I have to admit: this time around I picked up Taran Wanderer with a sense of trepidation. Taran Wanderer is the first book of the The Chronicles of Prydain not to feature that practical chatterbox, Princess Eilonwy. Oh, Taran spends a lot of time thinking about her, and a talkative crow gives us a bit of an update on the aftermath of the last book, but that’s about it. As such, when I was a kid, it was hands down my least favorite Prydain book. This time around, I started it still nursing a vaguely irritated feeling from the last book in the series. Fortunately, in a few chapters, I was back in Prydain again, in one of the best books of the series.
Taran Wanderer focuses on trying to answer a question: who, exactly, is Taran anyway? At this point, as I’ve noted, he’s most definitely not just an Assistant Pig-Keeper, but something more—and not just because a Grand Big Destiny keeps hanging over him. But his exact role is uncertain—a serious issue for Taran, who wants to marry Eilonwy, but is not certain he is of noble enough birth to marry a princess. After talking to Dallben, Taran decides to go wandering through Prydain, to see if he can find his parents, and thus, figure out who he is.
A bit of clever diplomacy over some cows a bit later, and Taran is offered what he most desires: to be adopted as the heir of the King of Cadiffor, and one day to be the king of Cadiffor. Which raises the question of exactly why Taran needs to be born of noble parents after all, if really all he needed was cow tricks to become a king, a point just emphasized by Smoit:
“How then!” cried Smoit. “My body and bones, I’d rather see a wise pig-keeper on my throne than a blood prince who’s a fool!”
But Taran has learned some nobility in the last few books, and reluctantly decides that he needs to continue his quest to find out who he is. A used cow dealer, Taran! It can be a fairly respectable living if you don’t start selling lemon cows.
That doesn’t seem to be the destiny Taran craves, however, so back to his quest he goes. Kinda. He soon finds himself interrupted by an enchanted frog who turns out to be Doli (in a nice use of reusing characters). Getting Doli unenchanted—a very important task given that Doli is not really that good at being a frog—requires confronting the wizard Morda. Morda, as it turns out, is not only in desperate need of some high fat, high sugar food—and lots of it, now—but was also responsible for killing Eilonwy’s mother and cheating poor Glew (the giant with Major Issues from the previous book.) This is both a nice way of tying up some of the loose plot ends from the last book as well as adding a touch of adventure and fighting to what would otherwise be a book of self-discovery.
Defeating an evil wizard, however, is still not enough for Taran, who announces that he has to continue on to find his father. Which he does, in the person of one Craddoc, a herdsman. Taran, apparently not having heard a word of Smoit’s completely sensible speech (or, I guess, knowing any of the many fairy tales where peasants with the help of various Magical Things become royalty; unlikely for most peasants, I admit, but Taran has been encountering Magical Things throughout the entire book) is bitterly disappointed to learn that his father is nothing but a very unroyal herdsman. To be fair, at least some of this disappointment stems from his belief that his parentage will prevent him from marrying Eilonwy. To be less fair, Eilonwy has never given a single indication that she would care; Smoit’s royalty option remains open no matter who Taran’s parents are, which would allow him to marry Eilonwy; and Taran has not exactly had any previous indications, other than a tendency to be too brave on occasion, that he has any noble blood whatsoever. Taran seriously needs to get over this.
Instead, he settles down to a summer of helping his father restore the land and herd sheep. This is, in many ways, a very brave and honorable thing to do, and has the side benefit of teaching Taran some practical stuff about sheep that might come into use some day—say, for instance, if he ever becomes a High King who has to make Sheep Rules. Look, I’m just looking at the title of the next book. It would be completely brave and honorable if Taran would accept the situation with a little more grace and a little less resentment: as Craddoc painfully notes, Taran goes the entire summer without calling him “father.” Things get bad enough that Taran has a horrible moment of almost letting Craddoc just die after a fall, and even justifying why this would be the right thing. Fortunately that honor kicks in at the last minute (gulp). Just in time for Craddoc to admit that the entire father-son story was completely made up. I guess it’s great to clear the conscience before death, and both Craddoc and Taran suffer appropriately.
Which means it’s about time for Taran to do something else out of fairy and myth: master the multiple crafts of blacksmithing, weaving, pottery, and, above all, leadership. Taran has a genuine talent for blacksmithing and weaving, although no desire to do either for the rest of his life, and has no real talent for pottery, something he would like to do for the rest of his life. It’s another bitter lesson, and another sign of what his destiny really is—if he has the intelligence to figure it out.
Though I couldn’t help but find myself laughing that after finding out that great pottery was behind him, Taran’s real skill turned out to be management. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be reading in a not particularly subtle comment on the American manufacturing system of the 1960s here or not: my guess is that from a plotting perspective, Alexander wants to prepare us, and Taran, for his upcoming role as king, this time earned, and from a commentary perspective, encourage reader respect for the difficulties of crafts in those pre industrial, and maybe getting young readers to think a little about the energy and thought that had to go into cloaks back then.
