Jan 27

Jan 27 The Left Hand of Darkness

Author: Ursula K. Le Guin
Publisher: Ace Books (50th anniversary edition; originally published 1969)
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Note: Content and trigger warnings are provided for those who need them at the bottom of this page. If you don’t need them and don’t want to risk spoilers, don’t scroll past the full review.

Cover Description

On the planet Winter, there is no gender. The Gethenians can become male or female during each mating cycle, and this is something that humans find incomprehensible.

The Ekumen of Known Worlds has sent an ethnologist to study the Gethenians on their forbidding, ice-bound world. At first he finds his subjects difficult and off-putting, with their elaborate social systems and alien minds. But in the course of a long journey across the ice, he reaches an understanding with one of the Gethenians — it might even be a kind of love.

TL;DR Review

I’m really glad I read The Left Hand of Darkness. It wasn’t as accessible as I’d (naively) assumed it would be, but it was certainly thought-provoking and resonant.

For you if: You want to read foundational works of SFF (especially by women) and like books that are or read like “classics.”

Full Review

“Light is the left hand of darkness
and darkness the right hand of light.”

I’ve been meaning to dive deeper into Ursula Le Guin for years now, but I’d only ever read A Wizard of Earthsea (which I loved). And now I’ve finally, *finally* read The Left Hand of Darkness. Those two together are probably the two most famous of her 40ish books, and TLHOD, published in 1969, was one of the first books considered “feminist” sci-fi and is known as THE classic sci-fi novel that explored androgyny and nonbinary characters. It’s a standalone story, but also the fourth book set in her Hainish Cycle universe.

The story is about a man named Ai, who has come to the planet of Gethen as an envoy to try to get them to join a loose non-political association of worlds that facilitates shared knowledge and culture. On Gethen, people have no fixed gender or sex; they’re non-sexual for most of the month, and then enter “kemmer,” assuming either male or female body parts and pairing up until their period of kemmer ends. (Hence one of the book’s most famous lines, “The king was pregnant.”) The book explores themes of duality, gender roles and what the absence of them might look like, the necessity of differences, and the challenges of cultural misunderstandings.

While I liked this book and am really glad I read it, I think because I read Earthsea (which was written for a younger audience) first, I had expected it to be a bit more accessible. It very much reads like a classic, and so I found it helpful to read through a sparknotes-style summary and interpretation after each chapter, just to make sure I grasped the subtext and didn’t miss anything famously important.

That said, there’s no doubt that I’ll think about this book throughout the rest of my life. She raises so many good questions about the possibilities outside our own assumptions, especially as it relates to gender roles. I’m looking forward to reading the other Hainish Cycle novels and beyond.