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Ursula K. Le Guin

1929-

Reviewed by Stefan Raets, Marion
Deeds, Kat Hooper, Bill Capossere,
John Hulet, Rebecca Fisher

Ursula Le Guin has won numerous prestigious awards, including a Newbery Honor and five Nebula awards. She lives in Portland, Oregon. Le Guin's website is very informative, and there's a nice map of EarthSea there.

Click covers to view available formats, including audio & Kindle.

The Hainish Cycle — (1966-2000) Publisher: Ursula K. Le Guin is one of the greatest science fiction writers and many times the winner of the Hugo and Nebula Awards. Her career as a novelist was launched with these novels which are all set in the same universe.

Planet of Exile — (1966) The Earth colony of Landin has been stranded on Werel for ten years, and ten of Werel's years are over 600 terrestrial years, and the lonely and dwindling human settlement is beginning to feel the strain. Every winter, a season that lasts for 15 years, the Earthmen have neighbors: the humanoid hilfs, a nomadic people who only settle down for the cruel cold spell. The hilfs fear the Earthmen, whom they think of as witches and call the farborns. But hilfs and farborns have common enemies: the hordes of ravaging barbarians called gaals and eerie preying snow ghouls. Will they join forces or be annihilated?

Rocannon's World — (1966) A world shared by three native humanoid races — the cavern-dwelling Gdemiar, elvish Fiia, and warrior clan, Liuar — is suddenly invaded and conquered by a fleet of ships from the stars. Earth scientist Rocannon is on that world, and he sees his friends murdered and his spaceship destroyed. Marooned among alien peoples, he leads the battle to free this new world — and finds that legends grow around him even as he fights.

City of Illusions — (1967) Earth, like the rest of the Known Worlds, has fallen to the Shing. Scattered here and there, small groups of humans live in a state of semi-barbarism. They have lost the skills, science and knowledge that had been Earth's in the golden age of the League of Worlds, and whenever a colony of humans tries to rekindle the embers of a half-forgotten technology, the Shing, with their strange, mindlying power, crush them out. There is one man who can stand against the malign Shing, but he is an alien with amber eyes and must first prove to paranoid humanity that he himself is not a creature of the Shing.

The Left Hand of Darkness — (1969) A science fiction novel which tells the story of Winter, an Earth-like planet where the weather conditions are semi-arctic and the inhabitants are all of the same sex, which is invited to join a coalition of planets.

The Dispossessed — (1974) Shevek, a brilliant physicist, decides to take action. he will seek answers, question the unquestionable, and attempt to tear down the walls of hatred that have isolated his planet of anarchists from the rest of the civilized universe. To do this dangerous task will mean giving up his family and possibly his life. Shevek must make the unprecedented journey to the utopian mother planet, Anarres, to challenge the complex structures of life and living, and ignite the fires of change.

Ursula Le Guin The Dispossessed The Dispossessed

Because I work in a rock magazine, my officemates were screaming "anarchy, anarchy!" when they caught me reading this book. The Dispossessed is one of the books in the Gollancz SF collection and it certainly deserves its place.

The setting takes place on two planets, one apparently seeming to be utopian and the other its complete opposite. Our protagonist hails from the benevolent planet but he soon discovers that he has no place in either. It's a science-fiction tale with a definite human dimension to it, one that calls to the reader.

It has always amazed me how le Guin can write something as readable as A Wizard of Earthsea and also write something as complex as The Left Hand of Darkness. This book belongs more to the latter category, and beginning readers might find it a difficult read, especially factoring in that the characters in the book have different norms and mores from us.

An interesting technique Le Guin uses in The Dispossessed is the juxtaposition of the past and present and while we witness the events that transpire to the main character, it keeps the reader wondering what tragedy befalls him until the very end. Definitely a good but difficult read. —Charles Tan
FanLit thanks Charles Tan from Bibliophile Stalker for contributing this guest review.

The Word for World is Forest — (1972) Publisher: When the inhabitants of a peaceful world are conquered by the bloodthirsty yumens, their existence is irrevocably altered. Forced into servitude, the Athsheans find themselves at the mercy of their brutal masters. Desperation causes the Athsheans, led by Selver, to retaliate against their captors, abandoning their strictures against violence. But in defending their lives, they have endangered the very foundations of their society. For every blow against the invaders is a blow to the humanity of the Athsheans. And once the killing starts, there is no turning back.

The Word for World is Forest

Tor recently re-released the Hugo winner The Word for World is Forest by Ursula K. Le Guin in a lovely paperback edition, so I thought it finally was time to check out this famous short novel, originally published in the seventies.

The novel is part of Le Guin’s famous HAINISH CYCLE (see also, among others, The Left Hand of Darkness and The Dispossessed) but can be read completely separately, although being familiar with the larger story will give you a better understanding of the broader context and some of the technologies, such as NAFAL and the famous ansible. Earth-based humans have established a logging colony on the world of New Tahiti and are actively exploiting the pristine world and the indigenous humanoid population, called “creechies” by their human slave-masters but originally called Athsheans. They are a mystical and peaceful-seeming species that lives in harmony with its forest-covered world and practices lucid dreaming, but when the vastly outnumbered humans push them too far, a surprisingly strong and occasionally brutal resistance begins...

Ursula K. Le Guin packs a lot of depth into this short, elegant novel. The contrast between the two opposing world views couldn’t be more clear, but there are also nuances within each culture, most noticeably on the human side with some characters that are more aware of the Athsheans’ cultural identity, and others who treat them as little more than animals or slaves. Selver, the Athshean protagonist, is a complex, fascinating character who I’d love to have seen in a longer novel. By contrast, the human Davidson is so predictable and flat that he barely rises above the level of a caricature; other human characters luckily show more complexity.

Much has been made of the parallels that can be drawn between the James Cameron movie Avatar and this novel, and it’s true that there are some notable plot similarities — which may also explain the timing of this re-release. It’s probably no coincidence that humans are on New Tahiti to gather wood (now Unobtain-, sorry, unavailable on Earth). On the other hand, the whole Noble Savage theme and stories of cruelty by colonizers to indigenous people were really nothing new even in the Seventies. Still, The Word for World is Forest is maybe the most famous example of this type of Romantic Primitivism in science fiction, so it’s easy to see why there were comparisons with Avatar.

Thematically, The World for World is Forest is a child of its time. Just compare the treatment and place of women in the Athshean and human cultures for Ursula K. Le Guin’s subtle feminist message. The colonization/oppressor theme was also highly relevant for the period. In case you’re not familiar with the HAINISH CYCLE, there are layers upon layers of colonization in The Word for World is Forest, because in the overall history of this SF universe, the inhabitants of the planet Hain originally colonized many planets hundreds of thousands of years ago, including the planet Earth, and it’s indicated that the Athsheans themselves may be derived from this original stock, too. Who is a colonizer, who is an oppressor, and who has the right to tell whom what to do, are all questions that come up again and again, but have no easy answers in this novel. These are themes that have been done many times, but rarely so succinctly and elegantly.

