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Ursula Le Guin: Conversations on Writing is the last published book to which Le Guin was an active participant - her death came, says collaborator David Naimon - as the final corrections to the manuscript were being discussed and approved or changed. In a way, how like Le Guin, who retired from writing major pieces of fiction a few years back, to still be involved in communicating her thoughts literally up to the day of her death.

The book arose from a series of interviews Naimon conducted with Le Guin on her writing - fiction, non-fiction, and poetry - but they cover in fact a wide range of topics associated with writing, literature, and ideas. Conversation between Le Guin and Naimon is interleaved with illustrative selections from both her work and the work of others.

Here you will hear the names of writers and philosophers that influenced Le Guin’s thought and craft, and the authors she recommends as teachers of a particular approach to writing, or piece of craft. And her own ideas of how to write, her craft and her art. Nd you will wish she could have tarried with us forever.
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I have been very ill, and the prognosis for recovery is not good. If I must choose in my limited time whether to read more, or write reviews if what I read, I choose to read more. While I’m still going to write about most books, for short fiction, I’m just going to give you my opinions as simple ratings unless there us something I really need to say. Short fiction will be rated excellent, very good, good, no comment or not my cup of tea. Interpret these as you will.

“No Flight without the Shatter,” Brooke Bolander; Tor.com, August 15 2019.
https://www.tor.com/2018/08/15/no-flight-without-the-shatter-brooke-bolander/
Excellent. A bittersweet requiem. Novelette.

“Firelight,” Ursula Le Guin; Paris Review, Summer 2018. Paywall; subscription required.
https://www.theparisreview.org/fiction/7176/firelight-ursula-k-le-guin
Excellent. Le Guin bids a final farewell to Ged, and to us. Short story.

“The Starship and the Temple Cat,” Yoon Ha Lee; Beneath Ceaseless Skies, February 1 2018.
http://www.beneath-ceaseless-skies.com/stories/the-starship-and-the-temple-cat/
Very good. Short story.

“The Starfish Girl,” Maureen McHugh; Slate, July 23, 2018.
https://slate.com/technology/2018/07/the-starfish-girl-a-new-sci-fi-short-story-about-gymnastics.html
Very good. Short story.

“A Brief and Fearful Star,” Carmen Maria Machado; Slate, June 27, 2018.
https://slate.com/technology/2018/06/a-brief-and-fearful-star-a-new-short-story-from-carmen-maria-machado-author-of-her-body-and-other-parties.html
Good. Short story.

“Asphalt, River, Mother, Child,” Isabel Yap; Strange Horizons, October 8 2018.
http://strangehorizons.com/fiction/asphalt-river-mother-child/
Excellent. Powerful use of traditional Philippine religious figures to tell a modern, and all too widespread, story. Short story.

“Music for the Underworld,” E. Lily Yu; Motherboard, March 29, 2018.
https://motherboard.vice.com/en_us/article/8xkxqx/music-for-the-underworld
Excellent. Powerful and disturbing. Short story.

“Ruby, Singing,” Fran Wilde; Beneath Ceaseless Skies, September 27 2018.
http://www.beneath-ceaseless-skies.com/stories/ruby-singing/
Very good. Eerie, like a folktale. Short story.
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No Time to Spare: Thinking about What Matters is a collection of Ursula Le Guin’s writings taken largely from her personal blog. I’d read most of them before, having been a follower of that blog from fairly early on. And being of the opinion that anything Le Guin chooses to write about is worth reading, even if it is only what she imagines her cat might like her to write about. Maybe even particularly that.

There will be no more blog posts. But reading them in a concentrated dose, in this volume, is like looking into the wise and imaginative mind of one of the great thinkers and writers of our time, and seeing what she does when she’s at home. Of course there is always the necessary distance between writer and reader. Le Guin knew well she was writing for an audience, even in this blog. But I like to think she knew she was writing for an audience that loved her and wanted to know some of the things about her that she was willing to share.

As Karen Joy Fowler remarks in the Introduction:

“What you will find in these pages here is a more casual Le Guin, a Le Guin at home. Some of the issues that have obsessed her throughout her career—the fatal model of growth capitalism; sisterhood and the ways in which it differs from the male fraternal; the denigration and misunderstandings of genre, science, and belief—continue to appear, but they’ve been sanded back to their absolute essentials. It is particularly pleasurable here to watch the lively way her mind works, and how a posting whose trappings initially seem merely sportive becomes deeply consequential.”

Le Guin’s topics range from the love her cat has of hunting beetles to the magnificent subversiveness inherent in the truth that lies beneath all speculative fiction, that “it doesn’t have to be the way it is.” In some ways, she has personified in her blog one of my favourite aphorisms, the one attributed to the Roman playwright Terence (Publius Terentius Afer) which says “Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto.” All of that which is human, which can be apprehended by a human, is hers to explore and discuss.

