, but there is sufficient societal diversity that the world avoids being an analogue for any one period or society in human history.

My one reservation with regard to A Wizard of Earthsea—particularly given the strengths and innovative qualities cited above—is that I have always been struck by the story’s conservatism in terms of the presence, let alone the role and status of women characters in the story. In this respect, the worldbuilding clings to the most conservative model, as the societies of the Archipelago are uniformly patriarchal. In particular, no women are wizards and very early on the reader encounters the common saw: “Wicked as women’s magic”or “Weak as women’s magic.” I still recall sucking my breath in (at around age 12) when I read those lines. Nor is this a case of the author setting up a premise in order to explore its truth, or otherwise, through the unfolding story; it’s a simple statement that encapsulates the status of women in the Earthsea world.

I remain as disappointed by this aspect of the A Wizard of Earthsea story now as I was at age 12, and also puzzled by it given Le Guin’s anthropological background and the way in which she broke the mould so comprehensively in the other areas discussed above. Nonetheless, while I feel this aspect of the story should not be glossed over, and I do not consider it a small matter for female power to be relegated so comprehensively to the “wicked” and the “weak”, I still believe that A Wizard of Earthsea remains an outstanding book in every other respect.