My initial trepidation was not completely unfounded: Taran Wanderer is the most loosely plotted of all of the Prydain books so far, a story largely of, well, wandering from place to place, giving the book a rather diffused feeling. But for all that, it rather neatly ties up a few loose ends from The Castle of Llyr (which just manages to emphasize the comparative weakness of that book), and in the end, its own plot threads are rather neatly tied, or in this case I suppose I should say woven together, as Taran finally finds out who he is. Taran Wanderer is one of the richest of the Prydain books, a story of finding yourself through finding out what you want to do—and what you can do, a book about really and truly growing up.
Mari Ness isn’t very good with pottery either, although she likes to paint glazes on things. She lives in central Florida.
While I appreciate the necessity of this book in the overall scheme of things, it didn’t [and doesn’t] work for me as much as the other volumes. The charm of this series to me is the domesticity. The princess who is a bit of a nag. The idiot prince. The giant with self-esteem issues. This book moves away from that and gets into more, for lack of a better phrase, high-fantasy mode. It’s needed for the overall story arc, but I note (if I might time-travel a moment) that the final book brings back the “these are real folks who bicker and break harpstrings and have to stop to slop the pigs” while at the same time having the high-fantasy style involving the events that we can all see coming for Taran and Eilonwy. Perhaps I should see it as a refreshing pause and change of pace, but for me it was a bit of a “which of these things doesn’t belong” feeling to read book 4.
I read these books a long time ago, but Taran Wanderer was the one that stuck out the most in my memory. I guess it was the moral dilemma that Taran faced with his fake father and how he felt about it afterwards. I thought that was good writing. Maybe if I reread the books now my opinion would change, but I still think Taran Wanderer is my favorite of the Prydain books.
The king’s name is Smoit, not Snoit.
http://prydain.wikia.com/wiki/King_Smoit
Taran Wanderer remains my favorite of the Prydain novels by far. It’s essentially a collection of parables, particularly the ugly sword that’s sharper and stronger than all the pretty ones. I tell that story to every author friend who says “I’ve hit the point in writing this novel where I hate it”.
When I first read this series as a child, Taran Wanderer was absolutely my favorite of the five, because I loved the idea of learning all those crafts. As an adult, it’s still my favorite, but now it’s for the character that Taran develops through the novel.
@Dr. Thantos — That might explain why I didn’t like this book that much when I was a kid. Though my sense is that it’s not so much “domesticity” as “humor” — this is a much more serious book than the first three, and sticks more closely to a mythic arc.
@Ryanamo — That does seem to be the emotional center of the book.
@rosefox — Thanks for the correction!
I hadn’t thought of any of it as a metaphor for the writing process, but the book as a whole does seem to be somewhat similar to the careers of many authors — try this, try that, try this — Ok, FINALLY! Something that works! With both books and day jobs.
@darren A. Jones — Yeah, this is very much a book about character growth — possibly why I didn’t like it when I was a kid, but can appreciate it now.
Taran Wanderer is one of my favorites of the series, and the funny thing is, I remember reading it when I was 10 or so and disliking it. When I reread it a few years later, my opinion completely shifted. It’s a quiet book, but a thoughtful, contemplative quiet; I love it for itself and for the way I can use it to track my taste in literature.
When I was a kid this was the book that was missing from the library. Because I was a kid, it never occured to me to mention this lack to the librarian. And I could never find it at a bookstore. Years went by while I knew this story existed, just out of my reach.
With all that build-up, when I finally found a copy to read – I hated it. I must have been about 12 or 13 years old. It was a book about Taran doing boring stuff. And he didn’t find his parents in the end. Boo.
And there was no Eilonwy, who I liked to channel by stomping my feet and telling people that I would never speak to them again in the midst of arguments. My parents were less than impressed.
Coming to the story as an adult, I find it is one of my favorites. It helps that I love making pottery. And Lloyd Alexander gets it right. He spent time really learning and thinking about these crafts. He also spent time on HIS craft, telling a good and nuanced story of Taran’s journey to adulthood. It is a serious book, with a fairly serious message.
The High King would continue with some of these more adult themes – but that book is squarely in the tradition of heroic fantasy, which I adored as a child.
As a kid this was my least favorite, but now I’m thinking I should try it again as an adult. Maybe I’ll see more in it. I just remember it as a prolonged whine by Taran.
Did you really think that the references to The Castle of Llyr pointed out weaknesses in that book? Because I never felt that the story suffered because we didn’t know all the story of the giant, just as I didn’t feel that The Book of Three’s weaknesses were exposed by the short stories about Dalben’s origin. The stuff that was tied up doesn’t seem important thematicly or for plot, but I haven’t reread them as recently as you.
This is definitely my favorite of the series. Of course, I didn’t encounter these books until I was around 20 and a friend told me about them. This is where Taran really grows up. Sure Smoit could have made his little speech and Eilonwy can point out (again?) that she doesn’t care how high or low born Taran is and he could accept it. But neither he nor the reader would ever have felt it. Everything here is so well done and the progression is absolutely natural.
