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This was the first book which I read, though the second in the series. It makes sense on its own, though you’ll miss some plot set-up and seeing how all the characters met if you start here.
Taran has grown up substantially since the first book (thank goodness), enough so that Gwydion invites him into an attempt to steal the zombie-making cauldron from Arawn. Eilonwy is not invited. I will be charitable and assume it’s because she’s too young rather than because she’s a girl, because she was at least as competent as Taran on the last adventure. To Taran’s dismay, he’s given a job that’s supposed to be well away from the battle, put under the authority of the wise warrior bard Adaon, and stuck with the arrogant and hostile Ellidyr, prince of Pen Llarcau, who makes up for his unhappy and penniless state as the youngest son of an unimportant kingdom by taking out his insecurities on Taran.
But Gwydion’s plan doesn’t survive contact with the enemy, Eilonwy (and Gurgi) come along without an invitation, Ellidyr is even more trouble than he seems, and the group very quickly not only becomes key to the mission, but finds that its goal is much more complicated, and carries a higher price, than they ever imagined.
While Alexander is not so good at straight-up villains and noble warriors (Arawn never appears onstage, and Adaon is overly perfect), he excels at comically flawed personalities and twisted heroes. Ellidyr is much more interesting than the standard arrogant angst-muffin with a poorly-hidden heart of gold who would normally take up his plot-space, and the funny-sinister keepers of the cauldron are a playful-creepy take on the three Fates.
But what makes this novel so memorable is the unflinching though age-appropriate depiction of the pain and difficulty of hard choices, real heroism, and growing up. No one does Pyrrhic victories like Alexander, and this book is the one which begins the theme of the sacrifice and heartbreak necessary to win a war, to change a society, to live a full life. These are not awesomely depressing books at all, but it did not surprise me one bit to learn that Alexander served in WWII.
The Black Cauldron (The Chronicles of Prydain)
I do think Adaon is a bit perfect, but how heartbreaking is the retrospective realization that he gave Taran a crucial decision because he didn’t trust himself to be objective when he knew that one choice would result in his own death, and that his sweet dream of flowers springing from bare rocks was of Eilonwy casting flowers on his crypt?
I usually hate it when it’s set up that some object will cost a party greatly, and then they pay for it with a convenient magic object. But Alexander sold me on how much Taran valued Adaon’s brooch, not only for its use but for how it gave him the wisdom and maturity he craved, and how wrenching it was for him to give up something wonderful in exchange for an object of evil that he only planned to destroy.
I had forgotten that not only did Ellidyr try to steal Taran’s glory, he actually tried to kill him! And yet I am always heartbroken at his death. Does he remind anyone else of a run-up to Westmark’s Justin? The whole climax is beautifully planned, both structurally and thematically, and deeply felt: Morgant going over to the bad, Ellidyr to the good, the whole company helplessly watching, and Gwydion charging in not in the nick of time but too late.
It’s such a somber book, even with the hypochondriac Gwystyl and Fflewddur Fflam’s snapping harp strings. When I read it as a child, its recognition of the price of true heroism spoke to me; it still speaks to me now.
Taran has grown up substantially since the first book (thank goodness), enough so that Gwydion invites him into an attempt to steal the zombie-making cauldron from Arawn. Eilonwy is not invited. I will be charitable and assume it’s because she’s too young rather than because she’s a girl, because she was at least as competent as Taran on the last adventure. To Taran’s dismay, he’s given a job that’s supposed to be well away from the battle, put under the authority of the wise warrior bard Adaon, and stuck with the arrogant and hostile Ellidyr, prince of Pen Llarcau, who makes up for his unhappy and penniless state as the youngest son of an unimportant kingdom by taking out his insecurities on Taran.
But Gwydion’s plan doesn’t survive contact with the enemy, Eilonwy (and Gurgi) come along without an invitation, Ellidyr is even more trouble than he seems, and the group very quickly not only becomes key to the mission, but finds that its goal is much more complicated, and carries a higher price, than they ever imagined.
While Alexander is not so good at straight-up villains and noble warriors (Arawn never appears onstage, and Adaon is overly perfect), he excels at comically flawed personalities and twisted heroes. Ellidyr is much more interesting than the standard arrogant angst-muffin with a poorly-hidden heart of gold who would normally take up his plot-space, and the funny-sinister keepers of the cauldron are a playful-creepy take on the three Fates.
But what makes this novel so memorable is the unflinching though age-appropriate depiction of the pain and difficulty of hard choices, real heroism, and growing up. No one does Pyrrhic victories like Alexander, and this book is the one which begins the theme of the sacrifice and heartbreak necessary to win a war, to change a society, to live a full life. These are not awesomely depressing books at all, but it did not surprise me one bit to learn that Alexander served in WWII.