If you’re not familiar with Ursula K. Le Guin’s science fiction yet, The Word for World is Forest is probably not the ideal place to start, but on the other hand, its relatively short length makes it a good opportunity to get your feet wet and try one of the genre’s most talented authors. This subtle, short novel is deceptively simple, but sure to keep you pondering it long after you’ve turned the final page.
—Stefan Raets

Four Ways to Forgiveness — (1995) A collection of four linked novellas. Two planets — Werel, a slave-owning oligarchy and Yeowe, its colony — are destined for revolution after contact with the sophisticated Ekumen civilization. But one form of oppression can too easily give way to another, and so a new fight for equality begins.

The Telling — (2000) There have been eighty requests to send an Observer into the hinterlands of the planet Aka to study the natives. Much to everyone's surprise, the eighty-first request is granted, and Observer Sutty is sent upriver to Okzat-Ozkat, a small city in the foothills of Rangma, to talk to the remnants in hiding of a cult practising a banned religion. On Aka, everything that was written in the old scripts has been destroyed; modern aural literature is all written to Corporation specifications. The Corporation expects Sutty to report back so the non-standardised folk stories and songs can be wiped out and the people "re-educated". But Sutty herself is in for an education she never imagined.

The Telling

Ursula K. Le Guin is an iconic voice whose books, like Left Hand of Darkness and The Word for World is Forest, made people rethink their assumptions of the society they lived in. She is intimidatingly intellectual but writes characters who are real and full of heart. She is a personal role model of mine, so it’s difficult to write a less-than-glowing review about The Telling, a late entry into Le Guin’s HAINISH CYCLE stories.

This slim novel is more of a philosophical study of the nature of fundamentalism than a complete story. Sutty is an Indo-Canadian language scholar who comes to the planet Aka to study its languages and literature. Space travel takes decades in planetary time; by the time Sutty arrives, sixty years after she left, she discovers a planet that has experienced a cultural revolution. Enamored of Terran high-technology, Aka has embraced a corporate, tech-loving, mechanistic belief system, and is deliberately destroying every vestige of the society’s previous culture: changing the language, replacing the traditional calligraphy with a standardized alphabet, pulping books and criminalizing traditional practices. Art and literature are sponsored and controlled by the state and have a high propaganda content; mechanical aids are plentiful but unreliable. Off-world visitors such as Sutty and her handler Tong Ov are carefully monitored and sheltered. Sutty is emotionally devastated by repeated images of books bulldozed into pits or fires, in part because they bring back the recent brush with monotheistic fundamentalist terrorism on Terra, where splinter groups have bombed libraries, colleges and schools.

To her surprise, however, Sutty is allowed to leave the large capital city and go “into the country.” Both she and Tong Ov speculate about what the reason for this might be, but Sutty still goes. In a small mountain city, Sutty discovers that the old ways are alive and thriving, and in this remote place many people still practice the Telling.

On her journey to the mountain town, Sutty encounters a government bureaucrat, a Monitor. Despite his presence, Sutty is quickly accepted by the townspeople and has no difficulty studying the hidden books and texts. Then the maz, the wise people or teachers of the Aka, invite her to the top of the mountain, where the library of Silong is housed. This may be the last library on the planet.

The middle third of this book is a lovely exploration of the nature of cultural anthropology, as Sutty learns that the old beliefs are rich, layered, convoluted and sometimes contradictory; and as she studies how to prepare food the traditional way, a way that borrows heavily from the concepts of Chinese medicine. In fact, much of the traditional culture and the new corporate overlay reminded me of China. Along the way, Sutty tries to puzzle out what caused the dramatic cultural shift fifty years earlier. She develops a theory which later the Monitor confirms for her.

This part of the book is very thoughtful, and Le Guin’s writing is beautiful as always, so it took me a while after I closed the book to realize that there is only a perfunctory attempt at a plot here, and no character growth from Sutty. She solves a mystery and brings back a powerful bargaining chip, but there is no inward growth that I can see.

Sutty’s trip up the mountain is beautiful and concretely written, and the library of Silong is original and wonderful, but the reader knows that Sutty is being followed the whole way and it seems strange that she doesn’t. The Monitor has trailed her, but her party manages to capture him before they reach the library. Now the maz have a quandary, because they cannot release him, but they do not want to hold him prisoner. Sutty engages in a series of discussions with him, explaining the recent history of Terra, pleading with the Monitor to avoid making the same mistakes Terrans did — or rather, to stop going down the road of error.

The Monitor, whose name, he tells her, is Yara, makes a devastating choice at the end of the book. His choice seems to grow less out of his internal conflict and more out of Le Guin’s need to move the story forward. The Monitor character appears as an adversary for the first third of the book, then nearly vanishes while Sutty is conveniently doing anthropology, only to conveniently reappear at the end.

Much of the book is a discussion of the nature of terrorism and fundamentalism, whether it’s religious or atheistic in nature: the Taliban dynamiting 2000-year-old statues or the Chinese Cultural Revolution destroying everything that was not Chinese, or lone lunatics in America who want to make an event out of burning other people’s sacred books. This is a powerful discussion topic but it is not new and while The Telling is sweet, Le Guin does not bring anything new to the discussion. A line from one of the maz’s stories addresses this: “Belief is the wound that knowledge heals.” Fundamentalism is evil, Le Guin tells us, but she doesn’t discuss what gives it its power, or how it can take hold so quickly.

My dilemma is that The Telling is still an interesting read and a better depiction of a foreign society than many fantasies and science fiction novels I’ve read. I just expect more from this author, so I’m rating it low because Le Guin did not write up to her full, proven potential. If you are looking for a book by this fine writer, I recommend instead some of her classic works. —Marion Deeds

The EarthSea Cycle — (1968-2001) Young adult. Publisher: Ged was the greatest sorcerer in all Earthsea, but once he was called Sparrowhawk, a reckless youth, hungry for power and knowledge, who tampered with long-held secrets and loosed a terrible shadow upon the world. This is the tale of his testing, how he mastered the mighty words of power, tamed an ancient dragon, and crossed death's threshold to restore the balance.

The EarthSea Cycle Ursula Le Guin: A Wizard of Earthsea, The Tombs of Atuan, THe Farthest Shore, Tehanu, Tales from Earthsea, The Other Wind

Available for download at Audible.com.

book review Ursula Le Guin THe Earthsea Cycle A Wizard of Earthsea

With the recent Sci- Fi Channel miniseries, there is bound to be renewed interest in Ursula Le Guin's classic first book in her Earthsea series, as there should be. This remains a classic fantasy for good reason. The world within which the characters move is fully developed, having a sense of past, present and future as well as a sense of a larger "there there", as opposed to some fantasies that feel like a Hollywood stage set, as if nothing exists beyond the narrow social/geographical worlds the characters move through. Such is not the case with Earthsea. One feels it is real from the start and the ensuing books in the series only deepen that feeling with regard to its social and political structures, its people, its mythic past.

