It was, for me anyway, what science fiction should be, human first of all. I loved what she said and how she said it. (h/t to Tom Hoberg for making SF a legitimate subject of study all those decades ago.) I loved her work right from the start.
I've been a LeGuin reader for decades, having first encountered her in school, in a Science Fiction as Literature class. On breakfast: "Eating an egg from the shell takes not only practice, but resolution, even courage, possibly willingness to commit crime."Īnd on all that is unknown, all that we discover as we muddle through life: "How rich we are in knowledge, and in all that lies around us yet to learn. He just doesn't accept the lap hypothesis." On her new cat: "He still won't sit on a lap. On cultural perceptions of fantasy: "The direction of escape is toward freedom. On the absurdity of denying your age, she says, "If I'm 90 and believe I'm 45, I'm headed for a very bad time trying to get out of the bathtub." No Time to Spare collects the best of Ursula's blog, presenting perfectly crystallized dispatches on what matters to her now, her concerns with this world, and her wonder at it. Now she's in the last great frontier of life, old age, and exploring new literary territory: the blog, a forum where her voice - sharp, witty, as compassionate as it is critical - shines. Le Guin has taken listeners to imaginary worlds for decades. Le Guin, and with an introduction by Karen Joy Fowler, a collection of thoughts - always adroit, often acerbic - on aging, belief, the state of literature, and the state of the nation. Le Guin’s extraordinary imaginary worlds have been built and shared.From acclaimed author Ursula K. After all, she writes, 'Words are my matter-my stuff.' And it’s through their infinite arrangements, 'the endless changes and complexities of their interrelationships,' that Ms. In even these miscellanies, composed in her off hours, the sentences are perfectly balanced and the language chosen with care.
Despite her reservations with the hideous word 'blog'-which sounds like it should refer to 'an obstruction in the nasal passage'-she takes to the digressive form with ease, ruminating on the value of literary awards, the Great American Novel (her pick may surprise you), the 'existential situation' of old age and her outsize love for a newly adopted black-and-white cat called Pard. This delightful book, inquisitive and stroppily opinionated in equal measure, assembles stray pieces from her recent adventures in blogging. Few writers have been so conscientious of the ways that societies are defined by the nuances and omissions of their language. Le Guin’s brilliance lies beyond nomenclature.
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