It’s interesting that the review suggests that the book is a commentary on “American manufacturing system in the 1960s .” In Anne Swinfin’s IN DEFENCE OF FANTASY, a survey and critique of post-WWII fantasy fiction, the author characterizes the Prydain books as having a distinctively “American” spin on high-fantasy, singling out TARAN WANDERER in particular for its depiction of the Free Commots as analogous to American frontier society, and how what Taran learns there is an “American” lesson that leaders and leadership need not be necessarily dependent on ancestry or “destiny” but on how capably one processes and applies life’s opportunities and experiences.
This book is a real building block of The High King for two reasons.
The first is the obvious character development of Taran, to the stage that both we as readers and he in story can see him as the leader he clearly can be.
The second is a very important underlying point to this story – we spend quality time with ordinary people in the world, not just the princes and kings.
Which makes the impact of the events to come much greater, because knowing of their lives, the potential sacrifices they must make are so much more significant and tragic.
To an adult reading a fantasy, we can often read between the lines and empathise with the costs. Yet childrens stories all too often ignore the ruination of the land in favour of the whizz bang of the clash of battle.
The plaintive cry of the landholder whose life is destroyed by the squabbling lords is a drastic shock to the system of a child who won’t even have considered the idea, particularly because the underlying concepts of actions and consequences develops along with maturity.
I also found this book disappointing when I first read it as a child, and would consider it the best of the five now. Mayhem at #11 articulates two of my reasons why as well as I could. The last time I read it, I think, was aloud to my daughter, then ten or so and now a grad student. The character I best remember was Llonio, the don’t-worry-be-happy guy with the weir in the river. I think it’s profound that Taran was able to get the idea that Llonio’s path of life was profoundly right, but not the right one that he should follow.
Russell H, I think the Free Commots would fit much better into real medieval Wales than Ms. Swinfin may realize. High Fantasy lives more in medieval England or France. There was this guy around 1600 who wrote some good plays touching on the interface between Welsh and English civilization, Bill Something…
This book and the last book were my favorites of all of them, when I was a kid. And now, come to think of it.
For me, it wasn’t just the learning of the crafts, it was that stupid cake, made from a single egg and bits of this and that, and then learning to make shift with what they had, for that one family who just basically gathered things. (Maybe it was the egg. I’ve always preferred brown eggs.)
I really, really wish Eilonwy had been in this book to some degree. The story simply suffers without her around. Making matters worse, we just got done with a book in which she was absent for half the pages. By the time we finally see her again, we’ll have gone through effectively two solid books with almost no character development for her, and Taran won’t have seen her for nearly three years. How are we supposed to recognize her? We barely even know her at this point.
Don’t get me wrong–I understand the role and function of this book. I really do. I understand that Eilonwy can’t teach Taran how to be a man, and that no matter how many times she or other characters tell him to accept himself for who he is, and not for who he imagines he might like himself to be, he has to learn this lesson for himself, and to some degree, that requires a level of separation from her. And the section of the book from Craddoc’s valley onward (the part of the book that puts the “Taran Wanderer” in Taran Wanderer), is really good. The best of the series so far (I haven’t gone through High King yet). And Taran must undertake that journey alone. I get all that. I really do.
My problem is that I honestly don’t believe the story as a whole required Eilonwy to be absent for the entire book. Indeed, as an author, I believe the story would have been considerably better. She could have still been around during the first fifteen chapters or so–really, all the way up until Craddoc’s Valley. During the encounters with the cantrev lords, the wizard in the woods, and Dorath, I missed her in a way that was, I believe, different and deeper than what the author intended, as recorded in his author’s note. I felt she could have contributed significantly to those events, and the story was weaker for her absence. I think the “farewell” scene in Craddoc’s Valley would have meant much, much more if it had been her, and not just Flewddur, whom Taran sent away. And I also would have had the book end with Taran arriving back at Caer Dallben and seeing her again, thus working in another appearance for her, as well as sparing precious pages from the last book of the series. I know this all sounds like a useless, out-of-time revision fifty years after the fact, for that’s exactly what it is. Still, I can’t help feeling this way.
I just think writing the heroine out the story for two straight books was not the right decision to make. If this series was nine books long, or maybe seven, I wouldn’t have as much a problem with it. But it’s only five, and the heroine is basically a no-show for two of them. That’s a large chunk of the story for the main (and really, the only) female character to be sitting on the sidelines (while Taran gets a ton of development–so much so, in fact, that I now have to be convinced that she is worthy of him!). As an author, I would not have done it.
perhaps you don’t need a belated comment agreeing that as a child this book was my least favorite, but later rereadings promoted it to #2 (the high king being #1). i don’t need Eilonwy even though i love her–i think that their byplay would change the tone in a way that would lessen this book’s impact. i didn’t think that as a kid, but i suspect that a lot of this book is a non-kid’s book in disguise.