The characters are equally strong, especially Ged, the young boy who grows to adulthood in true coming-of-age fashion — through pain, loss, self-destruction, and eventual slow growth of wisdom. The depiction of his younger years as he first learns of his wizardly power and potential, apprentices to a single wizard then rejects that slow, dull path in order to attend the more exciting wizardry school (do not think Harry Potter here, style, tone, and environment are quite different) is right on. He is impatient, cocky, self-sure, quick to anger, impulsive, moody. In short, he is an adolescent. As such he has no time for the slow pace of his masters, for their constant warnings about the "balance" (the universe is in constant equilibrium and one change someplace effects another change, for good or ill, somewhere else) and its restrictions on use of power. The idea of the balance is the more you know, the less likely you are to act. Ged, in impetuous and realistic fashion sees it as the more you know, the more you can act.

As one might expect, his blithe self-confidence sets him up for a major fall, as he accidentally opens a portal, allowing an unknown "shadow" to enter the world. Roughly the first half of the book leads up to this event, the second half follows what happens afterward, as Ged is hunted by the evil he has let into the world, an evil that can cause great harm unless he does something about it. Along the way, he slowly grows in wisdom (the steps toward adulthood are gradual but nicely marked), helped along by his former tutor whom he rejected for his dull passivity and his closest friend from the wizard's school at Roke, Vetch. The end, without giving details away, is simply perfect in its resolution, in its tone, and in its complexity. Don't expect simplistic happy ending or heroic battles against overwhelming odds; this is a personal journey, a personal victory, though it has larger repercussions.

A Wizard of Earthsea succeeds in pretty much all it does. Its world creation is rich and full and three-dimensional. Its characters are sharply detailed, realistic, complex beings. Its plot exciting, its language vivid (sometimes classified as young adult — I'm not sure why — it does not talk down to a perceived younger audience, in terms of complexity of language or philosophy). And in the best test of a good book, it leaves the reader wanting much more; luckily Le Guin provides with several more books in the series. Very highly recommended. —Bill Capossere

book review Ursula Le Guin THe Earthsea Cycle A Wizard of Earthsea

If you haven’t read any Ursula Le Guin, you need to put her at the top of your list! She’s way up there with Tolkien, and perhaps the only reason she’s not as famous is because she came a bit later and, therefore, like everyone else, is in his shadow.

Her writing is beautiful — lyrical and powerful. I love how she makes all of her words count. They are all necessary, there’s no fluff or redundancy — it's simple, natural, alive, and vivid. Her understanding of different people and cultures (her father was an anthropologist and her mother was a psychologist) enhances her ability to create imaginative, creative, and believable characters and worlds. When you step into Earthsea, you feel like you're in a real world with real people. It's deep and engrossing right from the start.

I also like Le Guin's system of magic: knowing the "true" name of something gives you power over it. You just have to find its true name.

This is the original boy-finds-out-he’s-a-wizard-and-goes-to-wizard-school novel and it's suitable for adults and kids. I should mention, though, that it's not a "happy" or humorous book. Ged is a fallible character who makes big mistakes and pays the consequences. Some of that is quite uncomfortable.

I listened to A Wizard of EarthSea on audio (Fantastic Audio edition). It was very entertaining.
—Kat Hooper

book review A Wizard of Earthsea Ursula Le Guin A Wizard of EarthSea

Ursula Le Guin writes with style and imagination. A Wizard of Earthsea is a wonderful coming of age story that presents a lot of excellent lessons in personal growth and maturation while still being an entertaining story.

Le Guin's Ged is a well thought-out character who's existence and life story are very well developed. The description of events in Ged's early life sets up a realistic background from which to understand later occuring events, not only in this novel, but the others in the Earthsea series.

I enjoyed the philosophical points that Le Guin makes when pointing out some of the flaws (e.g, pride, vanity, overconfidence) that are so common among adolescents and can lead to some very real problems. And, importantly, the development and personal growth of Ged the hero is not so sudden that it becomes unrealistic. This is, to me, a part of what makes Le Guin's writing so special. —John Hulet

book review A Wizard of Earthsea Ursula Le Guin A Wizard of EarthSea

In the realm of fantasy there are several names that stand out: Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Lloyd Alexander, Susan Cooper, Diana Wynne Jones (and more recently, Philip Pullman, J.K. Rowling and Garth Nix). Ursula Le Guin also belongs in this category, contributing to the world of fantasy literature her beloved Earthsea novels, chronicling the life and times of the wizard Ged.

The strength of the storytelling comes in the unashamed use of archetypes and symbolism. The story as a whole could be easily aligned with Carl Jung's theories or Joseph Campbell's "Hero's Journey" complete with Departure, Initiation and Return, and archetypes such as the wise mentor, the female temptress and the shadow. It's practically a textbook case, but rather than being predictable and dull, le Guin's skill as a writer means that the series is densely packed with meaning and intrigue.

But the use of archetype has its downside too, particularly in the portrayals of men and women; Ged attends a wizarding school that is populated entirely by males, in a later book The Tombs of Atuan, he is pitted against a cult of malevolent priestesses. Le Guin has recently expressed regret for these borderline-stereotypes and in later books makes the conscious effort to balance out the gender inequality that permeates the earlier books. For me however, (and probably to most readers) it is no big deal — we are, after all dealing with traditional archetypes and in one very important way (that I probably shouldn't even be mentioning) le Guin completely breaks the mould on typical fantasy stories. Ged and nearly all of the other characters have copper complexions. Can you think of any other major fantasy novel in which the protagonist is not Caucasian? I can't.

Le Guin's finest creation is her world of Earthsea, a world made up of ocean currents and a myriad of different islands, each one with their own cultures and customs, rich and detailed. It is second only to Middle-Earth, and only becomes richer and deeper with each passing novel. Likewise is le Guin's system of magic, based on the power of names and speech; the reason why Ged goes through so many name-changes (he is born as Duny, given the name Sparrowhawk at puberty and has Ged as his 'true name', his name of power). It is a powerful and consistent system and based on real ancient beliefs (read some Egyptian mythology if you don't believe me).

Ged is born to a poor farming island, though with immense potential for wizardry which he is all to eager to engage. After he assists in saving his community through the instigation of magic beyond his years, he is approached by the great wizard Ogion who offers to mentor him. Enraptured with dreams of power and glory, he follows Ogion only to be frustrated by his slow teaching methods, opting instead to travel to Roke and enroll in the great wizarding school there.

It is there he enters a friendship with fellow student Vetch and a rivalry with another student named Jasper. Letting his pride and resentment get the better of him, Ged attempts to summon up a spirit from the dead, but only manages to unleash a terrible shadow upon the world. Now hunted by his own creation, Ged takes to the seas, hopping from island to island, in the attempt to escape — and then destroy — the evil he has unleashed.

