“Life loves to know itself, out to its furthest limits; to embrace complexity is its delight. Our difference is our beauty. All these worlds and the various forms and ways of the minds and lives and bodies on them – together they would make a splendid harmony.”
Ursula K Le Guin is not about to hide her romanticism or to denounce her earlier efforts in the field of speculative fiction. Instead, she wears it like a pride flag and moves on to become the amazing writer that captured our hearts and our imagination well beyond the limits and expectations of genre literature.
This collection of short stories is deliberately chronological, from her debut to the 1970s, and its purpose is to map her amazing journey to the top of her profession.
The progress of my style has been away from romanticism, slowly and steadily, from this story to the last one in the volume, written in 1972. It has been a progress. I am still a romantic, no doubt about that, and glad of it, but the candor and simplicity of ”Semley’s Necklace” have gradually become something harder, stronger, and more complex.
The author’s introductions to each story selected for the volume are as important to me, familiar as I am with most of her prize-winning novels, as the actual stories. They help with context, with the pitfalls of misreading the author’s intentions, with the sources of inspiration and with the recurring themes that define the style of this engaging and militant artist.
One of these important observations is the way Le Guin distinguishes between fantasy, hard-science and psychology: they are all part of the same human experience. She describes most of her later work as explorations of psychomyths : more or less surrealistic tales, which share with fantasy the quality of taking place outside any history, outside of time, in that region of the living mind which – without invoking any consideration of immortality – seems to be without spatial or temporal limits at all.
The author also makes the distinction between science-fiction as escapism and science-fiction as a tool to understand the human mind. I love her quote because it aligns well with my dislike for current trends in Hollywood action and superhero productions:
Unless physical action reflects psychic action, unless the deeds express the person, I get very bored with adventure stories; often it seems that the more action there is, the less happens.
In the same vein, the author draws attention to our sick fascination with professional killers, evil masterminds and generally bad boys with bad attitudes – another pervasive trend in Hollywood and literature:
The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain.
On a more practical level, the various stories will take the seasoned reader to well known destinations, more or less anchored in the shared Hainish universe imagined by le Guin: a multitude of worlds scattered to the far corners of the galaxy, brought together by a communication device known as an ansible , one that can bypass the limitations of the speed of light.
The importance of this ansible is revealed in one of the quotes about light and darkness, one that originates probably the author’s interests in Oriental philosophies, like Tao, Confucianism or Yin-Yang dualities. It might also be read in today’s context of the spread of misinformation through social media, something the author surely couldn’t know about in 1975. Yet this is what a science-fiction author does, according to Ray Bradbury: sees the signs of illness, and rings the alarm bells:
Unreason darkens that gap of time bridged by our lightspeed ships, and in the darkness uncertainty and disproportion grow like weeds.
Each story here merits its own individual review but, since it’s been a few weeks after I finished the lecture, I will only mention that I had a chance to visit Rocannon’s world, Earthsea, the planets Winter from The Left Hand of Darkness and Odo from The Dispossessed plus several other locations less obvious to the Hainish tourist.
The Word for World is Forest is not included in the collection, but the later title can be predicted from such stories as The Word of Unbinding and Vaster Than Empires and More Slow , places where the forest in the outer world mirrors forests of the mind, as le Guin so aptly describes in one of her introductions:
We all have forests in our minds. Forests unexplored, unending. Each of us gets lost in the forest, every night, alone.
This is something that resonates strongly with my own city-bred experiences: the surest way to get my psychic batteries re-charged is to escape from the asphalt jungle to the peace and silence of the forest.
Lately, in these lone years in the middle of his life, he had been burdened with a sense of waste, of unspent strength; so, needing to learn patience, he had left the villages and gone to converse with trees, especially oaks, chestnuts, and the grey alders whose roots are in profound communication with running water.
The forest is both a powerful physical presence, a thing of endless beauty and a political manifesto – an alternative to our toxic, world destroying consumerism. Knowing how much le Guin loves the forest, it should not be a surprise that her poetic ear and her mind latched onto a couple of lines from Marvell’s famous appeal to embrace life and love:
My vegetable Love should grow
Vaster than Empires, and more slow.
In the story inspired by the poem, humans set out on suicidal, one-way missions to the farthest unexplored corners of the universe, in search of answers to questions that haven’t even been asked yet. These transcendental mysteries find expression in a world where intelligence developed in unexpected directions.
Nobody here ate anybody else. All life-forms were photosynthesizing or saprophagous, living off light or death, not off life. Plants: infinite plants, not one species known to the visitors from the house of Man. Infinite shades and intensities of green, violet, purple, brown, red. Infinite silences.