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Ursula K. Le Guin is dead.

I have no words now, may never have the right words, the best words. Ursula Le Guin has been more than a favourite author to me, she has been an inspiration, and a guide to living a feminist life. She showed me that you must never stop fighting, stop learning, and that you must never stop interrogating your own thinking, never rest, satisfied that you have the answer. She taught me how to live always questioning, always caring, always growing, even though you may not be able to do all the things you could do before.

She will always be with me. With us.

Her latest volume of poetry, Late in the Day, was sitting in my queue of books to read on the day I heard of her death. And so in memory of Ursula, I read these precious words, the distilled images and ideas of a lifetime of honestly searching, fearlessly caring, passionately fighting, gloriously dreaming. Today is not, for me, a day to analyse, but to feel, to be, to fly once more with this great spirit.

Among many other things, these are indeed the poems of a person writing late in their day. There are poems here that speak of summing up, of letting go, of reflection and resolution. There are other poems, too, that speak of her great love for nature and life, of her awareness if the universe embodied so beautifully in ordinary things, of a Taoist worldview, of all the many elements and aspects of a great life, greatly and gratefully lived. But today, I am attuned to the poems of ending. In reading them, I feel that I am hearing Le Guin slowly, and joyfully, saying goodbye.

Untongued I turn to still
forgetting all I will.
Light lies the shadow
on the way I go.

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What a joy it is to read anything by Ursula Le Guin. In this instance, the "anything" is a collection of non-fiction writing - occasional pieces, book reviews, forewords to other people's books, essays on writing and writers and life. Given the somewhat lengthy title and subtitle of Words Are My Matter: Writings About Life and Books, 2000–2016 with A Journal of a Writer’s Week, this collection is a smorgasbord of delights from one of the finest writers and clearest thinkers of our time.

The essays presented here are collected into three sections. The first, titled Talks, Essays and Occasional Pieces, offers exactly what it suggests. Most of these essays deal in one way or another with writing, publishing, writers, books. About genre vs. "literature" and the effects of the new media on reading - she is optimistic about the future of the book, in some form or other.

One essay that does not focus on the worlds of words - her account of choosing to terminate a pregnancy during her university years, well before Roe v. Wade, and the importance of being able to make that choice - was difficult to read. In it, she says: "I can hardly imagine what it’s like to live as a woman under Fundamentalist Islamic law. I can hardly remember now, fifty-four years later, what it was like to live under Fundamentalist Christian law. Thanks to Roe vs. Wade, none of us in America has lived in that place for half a lifetime." But I could not stop thinking about the very real possibility that American women will face that reality again.

The second section, Book Introductions and Notes on Writers, contains an assortment of mostly commissioned pieces in which she briefly discusses - as is appropriate for an introduction to the text - authors and books she respects and loves. From Huxley's Brave New World to Boris and Arkady Strugatsky's Roadside Picnic to Vonda McIntyre's Dreansnake, Le Guin's insights into these books are both profound and inviting.

The final essay section of the book collects Le Guin's critical reviews, most of which were published in the Manchester Guardian. These reviews cover books both literary and genre, by such authors as Margaret Atwood, Italo Calvino, Doris Lessing, Salmon Rushdie, Jo Walton, Jeannette Winterson and others. Le Guin's critical eye is discerning and unflinching and she delivers both praise and critique with thoughtful analysis.

The last section of the book consists of journal entries made by Le Guin during a week spent at a writers' retreat for women. In her introduction to the journal, she talks about the practice of gender segregated events:

"I hold it self-evident that so long as we live in a man’s world, as we still do, women have a right to create enclaves of learning or work where, instead of obeying or imitating what men do and want, women can shape what they do, how they do it, and why they do it, in their own way and on their own terms. No enclave is the whole reality, no exclusivity is entirely rightful, but when a great injustice prevails, any opportunity of counteracting it, undoing it even temporarily, is justified. Intellect and art have been so wholly owned by men, and that ownership so fiercely maintained, that no woman can assume society will simply grant her a rightful share in them. Many women still find it difficult, even frightening, to name themselves thinkers, makers, to say I am a scholar, a scientist, an artist. A place where such fear has no place, and a period of time given purely to doing one’s own work, is for many men a perfectly reasonable expectation, for many women an astounding, once-in-a-lifetime gift."

In her journal she writes about the environment of the retreat - the natural world around her, the animals she observes - and about the other people in residence during her week's visit. She talks about the writing, the reading, the thinking and the drawing that she does. It is a small window into the creative process of a great artist under 'ideal' conditions - solitude, no distractions, nothing to dilute the flow of ideas and words.