Despite my praise, A Wizard of EarthSea isn't perfect; I always felt that the prose was a little stiff and un-involving, almost as if we were reading a detailed overview of the story rather than one told from a person's intimate point of view. Likewise, the story takes forever to really get started — since the chapters are quite long, it takes a while before the shadow is unleashed. However, the patient will be rewarded, in this and subsequent books. —Rebecca Fisher

book review Tombs of Atuan The Tombs of Atuan

The Tombs of Atuan is the second book in the Earthsea series that began with A Wizard of Earthsea. Wizard is a true classic, and it wouldn't be much criticism to say Atuan doesn't match it. It's true, but The Tombs of Atuan is still well worth the read, quite strong in its own right.

The Tombs of Atuan is a near complete shift of character, setting, and style. Ged, the protagonist of Earthsea, is present, but mostly off-stage for much of the book, giving way to a young girl called Tenar. The setting, rather than an episodic tour of the Earthsea archipelago, is much more narrow, taking place on a single island, in mostly two very limited areas — Tenar's priestess palace and the labyrinth below it where Ged is trapped. And the pace is much slower, with less action and magic, with more of a focus on introspective analysis of character.

Tenar was taken from her family while still quite young, seen as the reincarnated Priestess of the Tombs of Atuan, where the Nameless Ones dwell. She is now known as the Eaten One, and she is indeed for her life is to be completely dedicated to the rites of her job. We follow her the slow swallowing of her life and feeling by the dark cult of the Nameless Ones, aided by an older, harsh priestess. Ged makes his way into the story via his attempt to find the second half of a magical amulet important to the unity and peaceful progression of the archipelago. The Nameless Ones are more powerful than he had expected and Tenar comes across him weak and lost in the labyrinth. Rather than reveal his intrusion, Tenar imprisons him. At first he is a plaything, one of the few things she has "power" over. But as her conversations with him continue they move from mocking self-assurance to self-doubt — about her religion, about her role in it, about her own sense of self and morality. In the end she must choose, in a slanted echo of Ged's dilemma from book one, between the darkness and the light, between life and death, between power and freedom.

As in A Wizard of Earthsea, the choice is not as simplistic as it seems on the surface and as is so often portrayed in fantasy. Tenar's confusion and misery, her sense of being torn between what she has been living her whole life and what she is now learning about herself and the outside world, is nicely conveyed and while Ged takes on a more active role toward the end, his role is mostly as catalyst for Tenar's coming-of-age.

The language, as one expects of Le Guin, is spare and precise, beautiful in many places, efficient as always. The issues are, as in book one, larger and more human than the story's surface plot. The Tombs of Atuan is a very character-centered book, with its focus on Tenar's internal conflict and the slowly evolving relationship between her and Ged. It is a much quieter book, a more slowly paced book than A Wizard of Earthsea, with less action, much less overt magic, few characters, fewer peaks and valleys, but while it may surprise those who enjoyed A Wizard of Earthsea, it should still please in a different way all but those who are more "action"-focused. Strongly recommended. —Bill Capossere

book review Ursula Le Guin Earthsea The Tombs of Atuan The Tombs of Atuan

This is the second book in Ursula Le Guin's Earthsea series, but I would hate anyone to think that these books are meant to be read in any particular order. True, the character of Ged ages in each one of them and Tombs was penned by author Ursula le Guin after A Wizard of Earthsea, but... these books are unique. Like The Chronicles of Narnia, many make a big deal about the correct reading order when in fact it's not that big a deal. Think of it like Diana Wynne Jones's Chrestomanci series or even George Lucas's Star Wars trilogy and its prequels. Sometimes things are better when they are read out of chronological order. And sometimes they aren't. That's the best part about Earthsea — it doesn't really matter.

As a young child Tenar is taken from her home to serve as "Arha" (or, "The Nameless One") in the Tombs of Atuan, identified as the reincarnated One Priestess. Her name is taken from her, she is now known as "The Eaten One", servant of the Nameless Ones, subjected to repetitive ritual and ceremonies, revered as a holy being and yet alone and friendless. Amongst the desolate tombs and stone buildings of the desert, Tenar lives out a meaningless existence in the service of speechless, invisible gods.

Her only solace is in the underground labyrinth, a place where light is forbidden and where only she dares tread. Somewhere in the twisting tunnels is the great treasure room, where a priceless artifact lies. It is for this that the wizard Ged (now middle-aged) secretly enters the labyrinth so that he might restore its power to the world above. But he has underestimated the difficulties of the labyrinth, and now lies at the mercy of the Arha. Fascinated by this traveling wizard, she is loathe to have him executed — not when he is incapacitated by the labyrinth and thus completely in her power. A battle of wits emerges; with the Arha gradually becoming aware of life beyond her service to the Nameless Ones and Ged desperately bartering for his life.

The desert, the tombs and the underground labyrinth are all detailed and descriptive — in fact, it can get a little claustrophobic down there in the labyrinth! It's not quite as vivid as Alan Garner's descriptions in The Weirdstone of Brisingamen, but the detailed descriptions of the pressing darkness and the twisting tunnels certainly made me sigh in relief every time Tenar emerged once more into the sunlight.

Many fantasy stories cater to a quest motif, and although this is partly the case here, what with Ged searching for the ring of Erreth-Akbe, the fact that the story is told entirely from Tenar's point of view makes it quite different. The Tombs of Atuan is best described as a character study of a young woman who has been raised in extra-ordinary circumstances. How many other fantasy books can be described thus? Rather than the quest for the ring (I couldn't help but toy with the idea that le Guin chose a ring as the McGuffin so that it would be purposefully contrasted with The Lord of the Rings) the author concentrates solely on the thoughts and experiences of her detached and proud protagonist, in whose young hands lie the power of life and death. For this reason, many readers may be put off. There is very little action throughout the course of the book, and the pacing is almost excruciatingly slow. But this is precisely the point: it is the best way to convey the monotony and misery of Tenar's life.

The loss of faith, the shock of freedom, the loneliness of power, the terror of being responsible for another's death — these are the hefty issues at the forefront of The Tombs of Atuan, and ones that are handled brilliantly by the author. It's not an easy book to get through, and perhaps not even a re-readable one; but for anyone claiming to be a fantasy-fan, or even someone who claims to be a reader of all the classics, it is essential. —Rebecca Fisher

book review audiobook The Tombs of Atuan Ursula Le Guin Earthsea The Tombs of Atuan

The Tombs of Atuan is very different from A Wizard of Earthsea. It focuses on a young woman who has spent her life cloistered in the tombs of gods who she serves but doesn't know. Just as the reader feels completely miserable at the state of this disillusioned young lady, Ged (who nobody would describe as particularly cheerful or up-beat), arrives and brings with him a much-needed ray of sunshine, even though he spends most of the book under the earth. After Ged's arrival, things start to slowly make more sense to Tenar and it is interesting to watch her well-developed character gradually move from darkness to light.

