Four ways to forgiveness /

by Le Guin, Ursula K.
Material type: materialTypeLabelBookPublisher: New York, N.Y. : HarperPrism, c1995Description: 228 p. : ill. ; 24 cm.ISBN: 0061052345 (hardcover) :.Title notes: c.1 $20.00 7-96Subject(s): Life on other planets -- Fiction | Science fiction, American | Women -- Fiction | Science fiction
Contents:
Betrayals -- Forgiveness day -- A man of the people -- A woman's liberation.
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Books Books Altadena Main Library
Adult Collection Adult Science Fiction SF LEG Available 39270001753064

Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

The most highly respected living author of science fiction and the only author in the genre to win the National Book Award, Ursula K. Le Guin delivers a stunning new collection of four interlinked novellas. These powerful, exquisitely-told stories exhibit the artistry of a major writer at the height of her powers.

Betrayals -- Forgiveness day -- A man of the people -- A woman's liberation.

c.1 $20.00 7-96

Excerpt provided by Syndetics

<opt> <anon I1="BLANK" I2="BLANK">Four Ways to Forgiveness Stories Betrayals "On the planet 0 there has not been a war for five thousand years," she read, "and on Gethen there has never been a war." She stopped reading, to rest her eyes and because she was trying to train herself to read slowly, not gobble words down in chunks the way Tikuli gulped his food. "There has never been a war": in her mind the words stood clear and bright, surrounded by and sinking into an infinite, dark, soft incredulity. What would that world be, a world without war? It would be the real world. Peace was the true life, the life of working and learning and bringing up children to work and learn. War, which devoured work, learning, and children, was the denial of reality. But my people, she thought, know only how to deny. Born in the dark shadow of power misused, we set peace outside our world, a guiding and unattainable light. All we know to do is fight. Any peace one of us can make in our life is only a denial that the war is going on, a shadow of the shadow, a doubled unbelief. So as the cloud-shadows swept over the marshes and the page of the book open on her lap, she sighed and closed her eyes, thinking, "I am a liar." Then she opened her eyes and read more about the other worlds, the far realities. Tikuli, sleeping curled up around his tail in the weak sunshine, sighed as if imitating her, and scratched a dreamflea. Gubu was out in the reeds, hunting; she could not see him, but now and then the plume of a reed quivered, and once a marsh hen flew up cackling in indignation. Absorbed in a description of the peculiar social customs of the Ithsh, she did not see Wada till he was at the gate letting himself in. "Oh, you're here already," she said, taken by surprise and feeling unready, incompetent, old, as she always felt with other people. Alone, she only felt old when she was overtired or ill. Maybe living alone was the right thing for her after all. "Come on in," she said, getting up and dropping her book and picking it up and feeling her back hair where the knot was coming loose. "I'll just get my bag and be off, then." "No hurry," the young man said in his soft voice. "Eyid won't be here for a while yet." Very kind of you to tell me I don't have to hurry to leave my own house, Yoss thought, but said nothing, obedient to the insufferable, adorable selfishness of the young. She went in and got her shopping bag, reknotted her hair, tied a scarf over it, and came out onto the little open porch. Wada had sat down in her chair; he jumped up when she came out. He was a shy boy, the gentler, she thought, of the two lovers. "Have fun," she said with a smile, knowing she embarrassed him. "I'll be back in a couple of hours -- before sunset." She went down to her gate, let herself out, and set off the way Wada had come, along the path up to the winding wooden causeway across the marshes to the village. She would not meet Eyid on the way. The girl would be coming from the north on one of the bogpaths, having left the village at a different time and in a different direction than Wada, so that nobody would notice that for a few hours every week or so the two young people were gone at the same time. They were madly in love, had been in love for three years, and would have lived in partnership long since if Wada's father and Eyid's father's brother hadn't quarreled over a piece of reallocated Corporation land and set up a feud between the families that had so far stopped short of bloodshed, but put a love match out of the question. The land was valuable; the families, though poor, each aspired to be leaders of the village. Nothing would heal the grudge. The whole village took sides in it. Eyid and Wada had nowhere to go, no skills to keep them alive in the cities, no tribal relations in another village who might take them in. Their passion was trapped in the hatred of the old. Yoss had come on them, a year ago now, in each other's arms on the cold ground of an island in the marshes -- blundering onto them as once she had blundered onto a pair of fendeer fawns holding utterly still in the nest of grass where the doe had left them. This pair had been as frightened, as beautiful and vulnerable as the fawns, and they had begged her "not to tell" so humbly, what could she do? Four Ways to Forgiveness Stories . Copyright © by Ursula Le Guin. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Four Ways to Forgiveness by Ursula K. Le Guin All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.</anon> </opt>

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The latest work by one of sf's most gifted and perceptive writers offers four connected novellas (previously published in periodicals) that explore the hidden territories of the human heart. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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