The Dispossessed is full of the heartbreak of loving two homes, and therefor having no home. It’s a strange pleasure to turn a page and find thoughts you have had often, and came by honestly, fully formed on a page printed before you were born. I’m late to the LeGuin party, but luckily it seems to be timeless.
I listened to Jay O’Hara’s Seattle sermon today and found it to have familiar, bittersweet flavors to this book. What comfort do we seek, what sacrifices can we make, and what do we sacrifice for?