This is a slow-paced book. There's not a lot of action until the end, but Ged's quest in the tombs is related to the rest of the Earthsea series, so it's valuable in that sense. And, of course, an Ursula Le Guin is always a pleasure to read and this audiobook version is very good. —Kat Hooper

book review The Farthest Shore The Farthest Shore

The Farthest Shore is the third book in Ursula Le Guin's Earthsea series, and the concluding one for several decades. Since it's highly recommended to have read the first two, I'll work on the assumption that the reader has. If book one, Wizard of Earthsea has the most action/magic and book two, Tombs of Atuan, is the slowest and most introspective of the opening trilogy, then The Farthest Shore is a nicely-balanced blending of the styles.

We return to many of the basics from Wizard. Ged is once again the main character instead of a side character as in Atuan, the setting once again moves island to island throughout the archipelago rather than being limited to a single place as in Atuan, magic is much more present than in book two, and there is an actual villain in opposition to Ged unlike the more abstract problems in the previous book. All of these will probably be welcome changes to those who found Atuan too slow or limited in place and character. Shores shares with both Wizard and Atuan a coming-of-age theme, in this case it is Arren, a young prince who has come to Roke to tell Ged and the Master Wizards that magic is bleeding away in his land only to learn that the same is true all over Earthsea. Arren joins Ged in the quest to find out what (or more accurately who) is causing magic to die away, and why/how.

The broadening of characters that began in Atuan continues in Shore. Though Ged is once again the main character, he is not the sole focus as Le Guin gives considerable attention to Arren's growth as well as, though to a lesser extent to the other Masters of Roke. In fact, the small scenes involving the Masters are some of the most exquisite and most moving. Much of the same personal reflection and introspective nature of Atuan is also present in Shore, mixed in nicely with more dramatic, action-oriented scenes. Ged is an old man at this point, and mortality is an issue as it really hasn't been before. Death and its flip side Life are in fact, the a major subjects of the novel, and as we have in the past, we cross over that stone wall separating the land of the living and the land of the dead, though in this book we go much farther. While the first two books dealt with larger themes through the focus on a single individual, this one deals with its themes both individually and socially as well. Much more than the other works, Ged deals here with a problem that has an impact that affects the greater society more deeply and broadly than other obstacles he has overcome.

The book is darker than the first two, but also more moving, more achingly beautiful, more poignant. Ged's age and sense of caution are artfully counterbalanced by Arren's youthful innocence and impetuosity, the more philosophical discussions nicely balanced by the more dramatic action scenes. And the ending, as one should expect by now, is not nicely wrapped up in sweet, comforting fashion.

As always, the language is sharply vivid, highly efficient and beautiful; the world-creating sense of history and backstory is quickly yet fully conveyed; the characters are fully fleshed out and utterly believable. Wizard may be the most "fun" book of the series, Atuan is certainly the slowest and most introspective (simple description, not criticism), but in many ways, The Farthest Shore is the strongest, a judgment I think holds true considering the books that come after as well as those that come before. Highly recommended. —Bill Capossere

reveiw Ursula Le Guin The Farthest Shore Earthsea The Farthest Shore

This installment takes place a number of years after A Wizard of Earthsea (in which the character Ged was a boy) and The Tombs of Atuan (in which he was a grown man). Now he is edging into late middle-age as the Archmage of the Wizards, and a much younger man has come to the island of Roke, seeking his aid.

Arren is a young prince of the isle of Enlad, eager to serve and awe-struck at the great wizard Ged, but he comes with sobering news. Magic is leaking out of the world, leaving imbalance and chaos in its wake, news that matches reports that the wizards have been receiving from all over Earthsea. A wizard council is held, and Ged announces that he will go forth to find the cause of the magical entropy, and stop it if he can. The untried Arren pledges himself to Ged and his mission, and — despite the trepidation of the other wizards — the two set out to find the symptoms, effect and cause of the plague upon Earthsea.

What they find is sobering. Without magic (defined in this fantasy world as knowledge of "True Names" for people, places and objects) all meaning and purpose is draining from the world. Wizards are going mad for want of their true identities and spells of all kinds are being forgotten by those who have used them for countless years. People are suffering from a lack of interest in living; and as the mage and prince gather clues to the mystery, Ged decides that the problem must be centered on an individual with an unnatural desire for immortality. But where to find such a man? The two must travel to the Farthest Shore — into death itself to defeat their foe and restore the balance to the world.

The Farthest Shore is generally considered the best of the Earthsea Cycle (although le Guin continues to surprise her readers by churning out another novel set in this fantasy-world just when we think she's done), an accumulation of all the themes and plot-points established in the first two installments. Her established mythology concerning both the history of the islands and the workings of magic are used to excellent effect, and elements that were left upon in the previous books (the empty throne in Havnor, Ogion's prophecy, Ged's relationship with the dragons) are all brought to their logical conclusions.

Le Guin's language is beautiful, effortlessly evoking the cultures of each island, life on the open water and the dull dreariness of the realm of the dead, where "those who had died for love passed each other in the streets." Likewise, her imagination seems to know no limits; my particular favourite was her depiction of "the children of the sea," a community that lives entirely on floating rafts, coming ashore only once a year to replenish their wood supply.

Ged is now beginning to show his age; no longer being the prideful and impetuous youth he was in A Wizard of Earthsea, his hair is graying and his physique weakening. But with age comes wisdom, and in many ways we are seeing Ged in his prime, especially when compared to the impatience and inexperience of Arren. I cannot bring to mind any other fantasy series that follows our protagonist from youth to old age (the great percentage stop when the hero reaches maturity, leaving the aging process as part of the "happily ever after") and it is for that reason I find the Earthsea cycle so unique. This is a person's entire lifetime we are experiencing, not just their youth; making it a much richer and deeper reading experience.

Anyone who considers themselves a fantasy connoisseur should pick up The Farthest Shore, as well as A Wizard of Earthsea and The Tombs of Atuan. Though not my favourite of all the fantasy series ever written, it is refreshingly unique and beautifully told. —Rebecca Fisher

reveiw Ursula Le Guin Tehanu Earthsea Tehanu

Hmmm. Where to begin.

First, a confession: despite my high marks for this and other installments of the Earthsea series, I never really warmed up to Ursula Le Guin's masterworks. It's like appreciating a painting by Picasso: I know that it's a magnificent piece of art, but that doesn't mean I'd want it hanging on my living room wall. Likewise, I can recognize the craftsmanship and skill that went into creating The Earthsea Cycle; there's so much skill in the writing, in the detail, in the mythological resonances (everything from Carl Jung to Joseph Campbell). Le Guin also had a masterful grip on the nuances of her story, as in the subtle affinity Tenar shares with thistles. But something kept bothering me, and it wasn't until this forth novel Tehanu that I realised what it was.

Set in the days just before Ged and Arren complete their mission as told in The Farthest Shore, a widow named Goha receives a summons to the wizard Ogion: he is dying, and he requests her presence. Along with her adopted child Therru, who was brutally beaten, raped and burnt by her family when very young, Goha makes the journey across the island of Gont. The woman is of course Tenar, now twenty-five years older than when we last saw her in The Tombs of Atuan, and she arrives in time to hear Ogion's last words: to teach the child, and to wait.

