I just finished Ursula K. LeGuin’s The Left Hand of Darkness, which I have put off reading for years as I believed that I would find it rather boring.  Quite the contrary: The Left Hand is one of those books that leave a tingling in your spine as you finish it; a sense that some great, profound truth has touched your spirit.  I have little doubt that it will have a spot on lists of my favorite books for many years to come.  I only wish now that I had read it sooner.  Over the past few months, however, I have come to learn that certain things enter your life only when you’re ready for them.  LeGuin’s book, it seems, was one of those things.  Maybe one day I’ll be more critical–maybe even tomorrow after I’ve had some sleep–but for now allow me to revel in that wonder and inspiration that always comes at the close of the greatest works.


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