Ursula K. Le Guin, October 21, 1929 – January 22, 2018. Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness https://t.co/EBbRzpDTr3
— La femme merveilleuse invisible (@larwoolf) October 21, 2026
A fuller quotation:
How does one hate a country, or love one? Tibe talks about it; I lack the trick of it. I know people, I know towns, farms, hills and rivers and rocks, I know how the sun at sunset in autumn falls on the side of a certain plowland in the hills; but what is the sense of giving a boundary to all that, of giving it a name and ceasing to love where the name ceases to apply? What is love of one's country; is it hate of one's uncountry? Then it's not a good thing. Is it simply self-love? That's a good thing, but one mustn't make a virtue of it, or a profession...
It's been a minute since I've read Left Hand, so maybe that should be my next book date. Anyway, I absolutely adore Le Guin, and her writing has had a profound impact on my worldview since I was a wee lad (shoutout to my old buddy, Doug C, for introducing us in 4th grade). Every re-read is an adventure that uncovers something new for me, and reinforces the old.
Selah.
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