All four sections of the book highlight slightly different aspects of Le Guin the wordsmith - the thinker, the lover of literature, the critic, the artist, while serving to demonstrate the truth of the volume's title - words are her matter, and her opinions and insights are, as always, well worth reading and thinking on.

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Ursula Le Guin is one of the great writers of our time. I've been avidly reading her work for most of my life, I've grown up to become the woman, the feminist, the lover of books that I am today with my mind and passions fueled by the wide-ranging Hainish stories, the wonders of Earthsea, the unforgettable vision of the child in the cellar of Omelas, the challenge to established notions of gender posed by the people of Gethen (Winter), the ambiguous utopia of Anarres, the fascinating future of the Kesh, the recovered life of Lavinia, the annals of the Western Shore, and so many more worlds that Le Guin held open for us.

I love reading her work, and I love reading about her work and the life and mind behind that work. Recently, I've read two books that encouraged me to look at Le Guin's writing, and my relationship to it, in terms of its progression and change over time. First, a collection of interviews with Le Guin, gleaned from the past and covering most of her life as a published author, and second, an analysis of Le Guin's work from a feminist perspective, which examines how her work changes as she engages with feminist theory, and expressed her own developing feminist awareness.

Carl Freedman (ed.), Conversations with Ursula K. Leguin

This collection of ten interviews conducted with Ursula Le Guin by various people between 1980 and 2006, including one by the editor himself, gives the reader insight into Le Guin's thinking about writing - both her own and the craft itself - and many other subjects relevant to her life and work. I found these interviews quite fascinating to read, not just because they illuminate key aspects of a remarkable author's career, but also because Le Guin gives very good interviews. As editor Carl Freedman notes:
Le Guin takes every interview not as an opportunity to recapitulate long-held views but as an occasion for authentic intellectual discourse, with all the unpredictability that this implies and all the attendant dialectical give-and-take. She never hesitates to challenge an interviewer's assumptions when they seem to her to be inadequate to the issues at hand, and at least some interviewers return the compliment - that of conceptual seriousness - by issuing challenges of their own. The fundamental project of a Le Guin interview is learning, on the part of both parties to the interview and, of course, of the reader as well; and the topics about which one can learn are varied indeed, from U.S. foreign policy to the history of architecture, and much else besides.
this volume is, I think, an important piece for anyone interested not only in Le Guin's writings, but in what lies behind - and beyond - them.


Amy Clarke, Ursula K. Le Guin's Journey to Post-Feminism

Amy Clarke has produced in this volume the first full-length examination of Le Guin's changing understanding and expression of feminism as seen through her work. As reviewer Sandra J. Lidnow comments in Science Fiction Studies,
This succinctly written book represents a thorough reading of Le Guin’s work and traces the evolution of her feminist thought from early in her career, when she professed to her mother, Theodora Kroeber, that she did not know how to write about women, to the present when Le Guin, along with authors such as Joanna Russ and Pamela Sargent, are acclaimed as the most influential speculative writers to have explored gender. (http://www.depauw.edu/sfs/review_essays/lindow112.html)
That aspect of the book is exciting and wonderful and makes it well worth reading. However, i feel a need to talk about the whole "post-feminist" element of Clarke's thesis for a bit.

Post-feminism is a tricky topic. It suggests a way of thinking that, while influenced by feminism, is no longer in need of feminist theory, analysis or praxis. It says "it's time to move beyond feminism" and leaves open to the listener the reasons why this might be so. Post-feminists, it is sometimes argued, don't want to exclude men, the way feminists did. They are pro-sex, unlike the oddly prudish second wave feminists. They are conscious of diversity and intersectionality in ways feminists never dreamed of. As Clarke says, quoting Ann Brooks's Postfeminisms:
...post-feminism is both porous and comprehensive, a "non-hegemonic feminism capable of giving voice to local, indigenous and post-colonial feminisms." The post-feminist embrace extends as well to theories like post-structuralism, especially in rejecting singular, master narratives and instead seeking out the individual story, accepting multiple points of view. Unlike the story-telling of the early women's movement used in consciousness-raising sessions, the goal is not collectivity by seeking sameness, but instead by accepting difference. Along those lines, post-feminism rejects the essentialism inherent in much feminist theory. Taking lessons from gender studies, post-feminism is more male-inclusive, building as it does on a belief that gender lies upon a continuum. This inclusiveness extends to matters of personal choice as well, including those of work, dress and sexual practices.
This is where my problem comes in, because unlike most post-feminists, I was there when the second wave got rolling, and it was never as homogenous as these critiques suggest. We knew we were at the beginning of a long period of analysis and theory-making, and that much of our early ad hoc thinking would evolve. Among us were women of colour, women of varied sexual inclinations, trans and passing women, proud sex workers and even (gasp) men. Many of us were sex-positive from the word go, we simply wanted to be sure that it was our sexuality we were being positive about, not a patriarchal society's self-serving master narrative about what our sexuality ought to be. Many of us questioned essentialist thinking from the beginning, and found it wanting. It sometimes seems to me that what those who make these critiques are reacting to is not second wave feminism itself, but second wave feminism as seen distorted in the lens held up by its enemies.