What she is waiting for is soon made apparent: Ged's journey to the farthest shore is completed, and he is delivered in the talons of a dragon to his home-isle, a wasted and magicless shell of the man he once was. Despairing and empty, Ged seeks a level of healing and solace that he doesn't believe can ever be found. But the question of Therru remains a mystery; avoided by most of the island's inhabitants, Therru is a quiet and elusive child that even Tenar cannot fully understand. Between Ged's misery and the reappearance of Therru's family, Tenar struggles to balance out her life and keep those she loves safe from threats that are mundane in comparison to former enemies, but just as life-destroying as dragons, shadows and evil wizards.

Some credit must be given to the originality of the book; here is a fantasy story that has very little to do with the typical fantasy elements one would find in other books of the genre. With the exception of the imaginary setting and a few brief appearances from a dragon, Tehanu is a story that could be told in any context. Change around a few periphery details and Tenar and Therru's story could take place in any setting or time period, even a contemporary one. Because it is primarily concerned with issues such as gender issues, cruelty toward children, misogyny and other social illnesses, there is not as much scope for imagination this time around. There is certainly no quest narrative: Ged attempts to find inner peace, whilst Tenar escapes the men that have utmost power over her adopted daughter.

Here is when I figured out what bothered me about this book (and to a lesser degree, the previous three in the series). Le Guin speaks a lot about the balance, or the equilibrium of the world: life and death, man and woman, order and chaos, and so on. Unfortunately, le Guin tends to concentrate more on the darker side of life, human nature and the world, with very little uplifting, cheerful or even tranquil moments to balance out the pain and horror that she fills this particular story with. Although Ged's misery is eventually relieved through his late-blossoming relationship with Tenar, it is precious little light in a very dark novel.

For what it's worth Tehanu is a remarkably original and painstakingly plotted novel - but the final chapters are filled with such sickening misogyny and sadism that it left a sour taste in my mouth. I have no desire to ever read this book again, and that's something I hoped I'd never say about a Le Guin novel.
—Rebecca Fisher

Annals of the Western Shore — (2004-2007) Young adult. Powers won the Nebula Award for 2008. Publisher: Scattered among poor, desolate farms, the clans of the Uplands possess gifts. Wondrous gifts: the ability — with a glance, a gesture, a word — to summon animals, bring forth fire, move the land. Fearsome gifts: They can twist a limb, chain a mind, inflict a wasting illness. The Uplanders live in constant fear that one family might unleash its gift against another. Two young people, friends since childhood, decide not to use their gifts. One, a girl, refuses to bring animals to their death in the hunt. The other, a boy, wears a blindfold lest his eyes and his anger kill.

Gifts, Voices, Powers, Annals of the Western Shore Urula Le Guin

Available for download at Audible.com.

book review Gifts Ursula LeGuin Gifts

There are lots of reasons to like a good Le Guin novel — her spare prose, her sharpness of description, her ease of storytelling, but in simple terms, when Le Guin writes well (nearly always), it boils down to the fact that reading becomes bare unadorned pleasure. Pleasure at its purest and simplest. And that is the gift of this book.

The backstory is pretty simple — families living in the Uplands have hereditary magical abilities or "gifts" (one type to a family) that can and usually are employed to harm: gifts of "unmaking" (killing/destroying), of "calling" (calling animals — used to call them to be killed), of "twisting" (maiming things and people), of "wasting" (cursing with a slowly fatal illness). The clans feud back and forth over land, cattle, etc. yet must also stay on terms to keep interbreeding as the gifts are strongest when bred true through the family. The description of the clans reminded me of old Celtic tales of cattle-thieving etc. Fans of Irish/Scottish old tales of Lloyd Alexander's Prydain series might see some similarities).

Into this world come two youths raised as friends since childhood. Orrec's family has the gift of unmaking (using the eyes and hands) and there is a lot of pressure on him early when his gift takes its time to manifest itself, possibly because his mother is an ungifted "lowlander" who left the lowlands to wed his father after a raid. When his gift does appear, it seems to be "wild", uncontrollable and a danger to those around him. At his own urging, Orrec is blindfolded to protect those he loves. Along with its personal impact, this also has larger ripples: on his budding romance with his childhood friend Gry, on his relationship with his mother and father, on his family's relationship with a bordering family whose aggressively greedy leader, Ogge Drum, threatens both Gry and Orrec's homes. Gry, meanwhile, who has the talent to call animals, has decided she has no desire to do so if it simply leads to their death. She refuses to join the hunts and calls into question the whole underlying theory and application of the gifts.

Gifts is a slim story, yet works on many levels. The simple plot is effectively suspenseful and well-paced: will Orrec remain blindfolded, will he and Gry marry, will Gry be forced to use her talent, will they withstand Ogge Drum, etc. The deeper stories are even more effective. The relationships between two adolescents and their parents as they try to find their own way, their own identities. The changing relationship between the two of them as they shift from friends to perhaps more, from powerless to powerful, from passive to active, from adolescent to adult. The larger issues of power and restraint. None of these are handled in ham-handed fashion; all of them are subtly and nicely interwoven to add pleasure and complexity.

The style is typical Le Guin. Spare, poetic, vivid. There isn't a word out of place and she makes five words do what most need fifteen for. Some current authors of those bloated epic fantasy tomes could take some lessons here that sometimes less really is more. Characters are three-dimensional, complex, sharply depicted. And there is an ease to the whole tale that is signature Le Guin, a born storyteller. Her narrator, Orrec, is himself a lover of tales (one of the more tragic effects of his blinding is his loss of the books his mother made him) as well as, he comes to learn, a teller of them. And finally, the culture itself is clearly laid out (despite not spending three hundred pages on "world-building") in logical, understandable fashion with a true sense of authenticity.

Normally at this point I'd spend at least a few lines on the few minor flaws that were overcome by a book's larger strengths (if I liked the book). But to be honest, I really would have to strain to come up with even some minor flaws. I'm not sure I'd come up with any even then. Highly, highly recommended. Gifts is the sort of book one wishes there were more of and that more writers, especially in this genre of fantasy (as overarching a genre as that is) would emulate. —Bill Capossere

book review ursula le guin gifts Gifts

Usually I love an Ursula Le Guin novel, and usually I'm in agreement with Bill (see his review above), but I just couldn't get into Gifts. The writing is beautiful, as we expect from Le Guin (therefore 4 stars), but I found this novel too dull for me.

Most of the story is told by Orrec as it happened in the past (a technique I just couldn't appreciate), and he relates several stories that his mother told him. Orrec and his best friend Gry live in a culture where magical gifts are used for destructive purposes and they are pressured by their parents to develop these powers. They refuse, and Orrec even blindfolds himself so he won't be able to destroy anything. This makes for a lovely philosophy, but not much action, and even fewer happy moments. I guess I was in the mood for something else. But, there's a lot of interesting potential in the culture of The Annals of the Western Shore, and I may decide to try the next one.

