Lathe, over forty years old, is a masterpiece I wish I'd been aware of years ago.
It perfectly builds character, magic system and plot in such bold but subtle masterful strokes that you are left humbled in the wake of a master writer.
So easily do you come to understand and sympathize, yet ultimately dislike the villain Haber. You are annoyed with, but are ultimately won over by the hapless protagonist, George Orr. And when the love interest comes into play, I genuinely did not see it coming until there was a romance.
Motifs of meetings in restaurants and Portland's nearby Mt. Hood crop up in every altered reality. They both remind us of the place we have come from and how the metaphors begin to shift in every new chapter and take on new meaning.
Most of all, it is a short book. Many writers today (especially myself) could take a well-needed lesson on how to write insightful poignancy with a compelling climax, without needing ridiculous subplots or an excess of technical explanations.
I felt something I rarely feel when reading this novel. Jealousy. Jealousy that someone could hone the craft with such precision that it remains a masterful piece of reading forty-three years later.
Well done, Ms Le Guin.
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