Trying to comprehend the strangeness of this universe can lead to madness. Indeed, the author argues that only a madman would embark on such a spiritual journey:
No normal human being who had experienced time-slippage of even a few decades between League worlds would volunteer for a round trip of centuries. The Surveyors were escapists, misfits. They were nuts.
This reminds me of the Beatles song about the fool on the hill who sees the worlds spinning round and round and round. What do they have that we have misplaced on never paid attention to? Le Guin argues that it is ‘empathy’, the key ingredient to understand and accept the concept of Stranger. This is something central to many of Le Guin’s stories, but in particular to ‘Winter’s King’ and ‘Nine Lives’
It is hard to meet a stranger. Even the greatest extravert meeting even the meekest stranger knows a certain dread, though he may not know he knows it. Will he make a fool of me wreck my image of myself invade me destroy me change me? Will he be different from me? Yes, that he will. There’s the terrible thing: the strangeness of the stranger.
While the theme was greatly expanded in the novel ‘The Left Hand of Darkness’, the impact and the relevance of the original short story is painfully brought to bear by current events in which we willfully refuse to acknowledge the humanity and the rights of the Stranger, preferring to consider them a threat to be eliminated [they are rejected based on skin colour, religion, economic status, political preferences, sexual orientation, etc].
Nevertheless, the distance between the concept of Stranger and plot execution made ‘Nine Lives’ the only story in the collection I struggled with. Le Guin postulates the use of clones as a more practical alternative to exploration crews. She argues that a multiple organism that can share one mind, one purpose can function better than a bunch of individuals with conflicting personalities: They were all him, he is all them.
I don’t buy into this theory since I’m half of a pair of identical twins and our personalities and our purposes were never identical, regardless of our shared growing up experience. Having identical physiological features is no guarantee of identical minds. Even the science quoted by le Guin seems highly suspicious [bogey] to me:
It’s true that identical twins tend to die at about the same time, even when they have never seen each other. Identity and death, it is very strange ... ???
The later stories in the collection show not only the growing mastery of language from le Guin, but also her engagement with the issues she considers important. Scientists remain her favorite protagonists for their dedication to enlightenment that often puts them in the crosshairs of dictators and bigots. It is the case of The Stars Below , one of my top picks from the volume, the story of an astronomer that is hunted down like Giordano Bruno by the local Inquisition for daring to look up at the stars. He is forced to hide underground, in near total darkness, alone and afraid yet undefeated.
We must go farther, we must look farther! There is light if we will see it. Not with eyes alone, but with the skill of the hands and the knowledge of the mind and the heart’s faith in the unseen revealed, and the hidden made plain. And all the dark earth shines like a sleeping star.
The most important, the most philosophical and the most influential of the stories in this collection is actually the shortest : The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas
It is what le Guin defines as a psychomyth, a fundamental building block of our moral compass and of the way we engage with the world and with the Stranger. Others, like Dostoyevsky and William James, both acknowledged as sources of inspiration by le Guin, have tackled the issue, but I admire her effort best for the clarity of the presentation and for the provocation to the reader to take a stand, one way or another.
The core of the debate is the question of Utopian societies, and of what are we prepared to do in order to live in one of them. Put in another way, what moral compromises are you ready to accept in order to live your life comfortably? Many critics have seen this as a direct critic of American jingoism or exceptionalism and of the crimes committed in its name. Or, as Howard Zinn put it: there is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.
To those readers who point out that the story apparently recommends disengaging with the issue and walking away, Le Guin wrote her answer in another fundamental story in her fictional universe, one that deals with her political stance in support of the often misunderstood anarchism movement:
Anarchism’s principal target is the authoritarian State (capitalist or socialist); its principal moral – practical theme – is cooperation (solidarity, mutual aid). It is the most idealistic, and to me the most interesting, of all political theories.
Because: This story is about one of the ones who walked away from Omelas.]
I’m talking about The Day Before the Revolution , the story that militantly ends the volume with a call to arms, promising that Utopias are accessible to those who look inside and take responsibility for themselves, instead of blaming others or the system or secret cabals engaged in conspiracy theories.
“What is an anarchist? One who, choosing, accepts the responsibility of choice.”
Ursula K le Guin has no desire to become the prophet of a new world order. She is a romantic and a humanist who believes in our better nature and who believes in knowledge and in self examination as the path forward. She is the teacher who pushes the younglings out of the nest in order to teach them to fly:
They were awed, adoring. She snarled at them: Think your own thoughts! That’s not anarchism, that’s mere obscurantism.
Le Guin’s literary journey doesn’t come to a stop in 1975, the year the retrospective collection was written. I look forward to the next voyage of discovery in the company of her stories and novels.