So.... I must ask, are we speaking of our (Le Guin's and other feminists') journey to post-feminism, or our journey to a mature and evolved feminism? My view is more the latter, and it is with that observation - and reservation - that I read, and now comment upon, Clarke's work.

Clarke's thesis, as stated in her Introduction, is that Le Guin's writing has been profoundly shaped by feminist theory, and has in turn contributed to the growing body of feminist literature.
Le ​Guin ​has ​also ​been ​a ​central ​figure ​in ​feminist ​theory. ​She ​has ​frequently ​said ​that ​her ​writing ​was ​utterly ​reshaped ​by ​a ​feminist ​awakening ​she ​experienced ​in ​the ​late ​seventies ​when ​she responded ​to ​criticisms ​that ​her ​work ​was ​anti-feminist ​by ​immersing ​herself ​in ​the ​feminist ​debate. ​ ​Once ​having ​accepted ​feminist ​principles, ​Le ​Guin ​evolved ​a ​poetics ​of ​non-linear ​narrative, ​emphasizing ​"female" ​values ​and ​experimentation ​with ​language ​and ​syntax.
This thesis is presented through an extensive analysis of Le Guin's work, including not only her speculative fiction, but also her non-genre fiction, her poetry, and her essays (although I must add that relatively less attention is paid to Le Guin's more recent work, including Lavinia and the three-volume Annals of the Western Shore). Clarke also draws on interviews, including her own conversations with Le Guin about her work and process.

Clarke sees LeGuin's career as a writer engaged and engaging with feminist theory as divided into stages (with some overlap); in her book, she devotes one chapter to each stage. The first stage encompasses all of her early work, including The Left Hand of Darkness and The Dispossessed, and is characterised by Clarke as a highly productive period in which Le Guin seeks to maintain “good manners” while still producing work which challenges the social order, a period in which she is clearly writing within a literary tradition based on male writing, but is exploring the social position of women and subverting the traditional image of the male hero. Clarke argues, in reference to early feminist criticism of Le Guin's works in this period, that "she ​was ​never ​as ​tradition-bound ​and ​
hero-oriented ​as ​has ​been ​described. ​In ​fact, ​with ​The ​Left ​Hand ​of ​Darkness ​and ​The ​Dispossessed, ​she ​was ​an ​early ​feminist ​voice ​even ​before ​she ​aligned ​herself ​with ​the ​movement."​

Clarke's analysis locates the second stage of Le Guin's journey as a period of reaction and re-evaluation, in which she produces (relatively) little original work and begins to "question her relation to gender issues and the literary tradition, to consider her art through a feminist prism."

By the middle of the 1980s, Clarke argues, Le Guin has entered a third stage in which her work becomes both more experimental and more explicitly feminist. She explores ways of storytelling that focus on non-hierarchical relationships and the patterns of women's lives, or that challenge the idea of linear narrative altogether. In this period, Le Guin incorporates into her writing the feminist literary theory of women such as Helen Cixous and Rachel Blau DuPlessis, "writing the body" and "beyond the ending." Her approach to fiction altered by her deep engagement with feminist thought, Le Guin writes women and women's magic into Earthsea, explores women's varied experiences in the linked stories of Searoad, and produces the profoundly experimental and women-centred Always Coming Home. In assessing Le Guin's work of this period, Clarke notes that
In "Why Are We Huddling About the Campfire?" she suggests that we tell stories as a way of constructing reality, of making ourselves understand both that we do exist and offering explanations for why we exist. If we tell stories about men only, feminist theory has taught her, women will not exist. Her writing in this period has been in the service of women, telling their stories. What she has learned from feminism, are ways in which to narrate the lives that do not fit in men's stories.
It is following this period, which Clarke characterises as "high feminist," that she sees Le Guin moving into what she variously calls post-feminism and next-stage feminism (a conceptual tag that I prefer).

