We stowed the wheels,
uncapped the sledge-runners, put on our skis, and took off – down, north,
onward, into that silent vastness of fire and ice that said in enormous letters
of black and white DEATH, DEATH, written right across a continent. The sledge
pulled like a feather, and we laughed with joy.
Our suspicions about the Orgota are entirely justified when
we learn that Genly is locked up in a frigid steel cage and hauled off to a
“Farm.” Although he was betrayed by Obsle, Shusgis, and the Sarf, Genly does
maintain that there is a certain homely kindness among the people: they are
“uncomplaining, unhopeful,” he mentions. Indeed, the silent compassion of his
fellow “convicts” is what keeps him sane. He arrives at the farm in an almost
dreamlike stupor. He is ostracized by the community, nicknamed “The Pervert,”
and continuously injected with kemmer-supressing drugs although he is of a
different species. His fortune almost entirely vanishes until Estraven
conveniently forges a few papers and rescues Genly, capitalizing upon the
Orgota’s inattention to detail and outright laziness.
When Genly finally recovers from his chemical daze and
persistent illness, him and Estraven decide that they must brave the northern
glaciers in order to avoid being detected. Realizing that he was wrong to
mistrust Estraven, Genly finally apologizes to his companion. The two are now
wanted by opposing factions. As Genly Ai flees his fate, it seems as though
Estraven is slowly making his way towards the inevitable terminus of his.
A few discussion questions:
1) The Pulefen Farm is aituated in a cold, dreary
environment. The workers there are not fatally strained, Genly mentions, and
the labor is not as taxing as he thought it would be (i.e., the workers don’t
drop dead from working, but from disease). In addition, the workers are
subjected to drug trials and experimentation. Would it be mistaken to possibly
draw a comparison between Pulefen Farm and a Russian gulag? How substantial is
the “Cold War” allegory in this science-fiction novel?
2) Has Genly made the right decision in trusting Estraven?
Was Estraven right all along, or is there some ulterior motive behind his
actions?
3) Can either side – Karhide or Orgoreyn – be trusted? Is
Genly essentially preaching to the wrong choir? (The Foretellers would say no,
but, as readers, we’re allowed to disagree.)
Can Karhide or Orgoreyn be trusted? Or, for that matter, can the Ekumen?
ReplyDeleteIs the trustworthiness of nations reflected in interpersonal bonds? Through treaties? The final section of Le Guin's novel suggests that the envoy is sent on a solitary mission just to disrupt notions of collective (or nationalist) accountability. Genly offers the following meditation on why the Ekumen might load the full burden of its mission onto the shoulders on a single space-prophet from the skies: "Alone, the relationship I finally make, if I make one, is not impersonal and not only political: it is individual, it is personal, it is both more and less than political."
Genly spends the first 2/3 of the novel distrusting the one person who trusts him completely: and the climactic section of the novel is just the overcoming of this distrust -- not to form an undifferentiated whole (or to fall into the "easy" compatibility of sexuality) -- but to establish an "I-Thou" relationship predicated on difference. (A difference whose shores can be bridged by mindspeech?)
The final chapter of the novel pulls us back into the political world -- but only after having passed through the crucible of the personal (Genly and Estraven as two dark scratches in a universe of un-shadow, sharing a single stove as a common heart).
I wonder how this establishment of interpersonal trust relates to the larger political forces at work in the novel. Are they compatible?
As the novel ends, Estraven is still branded a "traitor" -- someone who cannot be "trusted." One is tempted to assert the sovereignty of the personal here: "What does it matter what fools (and kings) call him?"
But Estraven's parent reminds us: "It matters."