The Black Cauldron (The Chronicles of Prydain)
I do think Adaon is a bit perfect, but how heartbreaking is the retrospective realization that he gave Taran a crucial decision because he didn’t trust himself to be objective when he knew that one choice would result in his own death, and that his sweet dream of flowers springing from bare rocks was of Eilonwy casting flowers on his crypt?
I usually hate it when it’s set up that some object will cost a party greatly, and then they pay for it with a convenient magic object. But Alexander sold me on how much Taran valued Adaon’s brooch, not only for its use but for how it gave him the wisdom and maturity he craved, and how wrenching it was for him to give up something wonderful in exchange for an object of evil that he only planned to destroy.
I had forgotten that not only did Ellidyr try to steal Taran’s glory, he actually tried to kill him! And yet I am always heartbroken at his death. Does he remind anyone else of a run-up to Westmark’s Justin? The whole climax is beautifully planned, both structurally and thematically, and deeply felt: Morgant going over to the bad, Ellidyr to the good, the whole company helplessly watching, and Gwydion charging in not in the nick of time but too late.
It’s such a somber book, even with the hypochondriac Gwystyl and Fflewddur Fflam’s snapping harp strings. When I read it as a child, its recognition of the price of true heroism spoke to me; it still speaks to me now.
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... your remark about Westmark makes me want to reread that series too....
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Funnily enough, I just revisited all the Prydain stuff myself last year, after not having touched them since I was in grade school -- so I fear you may have trouble maintaining that charitable attitude as the series progresses. :( (During my own reread, I started out trying to talk myself into being similarly charitable, because the adults who were trying to keep her safely away from dangerous adventures also tried to restrict the underage Taran, and his occasionally dismissive attitudes towards her weren't unrealistic for a little boy going through a "GIRLS HAVE COOTIES" stage. Alas, by the last book it was full fledged "OH LLOYD ALEXANDER NO" sadface time.)
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I am consoled by the girls and women being treated way better in Westmark, where, among other things, they actually have relationships with each other.
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I don't remember how much of this I noticed and was bothered by when I read them as a child -- my memories of the series overall was pretty darn fuzzy after thirty-odd years since I last read it, and they were library copies so I wasn't able to endlessly reread them like I did books I owned. I suspect it's rather telling that, prior to the reread, whenever I tried to think of the handful of rare genre heroines I adored and identified with as a little girl, Eilonwy never came to my mind...all the initial promise of a girl who was brave and actually got to DO STUFF was so annoyingly undercut by both other characters and the author as the series went along. I may not have liked Lewis' editorializing about girls in combat, or his treatment of Susan in the last book, but at least in Narnia there were a bunch of girls of different ages and personalities, and they weren't treated so much like being female made them part of an alluring but incomprehensible alien species. :(
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Obviously one answer is "it's a YA book, so the teenagers are going to go on the adventure no matter what." But it's possible that Gwydion is meant to be training Taran for the end of the series - he knows the Sons of Don will have to leave Prydain eventually, he may have reason to believe it will happen soon (particularly after his enlightment in the first book), and choosing an orphan to be High King is likely more palatable to the cantrev kings than choosing one of them (or one of their relatives), given all the rivalries.
If this is the case, it makes perfect sense for Gwydion to bring Taran along. Bringing Ellidyr along and assigning him to the same group as Taran could be a way of either a)training Taran to get along with insufferable people, b)showing Taran what lust for glory (which Taran displayed a lot of in the first book) can lead to, or c)both.
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I wonder if Dallben told him to keep Taran in mind. I doubt Dallben would've shown his whole hand, but Gwydion clearly holds the man in high esteem (with damn good reason) and I can certainly see Dallben saying 'that one has potential, Gwydion.'
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Going off on a tangent - has anyone done a story in which people or events which match a prophecy keep turning up, but end up not being the right ones?
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I remember comparing Ellidyr to Boromir, not Justin, but I think he probably fits in-between them in terms of influence/development.
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There are some WWII anecdotes in Alexander's My Love Affair with Music that just kill me -- I would quote them but the necessary setup makes them too long -- I have only read that one book of his nonfiction, it is so hard to find, but he is one of two, maybe three writers in the whole world who, when I read him writing just as himself, it makes me love him more, not less. It doesn't make the Prydain books smaller when you figure out (or suspect) that such and such a thing inspired so and so, which is just amazing, I think -- usually, finding autobiographical elements in great fantasy makes me resentful, like oh, so you are saying your imaginary world is made out of building blocks that are TINY and PEDESTRIAN and STUPID, is that it? but Alexander is not like that at all.
I think the Prydain books are greater than anything except maybe Narnia, but I have to say, I reread them all last year and it is so upsetting every time, when the plot comes back to me enough that I remember that oh no,
jar-jar binksGurgi does not die at the end of this book, or the next one, or the one after that. I hate that little fucker.Oh yeah and I hate wise old wizards but Dallben is pretty okay.
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I didn't know he had written much as himself. I must find this book.
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Me too.
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I have been told that one of his inspirations for Prydain was being stationed in Wales during the Blitz.