While Le Guin's short fiction, for me, has been a mixed bag, I've liked (or, in one case, at least appreciated) the four novels by her that I've read. This was the second of those, read not long after A Wizard of Earthsea (and like it, read out loud to my wife), and the first one in the science fiction genre for which she's most noted. It's also only the second novel the author wrote, so quite an early work in her corpus.
Much of Le Guin's SF is set in the far future, and premised on the idea that humanoid life in our galaxy evolved on a planet called Hain. In the remote past, they supposedly established colonies on a number of other worlds, including Earth (from which humans are descended); but interstellar contact then ceased for eons, during which the various planetary populations evolved in different ways, sometimes influenced by early Hainish genetic engineering experiments. Sometime in our distant future, interstellar contact between Hain, Earth and a few other (relatively) nearby planets was restored, and they set up a Hain-led federation, the Ekumen, that then set about re-exploring the galaxy. Various novels and stories, including this one, are set in the centuries and millennia of that re-exploration. All of this body of work is often referred to –though not by Le Guin herself!-- as a series, the so-called “Hainish Cycle.” In point of fact, however, though they're united by this premise, the various individual works don't form a true series, and the author never conceived of them as one. They're all about entirely different characters, and they're not tied into any sort of common chronology. Le Guin stated on her website: "People write me nice letters asking what order they ought to read my science fiction books in — the ones that are called the Hainish or Ekumen cycle or saga or something. The thing is, they aren't a cycle or a saga. They do not form a coherent history. There are some clear connections among them, yes, but also some extremely murky ones. And some great discontinuities..." Barb and I approached this particular book as a stand-alone, and that basically fits with the author's own intention.
Our setting here is a planet that's quite some distance from its sun, so one of its years is as long as about 60 of ours. So seasons last about the equivalent of 15 years, including winter –and this far from the sun, winters are brutal. For some 600 Earth years, it's been home to a human colony; but their ancestors were forgotten long ago by the rest of the galaxy, and they don't have much high technology. The native human-like population (the colonists call them “hilfs,” from the acronym HILF, or “highly intelligent life form;” and the hilfs refer to them as the “Farborn”) is primitive in material culture, not yet having invented the wheel. They're divided into two cultural/ethnic groups, one of which settles in defined areas and has quasi-permanent, fortified communal settlements, occupied especially during the winter. The other group, the Gaal, are aggressive nomads who live further to the north during warmer weather, but migrate south of the equator at the approach of winter, plundering and slaughtering any non-Gaal in their path that they can overrun; and as the book opens, winter is approaching.
For generations, the Farborn have been dwindling in numbers. Their physiology just isn't adapted to the planet's microbiology, and miscarriages and stillbirths are common. They're at peace with their nearest settled hilf neighbors, and there's some desultory contact and trade. But the two groups don't really like or trust each other, and while sexual unions and even marriages aren't unheard of (local hilf leader Wold had a now-deceased Farborn wife, though she was just one spouse in a polygamous household), they're frowned on, and none of them have ever produced offspring; the Farborn's doctor believes that the genetic makeup of the two races is incompatible, due to their long evolutionary adaptation to different worlds. At the outset of this tale, though, two momentous events complicate the normal order of things. Most obviously, word comes into the area that the Gaal have formed a super-tribal alliance that's bringing their horde together, not in separate streams in different localities, but in one homicidal tidal wave –-and its headed this way. Less obviously, but ultimately just as importantly, a chance meeting between Wold's daughter Rolery and Farborn leader Jacob Agat Alterra soon leads the two into a tentative and at first undefined relationship born of sexual attraction and mutual loneliness. Their world is on the cusp of great events; and the reader will have a front-row seat to watch those unfold.
Back in the 60s, some observers of the SF field, impressed with Le Guin's early works, hailed her as “the next Leigh Brackett.” From what little I've read of Brackett's work, that wouldn't have been a mean role to play. As it turned out, Le Guin's work turned in different and more individual directions. But this and some of her other early work shows where the Brackett comparisons came from. Here, we have a vividly drawn, low-tech and hostile world that demands courage and toughness for survival, and we're looking at the prospect of warfare with edged weapons. It's not so violent as Brackett's Black Amazon of Mars, and unlike the title character of the latter, Rolery isn't a warrior woman. But readers can expect some violence –Le Guin probably sympathized with the “flower children” ethos of that era, but when you're dealing with the Gaal, greeting them with peace signs and flower bouquets won't be a winning strategy-- and our heroine here IS a strong-inside young woman with guts, agency and a sense of responsibility. Related to her upbringing by a father who was a world-class academic cultural anthropologist, Le Guin also brings a much stronger grasp of sociology and cultural dynamics to her world building (which here is superb!) than Brackett did; and she's also able to draw a much deeper picture of believable inter-racial and cross-cultural relations, including a romantic relationship. Indeed, the latter is a major theme here, trail-blazing for its time (both in the SF genre and in American fiction generally), and IMO a significant strength of this novel. She adds to that very skilled realistic characterizations, a compelling plot, and highly readable style.
If her world-building has a flaw (which she shares with Anne McCaffrey, particularly in the latter's Pern novels), it's the determined exclusion of any element of theistic religion in the imagined cultures. This reflects both authors' atheism (Le Guin was a professed Taoist, and in her preface to the edition of this book that I read relates some of her plotting here to Taoist values; but Taoism is in itself neither theistic nor necessarily atheistic); but it could be questioned whether it's as realistic as it was congenial. (The evidence of cultural anthropology would suggest that it's not, though this was one instance where Le Guin chose to ignore her favorite academic discipline.) Some readers also fault her for depicting the Jacob-Rolery relationship as an insta-love connection. On that count, however, I would defend her; I agree with another reviewer that their relationship, at least at its inception, isn't love as such (though that doesn't mean that it can't become that.... )
In summation, I think this would be a rewarding read for most fans of science fiction, and a good introduction to the genre for the curious. (Some critics consider Le Guin's later novel The Left Hand of Darkness to be her masterpiece; but though this isn't a majority position, I personally like this one better.)