The New Scientist Book Club has just read Ursula K. Le Guin’s novel The Dispossessed
Gollancz; Benjamin Brink/The Oregonian/AP/Alamy
Having recently delved into Alex Foster’s Circular Motion, where Earth’s rotation accelerates unexpectedly, the New Scientist Book Club turned its attention to two contrasting realms depicted in Ursula K. Le Guin’s enduring classic The Dispossessed. Published in 1974, this seminal sci-fi work navigates between dual timelines: one follows physicist Shevek as he departs his barren moon home Anarres to pursue opportunities on the bountiful planet of Urras, while the other explores his formative years within Anarres’ anarchistic culture.
My first encounter with The Dispossessed was during my sophomore year in university; at that time, I was fascinated by its narrative structure and the anarchist ideologies of Shevek’s society. What better time to immerse oneself in radical fiction than while you’re a young student? On this occasion, however, my focus shifted more towards the human aspects of the narrative. I felt a deeper understanding of Shevek’s character on my second read, despite finding him less than likable at times.
Many members of the book club expressed their excitement when we announced The Dispossessed as our next title. “This is my favorite book by Le Guin, although it’s tough to choose,” noted Kelly Jensen in our Facebook group; Rachel Hand had been meaning to read it for some time. For some, it was their first experience with a Le Guin novel—a leap into the depths, as described by Theo Downes-Le Guin, Ursula’s son, in an article for New Scientist. Eek!
Despite its daunting reputation, several readers found the novel to be rich with explorations of politics, physics, and language. Laura Akers remarked that it is “absolutely brilliant” how Le Guin tackles the physics of the ‘time’ aspect of the space-time continuum. Elizabeth Drummond Young reported being “immediately engaged,” especially intrigued by the linguistic and behavioral nuances: “How do people swear, introduce themselves, abbreviate, name themselves, etc. (Ainsetain is a delightful linguistic pun!)” one ponders how Einstein would react to such a portrayal.
What stands out clearly is that while the egalitarian principles of Anarres are compelling, few of us would choose to inhabit that world. Laura articulates this sentiment: “The inhabitants cannot truly appreciate their life forms for their own sake, unlike us on Earth. Although they’re mindful of their ecosystem and avoid wastefulness, they have to focus constantly on survival strategies. We on Earth have the privilege to enjoy nature and marvel in its complexities, and I can’t imagine sacrificing that. Can you envision a life without animals?”
Gosia Furmanik offered another perspective: “On one hand, it’s remarkable that there’s no exploitation and people are ostensibly free to pursue their passions. On the flip side, human dynamics often complicate things—people can find themselves assigned to far-flung job locations.”
This theme of perspective arose during my discussion with Marcus Gipps, editor at large at Le Guin’s publisher Gollancz. “Everything really hinges on perspective,” he reflected. “I’d be curious to know how someone who grew up in East Germany before the fall of the Berlin Wall would react to this book; their interpretation might differ greatly.” I am equally intrigued!
A topic that sparked extensive debate was the portrayal of women within the narrative. Some readers raised concerns over potentially outdated gender roles and noted how the narrative’s lens is primarily male-centric. “It seems to me that some of the author’s biases from the era slipped into the story,” opined Gosia. “Relationships, such as the dynamics at Shevek’s tree planting camp, hinted at a heavier bias towards traditional heteronormative relationships, despite the absence of marriage.”
Contrastingly, other readers believed the novel’s treatment of gender was deliberately provocative. Niall Leighton suggested, “Le Guin wanted us to reflect on the status of women in our society, both in the real world and within Anarresti culture. It’s presumptuous to think she advocated a singular vision of what a utopia should encompass in terms of gender dynamics.”
With myriad complex themes to dissect, it’s unsurprising that not every reader found it an easy trek. Phil Gurski expressed his struggles, admitting that he had to stop around page 160 as he found “absolutely no clue what was unfolding.” Meanwhile, Steve Swan reported needing to push through the early sections. Judith Lazell encapsulated this sentiment succinctly: “While ‘The Dispossessed’ was intellectually stimulating, it felt more like a philosophy book than a gripping story.”
I can relate to Phil, Steve, and Judith—at times, the influx of ideas can feel overwhelming. “Ursula Le Guin’s mastery is undeniable, and I am a major fan. I understand why this book has received such acclaim; there’s significant profound thought woven into the political systems depicted,” remarked Alan Perrett. “Yet, I question whether the extensive philosophical discussions detract from the narrative, although, true to form, Le Guin concludes the book with a deeply satisfying ending.”
Fortunately, a number of our book club members found themselves truly appreciating The Dispossessed. “I adored this book!” exclaimed Niall, recalling its profound impact on his thinking since adolescence. “The ending was the highlight for me,” said Rachel. Terry James echoed this sentiment, finding the final 50 pages to be a “wonderful ride of imagination.”
As we transition from imaginative science fiction landscapes, our next venture in the New Scientist Book Club will lead us into the realm of neuroscience through an award-winning non-fiction title. I am delighted to announce our next read: Our Brains, Our Selves by neuroscientist and clinician Masud Husain. In this intriguing work, Husain presents seven captivating case studies that demonstrate how various neurological conditions can challenge an individual’s identity and sense of belonging. This book, which our reviewer Grace Wade described as “intriguing and informative” back in February, will resonate with fans of Oliver Sacks and anyone wanting to deepen their understanding of neuroscience.
For a glimpse of the book, you can read an extract here. We also feature unique insights regarding the awards process from Sandra Knapp, a plant taxonomist at the Natural History Museum in London and chairman of the judging panel. In this article, she discusses why Our Brains, Our Selves stood out amongst the splendor of other entries and shares her findings from this “very compassionate” book. We encourage you to engage in discussions within our Facebook group and let us know your thoughts once you dive into our upcoming read.
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