Examining the differences in both subject and style that separate Le Guin's work in the 1990s from that of her experimental period, Clarke asks
Having ​
followed ​the ​feminist ​tide, ​does ​she ​now ​emerge ​as ​post-feminist? ​Can ​she ​help ​us ​define ​this ​still ​ambiguous ​term? ​I ​argue ​that ​Le ​Guin ​has ​in ​fact ​moved ​into ​next-stage ​feminism. ​​Her ​return ​to ​the ​imaginary ​lands ​of ​her ​earlier ​writing ​is ​marked ​not ​by ​feminist ​essentialism ​and ​narrative ​experimentation, ​but ​by ​her ​seeming ​rapprochement ​with ​traditional ​forms. ​Her ​recent ​writings ​represent ​Le ​Guin ​at ​another ​artistic ​height, ​but ​they ​also ​indicate ​a ​narrative ​journey ​back ​to ​her ​own ​beginnings, ​her ​own ​"native" ​
content ​and ​style. ​Yet, ​she ​returns ​with ​the ​express ​aim ​of ​shifting ​paradigms ​and ​breaking ​with ​the ​literary ​rules ​of ​engagement, ​a ​legacy ​of ​her ​feminist ​empowerment.
According to Clarke, the hallmarks of this next-stage feminism in Le Guin's writing are greater inclusivity, an engagement with post-colonialism (though I would suggest that through her anthropological perspective, Le Guin was exploring post-colonial narratives well before they were identified as such) and post-modernism (particularly in its valuing of multiple narratives over master narratives), and a return to less experimental styles. In this period, Le Guin continues the project begun with Tehanu, writing women and other non-privileged voices into her prior creations, including the Hainish and Earthsea universes.

While Clarke attempts to equate this shift to a post-feminist stance on the part of Le Guin, she acknowledges that Le Guin herself has not embraced that label for herself and her work.
in Le Guin's world, true journey is return and her evolution into postfeminism marks a spiral trajectory, nearly coming back to origins. She does not reject her feminism but builds it into her mental architecture in a way that makes it seem second nature, so that the writing that springs from it seems more organic. But she moves on from some of the fervor of high feminism, including its experimentalism, essentialism and exclusion. Le Guin has not engaged in discussions of post-feminism. Nonetheless her work of this period shows a clear backing away from the experimental non-linear narratives of her high feminist period. She is certainly assessing the lot of men differently as well. ... There is less universalising of the male experience; more dimensionality and more recognition that men can be as constrained by social roles as women.
As much as I enjoyed Clarke's detailed analysis of Le Guin's works, and the ways in which they embody the feminist process, here is where I (and other feminist reviewers) part company with her thesis. As Sharon de Graw notes in her review, "Given Le Guin's extensive critical and fictional interactions with feminism, some weight should be given to the fact the she has not explicitly disengaged herself from the term feminist nor specifically identified herself with post-feminism in these contexts. (http://www.readperiodicals.com/201101/2560135751.html#ixzz3NIMxv4Kr)

Given that Le Guin's place in literature is well-secured, the fact of her very public espousal of feminist theory and concerns in her work is an important area of criticism, and this book is a good beginning to that project; I hope to see more feminist analysis of her work in the future.

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I must being your attention to a wonderful small press. I mean, what else can you call a publishing house whose co-founder says things like "The challenge, I think, has always been not only to better inform 'the movement', but to figure out how to get the ideas across to everyone else. In effect, how do we actively contribute to building a movement (however defined) which is genuinely going to take on Capital and the state."?

PM Press publishes both fiction and non-fiction, everything from classics of anarchist thought to vegan cookbooks to science fiction with a left wing consciousness.I've already mentioned one book I ordered from them, Eleanor Arnason's Mammoths of the Great Plains. I actually bought three books from PM Press last year (and plan on buying several more this year). All three books are from their Outspoken Authors series, which showcases authors like Arnason, Ursula Le Guin, Nalo Hopkinson among others. Each volume contains one or more pieces of shorter fiction (novella length or less) plus an interview and a biographical sketch. And they are publishing some very interesting work in this series.


Terry Bison, The Left Left Behind

The title piece in this volume is an absolutely hilarious satire of the Rapture movement in general and the scenario presented in the Left Behind books in particular.

Actually, this is what the publisher says about this piece and the other short piece in the volume:
The Left Behind novels (about the so-called “Rapture” in which all the born-agains ascend straight to heaven) are among the bestselling Christian books in the US, describing in lurid detail the adventures of those “left behind” to battle the Anti-Christ. Put Bisson and the Born-Agains together, and what do you get? The Left Left Behind--a sardonic, merciless, tasteless, take-no-prisoners satire of the entire apocalyptic enterprise that spares no one--predatory preachers, goth lingerie, Pacifica radio, Indian casinos, gangsta rap, and even “art cars” at Burning Man.

Plus: "Special Relativity," a one-act drama that answers the question: When Albert Einstein, Paul Robeson, and J. Edgar Hoover are raised from the dead at an anti-Bush rally, which one wears the dress? As with all Outspoken Author books, there is a deep interview and autobiography: at length, in-depth, no-holds-barred and all-bets off: an extended tour though the mind and work, the history and politics of our Outspoken Author. Surprises are promised.
And it's all true.


