In this concluding Annals of the Western Shore installment, memory connects present with past and future. Slavery, storytelling and the journey home.
The strongest and longest book in the trilogy. It took me a while to fall in love with Powers, but eventually it hooked me in.
Favorite Passages
Freedom is largely a matter of seeing that there are alternatives.
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The quality and virtue of a slave is invisibility. The powerless need to be invisible even to themselves.
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She was no rebel, but she was not resigned. She was a solitary soul.
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You have been given trust. The sacred gift.
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If eternity had a season, it would be midsummer. Autumn, winter, spring are all change and passage, but at the height of summer the year stands poised. It's only a passing moment, but even as it passes the heart knows it cannot change.
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. . . leadership means personal magnetism, active intelligence, unquestioning acceptance of responsibility, and something harder to define: a tension between justice and compassion . . .
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We went back to building for a while, but a shadow had fallen across our make-believe.
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I didn't know why he reached out to me across the ignorance and enmity that kept the farm people and the city people apart, or how he knew that we could make friends despite the enormous difference of our knowledge and experience. But we did; we said almost nothing, but in our silence there was trust.
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As before, on the hilltop, he made no reply and was silent for a long time; then he sang, the same strange, high, soft singing that seemed to have no source or center, as if it did not come from a human throat but hung in the air like the song of insects, wordless but sad beyond all words.
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History would be my art.
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Are we then men of Morva
To flee before the foe,
Or shall we fight for Etra
Like our fathers long ago?
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As in the dark of winter night
The eyes seek dawn,
As in the bonds of bitter cold
The heart craves sun,
So blinded and so bound, the soul
Cries out to thee:
Be our Light, our fire, our life,
Liberty!
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It was like that dream I had had of finding rooms in a house that I had not known were there, where I was made welcome among wonder, and greeted by a golden animal.
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"What a comfort the past is," Mimen said, "when the future offers none."
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Around his words silence spread out. Silence enlarged around me, wider and deeper. I was in a pool, at the bottom of a pool, not of water but of silence and emptiness, and it went on to the end of the world. I could not breathe the air, but I breathed that emptiness.
There was a wall across my mind. On the other side of the wall was what I couldn't remember because it hadn't happened.
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If you looked into the earth of the bank you'd find white bones thin as roots, bones of little children buried there where the water would come and eat their graves.
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There is much I will never remember of the days after that day. When at last I learned forgetting, I learned it very quickly and all too well. What fragments I can find of those days may be memories or may not., they may be the other kind of remembering that I do, of times that have not come and places I have not yet been.
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The way took me. If there was a path I followed it, if there was a bridge I crossed it, if there was a village and I smelled food and was hungry, I went and bought food.
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It didn't matter where I walked. The ways were all the same. There was only one way I could not go, and that was back.
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"Are you crazy, boy? He nodded. "You are, you are."
Then he chuckled and said, "So am I, boy. Crazy Cuga."
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"Sheepdog bitch," he said. "Had her litter up over there east on the rocky slopes. I seen the pups playing. Thought they was wolves, went over there with my knife to dig 'em out and cut their throats. I just got to the den and the bitch come around the hill, and she was going to go for me, but I says hey now, hey there, mother, I'll kill a wolf but never hurt a dog, will I? And she shows her teeth" -
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"Oh yes. Oh yes. They live soft there. Roofs and walls and all. Beds and coats and all."
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"The Uplands are beyond and beyond," he said, "north of the moon and east of the dawn. A desolation of hill and bog and rock and cliff, and rising over it all a huge vast mountain with a beard of clouds, the Carrantages. Nobody deserves to live in the Uplands but sheep. It's starving land, freezing land, winter forever, a gleam of sunlight once a year. It's all cut up into little small domains, farms they'd call them here and sorry farms at that . . . "
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The power of his being was in itself like a spell, leaving me only corners of my own being, where I hid in shadow.
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I asked Ammeda how he knew his way and he said, "The birds tell me."
Hundreds of small birds flitted about above the rushes; ducks and geese flew overhead, and tall silver-grey herons and smaller white cranes stalked the margins of the reed islets.
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I knew, I knew all too well, that I was prone to put too much trust in people. I wondered if the fault was inborn, a characteristic, like my dark skin and hawk nose. Overtrustful, I had let myself be betrayed, and so had betrayed others. Maybe I had come to the right place at last, among people like me, who would meet trust with trust.
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"Prut's a good mouser," my uncle said.
I kneaded the nape of the cat's neck. Prut purred.
After a while Metter said, "Mice are thick this year."
I scratched behind Prut's ears and wondered if I should tell my uncle that for one summer of my life I had eaten mice as a major part of my diet. It seemed unwise. Nobody had yet asked me anything about where I came from.
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I'd been elsewhere. They didn't want to know about elsewhere. Not many people do.
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In the villages of the Sidoyu existence was full, rich, elaborate, a tapestry of demanding relationships, choices, obligations, and rules. To live as a Sidoy was as complex and subtle a business as to live as an Etran; to live rightly as either was, perhaps, equally difficult.
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. . . his dog Minki, a kind old bitch who showed up just in time for her supper.
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It was dull life, I suppose, but it was what I needed. It gave me time to mend. It gave me time to think, and to grow up at my own pace.
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"It means she can see through the world. And hear voices from far away."
. . .
"Gegmer hears dead people talking, sometimes. Or people who aren't born yet."
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"Is this a power of our people - of the Rassiu? Is it a gift or a curse? Are there any people here who will tell me what my visions are?"
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Often she and I didn't understand each other, but it didn't matter; there was understanding beneath words, a likeness of mind beneath all differences.
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The people who stole me from my people had stolen my people from me. I could never wholly be one of them.
To see that was to see that I must go on.
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They were my age, but we'd reached our age by different roads.
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"Three things that, seeking increase, strengthen soul: love, learning, liberty."
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"It's as if a chain has broken."
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"Can slavery not be evil?"
. . . .
"If everybody believes it's the way things are and must be, then you can not know that. . . that it's wrong."
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Let the swan fly to the northlands.
. . . . .
Let grey gander fly beside grey goose,
North in the springtime; it is south I go.
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"If we're guided, are we to argue with the guide?"