This was the second summer I have dedicated to my favourite author – Ursula K. Le Guin. Apprehensively, I’ve decided to go back to the book that started my path to Guin-worship in order to have a better understanding of its “sequel”, The Winter’s King.
As always, it was with trepidation that I went back to the book that has since been on my all-time favourites list. It’s a risk – testing the timelessness of ideas. But it was a risk worth taking, because once again I was amazed, touched, angry, resentful, and hopeful.
Light is the left hand of darkness
And darkness the right hand of light
Two are one, life and death, lying
together like lovers in kemmer,
like hands joined together,
like the end and the way.
There aren’t many pitfalls to reading Ursula. A total of two, I would say. One being that she is no longer on this plane of existence, and the other that everything after reading Ursula seems anaemic. Like eating tofu after you’ve eaten some damn fine cheese. Naturally, I cannot just sample the cheese. I have to stuff my face until I’m full, all the while searching for the best fucking tofu on the market.
And no, I did not deceive you. There will be pictures. Art by Vanessa Lemen. Created for a limited edition of The Left Hand of Darkness that I cannot afford. Maybe.
Cheap Thrills, Guilty Pleasures 