Ursula LeGuin, The Wild Girls

Constant Reader must know by now that I believe Ursula Le Guin to be a goddess. Possibly an avatar of the child of Athene and Kwan Yin. A beacon of wisdom and compassionate understanding, while remaining a warrior of the mind determined to bring light to that which brings about injustice. The Wild Girls is pure Le Guin, compressed to diamond sharpness. The story cuts into heart and mind and lays bare the power relations of a rigid and hierarchical society built on inequalities of class, race and gender. Of course, it's only a story. Or is it? I love Le Guin's work because she makes me feel and think.

There's a good traditional review of the book by Brit Mandelo on Tor.dom.

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So, I took a holiday from posting in my journals. I think it's time to come back. Catching up on what I've been reading will mostly mean just listing the books I've read, with maybe a few comments about the really good, really bad, or really interesting ones.


War, Evil and the End of History, Bernard-Henri Lévy

Interesting concept, kind of hypertext, with several relatively standard reportage-style essays on various theatres of war Lévy had covered, linked by footnotes to extensive personal commentary and philosophical ruminations. Dense, but thoughtful.


Jane Austen: A Life, Carol Shields

A pleasant biographical sketch of one of my favourite authors. Worth reading.


The Terror Dream: Myth and Misogyny in an Unsecure America, Susan Faludi

Fascinating analysis of how both the state and the media presented the "stories" of the attacks on the US on September 11, 2001. Must read.


Cheek by Jowl, Ursula LeGuin

Essays about writing by a great writer. If this is the sort of thing you like, you'll be delighted.


Good Calories, Bad Calories, Gary Taubes

A look at the science behind how the body utilises the energy in the food we eat, from a biochemical more than a medical perspective, which asks some very searching questions about the kinds of nutritional advice North Americans have been receiving over the past 50 years, and suggests that many of the things we've been told were good, are not so good, and many of the things we've been told were bad, may be good after all. I found the arguments compelling enough to change my way of eating, and I haven't gone back yet, after more than a year.


Payback. Margaret Atwood

Atwood looks at the concept of debt on the eve of the economic crisis and finds some quite interesting things to say about it all.
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Powers, Ursula K. LeGuin

Powers is the third book in Le Guin's Annals of the Western Shore series, following Gifts and Voices. Like the previous novels in the series, Powers features a young protagonist with a special gift or ability who must find a way out of an oppressive situation.

In this novel, the protagonist is Gavir, a slave who has the ability to see (or, as he puts it, "remember") future events, but without context – he may know that something will happen, but not necessarily when or where. At the outset of the novel, Gavir – taken, along with his sister, as a slave when very young – is content with his life. He is owned by a good household, where slaves are treated well; he has been taught to read and write – his greatest delight – and is being trained to take on a role of scholar and teacher within the household when he is older. It hardly occurs to him that he is property and that chance or whim can change everything until he is brought painfully and violently to this realisation – and manages to escape during a period of war when the city of his masters is invaded.

After experiencing life as a rebel, and then finding his own people and discovering that he is unhappy living as his people have always lived, he embarks on a quest for his true home, a place where he can be himself.

Again, LeGuin weaves together themes of finding one’s place and one’s voice, learning how to live with one’s gifts without abusing them, speaking truth to power, and resisting oppression from the heart, mind and soul rather than with violence.

These tales are simply told, yet complex and profound, masterworks of craft imbued with the accumulated wisdom of someone who has observed and thought and felt deeply throughout her entire life.

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The New Utopian Politics of Ursula K. LeGuin’s The Dispossessed, Laurence Davis & Peter Stillman (eds.)

I'll admit it, this wasn't an easy book to read, and it took me a long time to go through it, reading one section of an essay at a time and taking more than a few side-trips into the philosophies of the major thinkers of the anarchist movement to fill in some of the gaps. for the most part, I'm still digesting what I've read.

I will say that making my way through these essays has given me a far more profound appreciation of The Dispossessed in particular and LeGuin's way of examining political and philosophical points of view in her work. From now on, I think I will see more - which is saying something, because there's always been a lot to see in her work. I also think that I might want to go back and re-read some of my favourite LeGuin yet again, to see what new thoughts come forth.

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Kalpa Imperial: The Greatest Empire that Never Was, Angélica Gorodischer
trans. by Ursula K. LeGuin

Argentinean writer Angélica Gorodischer's collection of 11 meandering tales of the history, cities and people of an immeasurably vast and ancient empire, Kalpa Imperial is, I am informed by various reviewers, considered to be a fantasy classic in the Spanish-speaking world. Originally published in Spanish in 1983, it is the first of Gorodischer's books to be translated into English. I really hope we see more English translations soon, hopefully by someone so admirably suited to handle such material as Ursula K. LeGuin (whose marvellous novel, Always Coming home, displays more than a few stylistic, thematic and structural similarities to Gorodischer's book).

