Leva ruka
tame
Ursula K. Le Guin
Genly
Ai is an emissary from the human galaxy to Winter, a lost, stray
world. His mission is to bring the planet back into the fold of an
evolving galactic civilization, but to do so he must bridge the gulf
between his own culture and prejudices and those that he encounters.
On a planet where people are of no gender--or both--this is a broad
gulf indeed. The inventiveness and delicacy with which Le Guin
portrays her alien world are not only unusual and inspiring, they
are fundamental to almost all decent science fiction that has been
written since. In fact, reading Le Guin again may cause the eye to
narrow somewhat disapprovingly at the younger generation: what new
ground are they breaking that is not already explored here with
greater skill and acumen? It cannot be said, however, that this is a
rollicking good story. Le Guin takes a lot of time to explore her
characters, the world of her creation, and the philosophical themes
that arise.
If there were a canon of classic science fiction,
The Left Hand of Darkness would be included without debate.
Certainly, no science fiction bookshelf may be said to be complete
without it. But the real question: is it fun to read? It is science
fiction of an earlier time, a time that has not worn particularly
well in the genre. The Left Hand of Darkness was a groundbreaking
book in 1969, a time when, like the rest of the arts, science
fiction was awakening to new dimensions in both society and
literature. But the first excursions out of the pulp tradition are
sometimes difficult to reread with much enjoyment. Rereading The
Left Hand of Darkness, decades after its publication, one feels that
those who chose it for the Hugo
and Nebula
awards were right to do so, for it truly does stand out as one of
the great books of that era. It is immensely rich in timeless wisdom
and insight.
Genly Ai is alone. His job is to introduce the
icy planet of Gethen into the Ekumen, a loose consortium of 80
worlds that trade in knowledge as well as goods. He is the
Ekumen's first open envoy, and the first envoy always goes alone.
He offers Gethen a single voice describing the friends to be had
among the stars, and he travels among the local people, learning
what hidden observers cannot.
The Gethenians are genderless when not in their
monthly period of heat (at which point they can become either
sex); they consider Ai's masculinity a perverse aberration. Their
opaque system of honor, protocol and standing, called shifgrethor,
increases Ai's sense of isolation. When his lone ally in the land
of Karhide, the prime minister Estraven, first withdraws support
and then is suddenly banished, Ai's mission seems to die before
his eyes.
Nonetheless, Ai is patient. He travels Karhide,
spending time among mystics who use their ability to divine the
future to teach the power of the Unknown. He then applies to enter
Karhide's rival nation, Orgoreyn, a brooding, repressive
oligarchy. There his initial, promising inroads descend into a
rapidly deteriorating morass of intrigue and poisonous politics,
until one morning Ai wakes aboard a fetid land-ship bound for a
labor camp, no longer the celebrated Envoy from the stars.
Subjected to interrogations under drugs not
meant for his alien physiology, Ai is on the brink of death when
he is rescued by the exile, Estraven. Ai's misunderstanding of
shifgrethor had masked Estraven's continued loyalty to his cause.
Exhausted and proscribed amid the desolation of this world's
ultima Thule, their only chance is the sense of honor of Karhide's
king--but first they must get to Karhide, 80 days away across the
unforgiving glaciers of the Gobrin Ice.
Unique characters, forbidding world
The first striking thing about The Left Hand of
Darkness--the first of many--is its introductory essay, an
aggressive defense of science fiction as description, not
prediction, with metaphors such as alien societies used to
describe our own world. This bald reminder of author Ursula K. Le
Guin's calling might have stripped the mystique from the following
tale, leaving little more than a tract. But The Left Hand of
Darkness is told by Genly Ai; in it Ai, not Le Guin, reaches out
to readers with his own story of hardship and friendship,
imparting in writing what he cannot quite say in words.
The Left Hand is also a beguiling read quite
apart from its layers and meanings. Le Guin's sometimes
mischievous narrative tone is crisp and fresh. Ai and Estraven are
richly drawn, complex, unpredictable, steadfast, and unique.
Gethen itself is a fascinating world, with distinct, carefully
developed cultures sharing in common an outlook born out of their
frozen climate and their androgyne nature. Of particular interest
are the Foretellers, whose perplexing emphasis on the importance
of ignorance--the philosophical outgrowth of their ability to see
the future--nicely complements Ai's growing understanding of the
interdependency of shadow and light. The narrative is intercut
with revealing stories from the legends and myths of Gethen: some
feature Foretellers, others doomed lovers or ancient heroes.
The fact that The Left Hand won both the Hugo
and the Nebula awards is nicely apposite in light of the subtext
of dualism. But chiefly these twin awards serve to underline the
quality of the work. The adventures of Ai and Estraven make for
splendid character study and provocative speculation, but they
also provide a good story well told.
Ai was preceded on Gethen (also called Winter) by observers,
whose reports are transcribed. At one point, writing of gender
roles, an observer says: "On Winter they do not exist. One
is respected and judged as a human being. It is an appalling
experience." At first I laughed this jarring comment off as
a 1960s relic, but soon I realized that at first even the most
enlightened human would be rudderless in an androgyne society.
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