Voices by Ursula K. Le Guin
This book tells the story of a young woman named Memer living in the conquered city of Ansul, where the invaders, the Alds have outlawed books and destroyed nearly all records of the city’s history, faith, and culture, leaving only a hidden library and a dying tradition for a few survivors to guard in secret.
From the very first pages I felt the quiet ache of loss layered behind every corner of Ansul: loss of memory, loss of identity, loss of home. Memer’s inner life, her anger, her grief, and the weight of prejudice she carries as the daughter of a woman assaulted during the invasion made me ache for her even as I admired her strength to endure. When the wandering poet/storyteller Orrec and his wife Gry arrive in Ansul, offering stories and songs from the old world, I felt hope flicker again, a fragile, defiant glimmer inside a city bowed under tyranny. The way Le Guin shows how storytelling, memory, and language themselves can be acts of resistance moved me deeply.
What stands out in Le Guin’s writing here is her ability to write resistance not simply as violence or rebellion, but as reclamation: reclaiming history, reclaiming dignity, reclaiming voice. She does not shy away from the brutalities of occupation, the heavy toll on the innocent, or the moral complexity of uprising. At times the pacing feels slow, the novel spends much time in reflection, in the quiet spaces between fear, grief, and hope. For some readers that might feel like waiting too long for action. But for me those pauses enriched the emotional core, letting me sit with the sorrow and longing, the fragility of memory, the ache of longing for justice.
I give this book 5 out of 5. It beautifully weaves politics, faith, memory, and humanity into a story that feels both intimate and grand. It stayed with me long after I finished the final page, and reminded me how powerful words and stories can be in healing and resistance.