These tales are beautiful, wonderful, fabulous (and fabulist). They wind and wander through the vast landscape of history and geography, all the while grounded by the tiny but eloquent details of the lives and deaths of everyday people, from beggars to emperors. They give the sense of being, all at once, intimate narratives and archetypal legends, naive stories and universal wisdoms.

If you are, as I am, an admirer of the work of Jorge Luis Borges and Italo Calvino, then you will find much to admire in Kalpa Imperial as well.

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The Dispossessed, Ursula K. LeGuin
Woman on the Edge of Time, Marge Piercy

Not too long ago, I found myself in the position of trying to describe to a friend some of the ways in which a society based on anarchist philosophy might operate, and in the process of trying to make my own visions of an anarchist’s utopia more concrete, I picked up and re-read the two books on my shelves in which someone else had already done this, and probably far better than I ever could.

LeGuin’s The Dispossessed tells the story of a scientist, Shevek, raised on Anarres, a world settled by the followers of a political philosopher from Anarres’ sister world Urras, who finds himself questioning and rejecting the philosophy of the world in which he grew up. He travels to Urras, thinking to find a better way of life, only to realise how strongly his values have been influenced by the culture of his birth. Ultimately, he decides that the flaws in the culture and philosophy of Anarres are easier to live with – and possible change – than the flaw he finds in the philosophies of Urras.

Ursula Le Guin discusses her novel in an introduction written for “The Day Before the Revolution,” a short story written in memoriam to the anarchist, Paul Goodman:
My novel 'The Dispossessed' is about a small world full of people who call themselves Odonians. The name is taken from the founder of their society, Odo, who lived several generations before the time of the novel, and who therefore doesn't get into the action - except implicitly, in that all the action started with her.

Odonianism is anarchism. Not the bomb-in-the-pocket stuff, which is terrorism, whatever name it tries to dignify itself with, not the social Darwinist economic 'libertarianism' of the far right, but anarchism as pre- figured in early Taoist thought, and expounded by Shelley and Kropotkin, Goldman and Goodman. 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.
What is interesting about LeGuin’s exploration of an anarchist utopia is that she allows it to be flawed. No society created by humans will ever truly reach the perfection of a utopia, because humans themselves are not perfect beings. LeGuin, however, shows the reader a flawed anarchist state and a flawed authoritarian state and asks: which is easier to live in, easier to change and improve without bloodshed, provides a better life for more of its citizens?

Piercy’s Woman on the Edge of Time also presents an anarchist state and an authoritarian state for the reader to consider, although the former is more of a utopia and the latter more of a dystopia than in LeGuin’s book. Piercy’s protagonist, Connie Ramos, is an American Latina living on welfare, who has a “bad history” of standing up for herself and other women against the oppression and violence of men, and is ultimately incarcerated in a mental hospital where she is chosen to be a subject for experimental "mind-control" research. She is also a Receptive, someone who can serve as an focal point for a kind of mental time-traveller and, with the assistance of that traveller, move forward to see the future herself. Or she is mad, and hallucinating everything that she experiences in her encounters with the time-traveller Luciente and the future she sees and commits herself to helping to bring into being in her own time.

Luciente’s future is, like Shevek’s Anarres, a society based on basic anarchist principles, although it is more consciously a feminist utopia as well. Both books explore ways of organising society and making collective decisions about that society without the creation of hierarchical, authoritarian structures, of valuing co-operation and mutual assistance, of sharing labour and eliminating class, and of changing the nature of the family, interpersonal relationships and gender roles.

Both are strong and important visions of what an anarchist society might be like. As such, they are also an inspiration and an invitation for further consideration of how life can be lived without social or political oppression of any group of human beings by any other.

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Voices – Ursula K LeGuin

Voices is the second volume in a series LeGuin (or her publisher) is calling the Annals of the Western Shore; I read the first volume, Gifts, a couple of years ago when it first came out and was quite enchanted with it.

Voices is not exactly a sequel, although the main characters of Gifts appear and play crucial roles. It is rather a continuation, a development of themes and issues touched upon in the first book – the importance of understanding and accepting your own abilities and gifts, of knowing who you are and following your own path.

The main protagonist of Voices is a young woman, Memer, who herself has a gift to be acknowledge, accepted and nurtured. For Memer, however, the use of her gift – a gift of vision – can become one of the flashpoints of rebellion against a tyranny that has limited not only the freedoms of the body and of choice, but of the mind and of thought. Memer’s city has been conquered by a people who believe that reading and writing are acts of evil – the works of demons. Memer’s family guards the only surviving collection of her people’s books – their history, their literature, their dreams, their cultural heritage. And closely linked to these books is Memer’s oracular gift to read and voice the truth.

Into Memer’s world come Orrec and Gry, the protagonists of Gifts. Orrec is now a master storyteller, with the gift to create and communicate his creations. When both Orrec and Memer give voice to their gifts, they restore the past, illuminate the present and change the future.

