Ursula K. Le Guin: Five Novels by Ursula K. Le Guin

I screwed up here.¹

I posted when I finished The Left Hand of Darkness and proceeded to lose myself in this collection of novels followed by a few of Le Guin’s essays: The Lathe of Heaven, The Eye of the Heron, The Beginning Place, Searoad: Chronicles of Klatsand, and Lavinia. I probably should have noted each novel as I finished it, but here we are.

I also enjoy reading on my e-ink tablet but lost my sense of place with one novel starting immediately after the last and a few not even having chapters. This probably would have been a better paper experience.

But I enjoyed each story and was impressed at how different they were from one another. A similar voice, depth, and sensibility were apparent throughout, however.

I got the strong impression of an author building experimental worlds in order to look soberly at ours—with more honesty, creativity, and range than I would’ve expected. There was a curious recurrence of paths through forests in a way that kept reminding me of The Road, and tons of subtle “or” statements that kept a character’s inner feelings or motivations from being too certain or absolute. (I love all Le Guin’s “or”s.)

The Lathe of Heaven was, as people of a certain age say, a trip. The premise, the coincidence of reading it at a time when I’m more tuned into the significance of dreams, the plot leaps, and the fascinating imagined consequences of altering reality. It’s easy to see why people recommend this book as a gateway to Le Guin’s work.

The Eye of the Heron is the least distinct in my memory, partly because it felt like a familiar story contrasted against the wild ride of The Lathe of Heaven, but mostly because my memory is not the best. The picture of a people strong in their solidarity, against the weakness of violence, stuck with me though.

The Beginning Place had my complete attention all the way through. Characters I was invested in, an adventure into the unknown that was just plain fun, and everything steeped in metaphor. Also the shifting points of view that would characterize the next novel.

Searoad: Chronicles of Klatsand had me from the start, because despite growing up in the flat midwest I have a weird affinity with the Pacific coast and this was set in a small town there. For a while it felt like people-watching, and the jumps in narration among people and time periods was an unusual sort of storytelling that ended powerfully—even though I got lost a few times keeping characters straight. It’ll be hard to look at sea foam now and not think about this book.

Lavinia felt almost cinematic with its imagery and epic scenes, and it also went on for so long I didn’t see how it could possibly end. It also had no chapters, which added to the mystery of it. I had no idea what an ingenious retelling it was until reading about it later, but that can be our secret.

I’m grateful for the essays that came after the novels, which rounded out my idea of the author’s sense of humor, wit, earnesty, and fierce intelligence. I really appreciate how Le Guin could be sharply critical, gentle, and humble at the same time. So much study, so much work, right up to the end! I’m glad I’ve finally managed to pay attention.