I started reading the fourth book in the series immediately after the third. As a result, I didn't write any of those reviews at the time of reading the stories, figuring I'd wait until all four were done and still relatively fresh in my mind. More fool me! Here we are, almost five years later (over five years from when I first started the series) and I've finally managed to finish things up. Honestly, I think a part of that is how different Tehanu is to the first three books; I see why people call those the "Earthsea trilogy" and this is almost a separate entity, despite having some of the strongest narrative through lines from earlier stories. It also makes sense that this book was written decades after the hours – it feels different. Older. Wiser. Subtler. And that's a good thing.

Our tale picks up pretty much exactly where we left off, with Ged being borne back to his homeland of Gont, aback a dragon. But he doesn't actually arrive for several chapters. Instead, we return to the end of the second book, The Tombs of Atuan, and discover what became of Tenar. She has also wound up on Gont where, in many ways, she has led the life that Ged would have had, were it not for his immense power and many adventures. She has apprenticed to his old master, Ogion, for a time, before ultimately settling down with a family on a local farm. She's lived a surprisingly simple life, whilst her old friend has been off saving the world and crowning kings. But she now finds herself at a crossroads. Her husband is dead. She is old. And for all that she pretends to be another of the common, simple folk of our valley, she will always be an outsider, and someone who sees the world a little differently. So it's not much of a surprise to her neighbours when she adopts a mistreated and nearly killed young girl, nor that she is called to see Ogion before his death, which occurs just before Ged is finally returned.

For all of the majesty and adventure of the previous three books, Tehanu takes places across a handful of rural valleys. Its focus is on the simple evils of every day life, and whilst the repercussions of their prior actions are mentioned – the King himself even cameos, fortuitously, at one point – they are mostly referred to in the abstract, as happenings elsewhere. Even the world building is subtle, woven through dialogue and song, far more than epic discoveries and foreign lands. But there's a power in that subtlety, and you can't help but feel that this is the book with the most importance contained within its words. The ideas are simple, sure, yet radical, and strike at the heart of the themes of the prior books in a much more relatable way.

Of course, there is still magic and darkness. This wouldn't be a tale of Earthsea without them! And here, once again, they are introduced as a light touch, a withering glance, or a strange phrase. That the burnt girl, Therru, will be important is never beyond doubt, but the final reveal is also done cleverly – and simply. There are no grand battles or sudden bursts of magical power. Her adopted parents – Tenar and Ged, now together (at last!) – are simply bewitched, in a manner that is somehow far more terrifying than the necromancers and shadow demons of previous stories, and she... well, she stops it all. Without pomp or ceremony or revelation, she walks to a cliff, calls a dragon, burns their enemies in one fell swoop, and then decides to remain the girl, their girl, for now. She is dragon born, and from everything the book builds up, she will go on to shape this new version of their world, but she is still a child, and that is as clear as her power. See, subtle. Clever.

Yet, that reveal is a little too unsubtly telegraphed. Like the first book, the clues are too neatly aligned, the trope-filled path too well trod. The constant references to another dragon born woman on the island, and the reactions of those with magical powers to her, are all clear. When the King arrives seeking a woman who will help them choose the next Archmage (or who may be that person) it is all but underlined in the text: Therru is powerful! However, like the first book, that clear narrative direction doesn't really hinder the story. Indeed, it gives the book ample opportunities to have Tenar point out the idiotic, patriarchal assumptions that are all around her. From her son simply stating that the farm is now his (despite never having worked it or cared for it), to the King and wizard completely missing the point of the prophecy, she is consistently having to point out that this division between the genders is not helpful. And these points are underscored throughout in much less in-your-face ways, from her constant wondering around "women's work" to the way that magic is clearly divided between Witches and Wizards, and what that tells you overall.

This is why the book feels more important – and more personal. I can't help but feel that Le Guin was pouring her own frustrations, experiences, and hopes into Tenar, and trying to say "look, this is stupid, isn't that obvious; there is a better way!" It's a solid message, wrapped up in a superb book. It may not be as big, or as flashy, or even as enjoyable as other tales in the series, but it is probably my favourite.