I could also talk about the topicality of a depiction of a war characterised by leaders who believe they are chosen by their deities to drive out evil and demonic forces, of the tragedies that can result from a vast communication gap between cultures, of the muffling and shrouding of women, of the uses that power has for keeping the lessons of history, the voices of truth, the strength of personal integrity and the hope of free creative vision out of the hands of the people, but you’ll get all that and more when you read the book. LeGuin never writes on just one level.

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Incredible Good Fortune, a collection of poetry by Ursula K. LeGuin

I worship the ground Ursula LeGuin walks on, the paper she writes on, the air she breathes... OK that's going a bit too far, but she is definitely way up there on my list of favourite writers. The poems in this collection are a delight to read, to savour, to meditate upon.

The publisher's website has this to say about LeGuin's latest volume of poetry:
Passionate, humanitarian, and sensuously aware of the world's vitality, Le Guin's work can also be melancholy, playful, and dreamlike. Full of insight, humor, and wisdom, this collection includes close observations of day-to-day life, reflections on childhood and growing older, and explorations of myth and fable.

There's beauty in this book, and philosophy, and social comment, and political analysis of class, gender and race relations, and joy, and sorrow, and the heart of the human condition.

And it's Ursula K. LeGuin. My words are not enough - read hers.

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The other day, I was watching the news - something not done lightly these days - and started thinking what the world would be like if, instead of all these various shades of skin pigmentation that have meant so much and been used to justify such callousness and hatred and bloodshed and injustice over the centuries, we were all the same shade of brown. A silly, rather superficial thought, because I know that the drive to identify a group as Other has much deeper roots than a difference in skin tone - that's the excuse, not the reason for hatred, xenophobia, slavery, and other delightful inventions of human society.

But my partner [personal profile] glaurung reminded me that this was, in fact, one of the shifts in reality that is forced to happen in Ursula K. LeGuin's The Lathe of Heaven, so then I had to go find the book on our shelves and re-read it.

Rather co-incidentally, while I was re-reading it, we also watched V for Vendetta, and the juxtaposition of the two in my mind led me to greatly ponder the nature of terrorism and the desire to solve the (perceived) problems of the world.

In both cases, we have a situation where the current situation is clearly wrong. It deserves to be, needs to be, should be changed. But how? In The Lathe of Heaven, the problems are too big, too vast, too well-entrenched, for any ordinary mortal, or group of mortals, to change - LeGuin was writing of a world in which climate change had already done a great deal of harm, for example. And in V for Vendetta, the hold of a fascist police state combined with the power of a complicit media has made it very difficult for more than small, individual acts of resistance (the preserving of a Koran, for example) to be envisioned.

And into both worlds, there comes a person who has the desire to change the world for the better, and who acquires the means to do so.

In The Lathe of Heaven, George Orr, the man whose dreams can change everything - past, present and future, falls into the power of the mostly altruistic Dr. Huber, who only wants to make the world better - for himself, and for everybody - but operates without humility, without the wisdom to see that he cannot know what will be better and what will be worse, and what will be the effects of forcing such dramatic, repeated shifts in reality on the minds of people and the fabric of time and space. And in the process, he violates the person he is using to make all this happen. The Lathe of Heaven looks at two very key questions for the one who would change the world: does any one person have the right to decide what is best - or even better - for all, and do the means justify the ends?

V for Vendetta focuses more on the second question, although its answer to the first is implicit - perhaps, if the people join and consent, if they all become the revolution. V reminds me of Moses - a flawed leader, allowed to bring his people to the edge of the promised land, but not worthy to cross over with them, because of the weight of his mistakes. Or perhaps an active variant of the sacrificial lamb, the scapegoat, who takes upon himself to do the things that should not be done, but must be done, and accepts his exile from the new world his acts have created.

It is interesting that both works leave the second question - that of means and ends - open. Because that's always been the kicker.

In The Lathe of Heaven, we learn that the world would already have been destroyed had George Orr not changed the continuum as he lay dying from radiation poisoning some years before the opening events of the book. But the crisis brought on by Huber's use of Orr's gift would not have been survived without Orr's dreaming creation - or is it a creation? - of the Aliens who are gifted with the same abilities he is, but who have learned how to use them wisely, if at all, and, it seems, in some kind of communal state which at the very least allows for the possibility of consent among the changed.

In V for Vendetta, could the revolution have a chance of happening without the murders of those who build the fascist state in the first place? Would it have been more ethical if V had killed the leaders and creators out of pure revolutionary fervour rather than for revenge? Are the means justified if the one who does them takes the blame and the punishment, but leave a legacy for others to continue with cleaner hands?

I like reading - and watching - things that make me think, even if I'm not really sure of my answers either.

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