I listened to this on audio, by the way. It was well done. —Kat Hooper

book review Ursula Le Guin Annals of the Western Shore Voices Voices

I'm happy to report that I enjoyed Voices much more than Gifts.

In this story of the Western Shore, we meet Memer, a 17 year old girl — a "siege-brat" — who lives in the occupied land of Ansul, a city of people who used to be peaceful, prosperous, and educated but who were overtaken 17 years ago by the illiterate Alds who consider all writing to be demonic. All of the Ansul literature, history, and other books were drowned... except for a small collection of books that has been saved and hidden in a secret room in the house of Galvamand and can only be accessed by the last two people in the Galva household — Sulter Galva (the Waylord) and Memer, whose mother was a Galva.

One day, the Maker and orator Orrec, and his wife Gry, (from Gifts) come to town, stay at Galvamand, and recite to the people of Ansul and their Ald overlord, the Gand Ioratth. When Orrec recites ancient epics and poetry, including some of Ansul's own hymns, the Gand is moved, the Ansul people are stirred to revolution, and Ioratth's son and the Ald priests are stirred to wrath. The people of Ansul have to decide whether to revolt or to try to negotiate peacefully with the softening Gand. The situation brings up realistic (rather than fantastical) ideas about the nature of freedom, revolution, and whether it might sometimes be better to compromise, rather than fight to the death, with people who control your destiny.

The pace of Voices is slow and the entire story takes place in approximately a one-mile radius so there's not much action but, as usual for an Ursula Le Guin novel, the power is in the writing — it's moving and filled with insight into the human mind and our ideas of art, literature, culture, and patriotism. She doesn't just tell a story, but she gives us a full emotional experience and a lot to think about:

My mother's name was Decalo Galva. I want to tell of her, but I can't remember her. Or I do but the memory won't go into words. Being held tight, jostling, a good smell in the darkness of the bed, a rough red cloth, a voice which I can't hear but it's only just out of hearing. I used to think if I could hold still and listen hard enough, I'd hear her voice.

Later:

I wonder if men find it easier than women do to consider people not as bodies, as lives, but as numbers, figures, toys of the mind to be pushed about a battleground of the mind. This disembodiment gives pleasure, exciting them and freeing them to act for the sake of acting, for the sake of manipulating the figures, the game pieces. Love of country, or honor, or freedom, then, may be names they give that pleasure to justify it to the gods and to the people who suffer and kill and die in the game. So those words — love, honor, freedom — are degraded from their true sense. Then people may come to hold them in contempt as meaningless, and poets must struggle to give them back their truth.

It was good to meet Orrec and Gry again and to see how Orrec was using his talents. It wasn't necessary to have read Gifts first, but it gave me greater enjoyment to understand Orrec's past. I listened to Voices on audiobook. The reader was flawless and added much energy and emotion to the telling. I recommend this format for Voices. —Kat Hooper

fantasy book review young adult Ursula Le Guin Annals of the Western Shore 3: Powers Powers

Powers is the third and, in my opinion, the best of the Annals of the Western Shore novels. In this book, we meet Gavir, a slave in the City State of Etra. Gavir was born in the marshes but was stolen, along with his sister, by slavers and brought to Etra. He has the power to clearly remember things he has seen before and even some events that have not yet happened to him. This gift is not uncommon in the marshes, but the people of Etra fear powers, so his sister tells him not to speak of it. His memory, however, is prized by the household who owns him and he is being trained to be the teacher of the households' children. He is well treated (except by another slave who holds a grudge against him), well educated, and happy.

But things go awry and Gavir ends up on a journey in which he encounters different people, ideas, and cultures. And this is what Ursula Le Guin does so well. She makes us believe in these cultures, perhaps even admire them, and then, without explicitly telling us so, she show us that there are always negative sides to an apparently perfect society. And, without telling us to do it, she makes us think about such constructs as freedom, slavery, justice, leadership, work, trust, loyalty, education, and family. We find ourselves asking some tough questions: What is the value of a slave's life? Is it better to be an educated, happy, and comfortable slave, or to be cold, hungry, ignorant, and free? Is true democracy possible? Or even desirable? What is the value of an education in a society or job that doesn't require it? Is ignorance bliss?

Le Guin's Western Shore novels are books for those who want to think about our own world while they read. They're not escapist literature — there aren't sword fights and dragons and quests for magic talismans. Instead, there are issues to think about and questions to ask... but not necessarily answers. And this is all done, of course, in Le Guin's perfect polished prose.

Each of the Western Shore novels stands alone, but the reader who reads them in order will appreciate the references to previously seen characters and societies. In some cases, we see characters and societies we experienced in one novel from a different perspective in another, and this adds to the complexity and depth of this world.

I listened to Powers on audiobook and was impressed with the production. Again, I recommend this format for the Western Shore novels. —Kat Hooper

Update: Powers won the Nebula Award for 2008

Stand-alone novels:

The Lathe of Heaven — (1971) Available for download at Audible.com. Publisher: In a future world racked by violence and environmental catastrophes, George Orr wakes up one day to discover that his dreams have the ability to alter reality. He seeks help from Dr. William Haber, a psychiatrist who immediately grasps the power George wields. Soon George must preserve reality itself as Dr. Haber becomes adept at manipulating George's dreams for his own purposes. The Lathe of Heaven is an eerily prescient novel from award-winning author Ursula K. Le Guin that masterfully addresses the dangers of power and humanity's self-destructiveness, questioning the nature of reality itself. It is a classic of the science fiction genre.

Malafrena — (1979) Publisher: Malafrena is not a real place. Itale never dreamed of love, nor Piera of him. Estenskar did not live, only his poems. Only the dreams of themselves are real, only their youth, only the wind called Freedom that swept through their lives like a storm unforgettable. A novel set in the imaginary nation of Orsinia in the early nineteenth century.

The Beginning Place (Threshold) — (1980) Publisher: A magical place across a creek provides sanctuary for two young people in flight from the banality of their daily lives, until their paradise turns into a hell on Earth that threatens to destroy them.

Always Coming Home — (1985) Publisher: A complex interweaving of the story and fable, poem and artwork, brings to life the culture of Kesh, a peaceful people of the far future who inhabit a place called the Valley on the Northern Pacific coast.

A Ride on the Red Mare's Back — (1992) Ages 4-10. Publisher: With the aid of her magic wooden horse, a brave girl travels to the High House in the mountains to rescue her kidnapped brother from the trolls.

Changing Planes — (2003) Available for download at Audible.com. Publisher: It was Sita Dulip who discovered, whilst stuck in an airport, unable to get anywhere, how to change planes — literally. By a mere kind of a twist and a slipping bend, easier to do than describe, she could go anywhere — be anywhere — because she was already between planes ... and on the way back from her sister's wedding, she missed her plane in Chicago and found herself in Choom. The author, now armed with this knowledge and Rornan's invaluable Handy Planetary Guide — although not the Encyclopedia Planeria, as that runs to forty-four volumes — has spent many happy years exploring places as diverse as Islac and the Veksian plane. Changing Planes is an intriguing, enticing mixture of Gulliver's Travels and The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a mix of satire, cynicism and humour by one of the world's best writers.

