The Left Hand of Darkness is another one of Le Guin’s best-selling Science Fiction works. In today’s world (2024), it has become so renowned and respected, that when my 90-year-old German grandmother entered a bookstore to figure out what her poor, misaligned grandson thought was good literature1, the bookkeeper2 from said bookstore promptly corrected her very certainly incorrect assumptions and mentioned that quite some of those Sci-Fi works were, indeed, rather philosophical.3 This bookkeeper then proceeded to recommend she read, you guessed it, The Left Hand of Darkness.
This book has risen to such fame, that not only is it a favored recommendation from the aforementioned Bookkeeper, but it also is his chosen book to represent all of the Science Fiction genre in terms of philosophical content and maturity. I, to my great dislike, must agree (agreeing is not my specialty): The Left Hand of Darkness is a perfect example of everything Science Fiction should be, especially when it comes to philosophical questions.
It, in a very Brecht-ian way, distances the reader from the world (words) they lay their eyes upon, giving them the objective (-ish) perspective required to discuss the upcoming topics. This is done, of course, through portraying the book’s happenings on a foreign planet. It then uses this literally alien environment to show the reader various social problems (again one might be reminded of Brecht): in this case gender. Through the book’s narrative, the reader steadily grows an emotional bond to the various characters, leading them to view these characters more positively: plain racism can no longer---that is, should no longer---influence them. The reader is now---again, should now---be in an excellent condition for critically viewing not only this alternative social order, but also critically viewing our own social order next to it (Brecht rings in my ears once more).
This is by definition philosophical. And, in my opinion, Le Guin superbly presents this alternative society to us: highlighting nearly exclusively the flaws. However: also showing us an individual specimen and this specimen’s humanity (if that term is still applicable). We are taught to love an alien and then shown the horrors of his (if pronouns are still applicable) alien planet.
This is a very familiar experience. I feel these same emotions nearly every day. Every time I feel a spark of friendship or love with a friend. Every time I am reminded of the horrors of our world. Le Guin paints us a familiar picture, but one so alien that we only recognize our selves once we love it;---and from the start we are shown its flaws.
I sincerely hope that every person ever to read The Left Hand of Darkness feels the revolutionary yet loving and warm spirit that the book induces. I felt it (along with my mother’s nagging) and it swayed me to write this. I hope it sways you to more.
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She was looking for a birthday present for me when my father indiscreetly mentioned my interest in Science Fiction. ↩︎
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Bookkeeper is the word I have chosen to describe this figure, as I do not know the person’s role in said Bookstore and bookkeeper seems an appropriate word for anyone helping old, misinformed ladies in any Bookstore (I promise I dearly love my grandmother). ↩︎
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If my dear reader is currently wondering why I make use of such dripping sarcasm in my writing: I wish them rest assured in my agreement with what the Bookkeeper said; however, I also add that the book he recommended my innocent German grandmother gift me, was not entirely appropriate for my age. ↩︎