Changing Planes

Airports are horrible places — the boring waits, the noisy rush, the germy stale air, the ugly utilitarian décor, the nasty food. That is, until Sita Dulip, while waiting for her delayed flight from Chicago to Denver and noticing that “the airport offers nothing to any human being except access to the interval between planes,” developed a technique to change planes inside the airport. She discovered that in the airport the traveler is uncomfortable, displaced, and already between planes and can therefore easily slip into other planes of existence while waiting for a flight.

Sita Dulip’s technique has now been publicized and travelers everywhere are using it to alleviate airport boredom. Changing Planes is a collection of fifteen of their stories. A few of the stories are mainly anthropological or linguistic explorations of imaginary cultures, but readers who are familiar with Ursula Le Guin won’t be surprised to learn that many of the stories make some sort of satirical statement about human behavior, and especially American culture. Even the short introduction manages to take a swipe at conservative politicians, authors who write bestsellers and, of course, corporations that run airlines.

Le Guin’s method of using several different worlds to highlight the problems (or potential future problems) in our own, and the social satire, make Changing Planes feel somewhat like Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, which I enjoyed many years ago. Almost all of the stories in Changing Planes are poignant, and some of them will stick with me for a long time. Those I liked most are:

“Porridge on Islac” — In an attempt to genetically engineer better species of humans, animals, and plants, the Islacs are now left with a very strange society. The cover art for the first edition comes from this story.
“The Silence of the Asonu” — Adults on Asonu don’t say much, so people from other planes think they are hiding a sacred secret. They desperately want to find out what it is.
“Feeling at Home with the Hennebet” — The people of Hennebet have strange but charming ideas about self-identity and time perception.
“Social Dreaming of the Frin” — In Frin, dreams are not private. Each night, the Frins dream communally.
“The Royals of Hegn” — In Hegn, everyone has descended from royalty, except for one family. This funny social satire pokes fun at our love of celebrities.
“Woeful Tales from Mahigul” — The four very short tales in this mini-collection were read by a traveler sitting in the beautiful outdoor library of Mahigul. I wish I could go there!
“Wake Island” — Genetic engineering again. This frightening story is about a cohort of youngsters who were engineered to need no sleep. Scientists hoped they’d be geniuses, but it didn’t turn out quite like that.
“The Island of the Immortals” — On this plane, diamonds are not valuable and immortality is a disease.

Each of these stories is, of course, written in Le Guin’s straightforward, unpretentious, smart and lovely style. The audiobook version is narrated by Gabrielle de Cuir, whose attractive voice perfectly fits this style. Whenever I review an audiobook, I like to pick up a print copy from my library, too, just so I can see if I’m missing anything. Sure enough, if I hadn’t looked at the print version, I would have missed the delightful black and white illustrations by Eric Beddows. I especially liked the picture of the communal dream in “Social Dreaming of the Frin.”

Changing Planes won the 2004 Locus Award for best story collection. Many of the stories had been previously published over several years before being combined to form this themed collection, but they work beautifully together. All of them are short escapes into fascinating new planes of existence. Changing Planes would be the perfect book to read next time you’re waiting for a flight! —Kat Hooper

Lavinia — (2008) Historical fantasy. Available for download at Audible.com. Publisher: in The Aeneid, Vergil’s hero fights to claim the king’s daughter, Lavinia, with whom he is destined to found an empire. Lavinia herself never speaks a word in the poem. Now, Ursula K. Le Guin gives Lavinia a voice in a novel that takes us to the half-wild world of ancient Italy, when Rome was a muddy village near seven hills. Lavinia grows up knowing nothing but peace and freedom, until suitors come. Her mother wants her to marry handsome, ambitious Turnus. But omens and prophecies spoken by the sacred springs say she must marry a foreigner — that she will be the cause of a bitter war — and that her husband will notlive long. When a fleet of Trojan ships sails up the Tiber, Lavinia decides to make her own destiny, and she tells us what Vergil did not: the story of her life, and of the love of her life. Lavinia is a book of love and war, generous and austerely beautiful, from a writer working at the height of her powers.

fantasy book review Ursula Le Guin Lavinia Lavinia

It's not death that allows us to understand one another, but poetry.

Lavinia, wife of Aeneas, is silent in Virgil's Aeneid. In the novel Lavinia, Ursula Le Guin gives a voice and a story to this nearly obscure figure.

I loved the prose from page one. Le Guin's skill with the English language is unquestionable. Here's a sample from early in the novel:

Like Spartan Helen, I caused a war. She caused hers by letting men who wanted her take her. I caused mine because I wouldn't be given, wouldn't be taken, but chose my man and my fate. The man was famous, the fate obscure; not a bad balance.

The concept behind Lavinia is more complicated than you might think. It can on one level be read as a reexamination of myth from the female perspective, and fans of that type of novel will definitely want to give Lavinia a try. But there's something else going on here too. Le Guin is playing with the idea of storytelling, and the nature of stories, and how stories take on lives of their own. Le Guin's Lavinia, in her youth, meets a ghostly version of Virgil and speaks with him at length. Thus, she knows she's a character in a story. How much free will she possesses, and how "real" she is, are constant questions. (Virgil has a bit of an identity crisis of his own; he has shadowy "memories" of his own stint as a fictional character in Dante's Inferno.)

However, these questions don't trouble Lavinia as much as they might trouble a person born and raised in modern times. In Lavinia's time, the Fates are believed to shape a person's destiny, and major decisions are never undertaken without consulting an oracle. Lavinia's situation is unusual, but she's able to adjust to it. After all, she's been raised with the idea that forces outside herself are pulling the strings.

Speaking of Lavinia's time, Le Guin does a great job of bringing pre-Roman Italy to life. Lavinia's culture is strange and foreign to us, but also recognizable as one of the roots of the more-familiar culture of Rome.

And yet, with all these interesting ideas packed into Lavinia, and despite the fact that I'm a voracious reader of historical fantasy whenever I can get my hands on it, I was never grabbed by this novel. I never carried it around town with me, or glanced at the clock at quitting time thinking "Just ten minutes till I can go home and read some more of that book!" I kept reading, because I was intellectually curious about what Le Guin would do with her themes, but Lavinia never quite clicked with my right brain.

I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because of the aforementioned free will issue; despite Lavinia's insistence that she chose her man and her fate, she was really choosing between two fates that were both mapped out for her by other people. Maybe it's weird pacing; there are long stretches where not much happens and other passages where a decade passes in a flash. Maybe it's just an inexplicable mismatch between book and reader.

The moments I enjoyed best were the beginning; the haunting, contemplative end; and the moment in the middle when the poem's events have ended but Lavinia's life goes on.

I give Lavinia five stars for prose and concepts, and three stars for that intangible "did it suck me in?" quality. Four stars, then, as a compromise. —Kelly Lasiter

Author photo credit: Joyce Scrivner

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