Dualism and Humanity

Ursula LeGuin's motivation for writing The Left Hand of Darkness is in keeping with this course's theme of science fiction being a literature of "cognitive estrangement." By eliminating the concept of a strict gender divide for one of fluidity determined by whether the individual is in a state of kemmer or not LeGuin sought to eliminate the issues of gender association and view the individuals for their underlying humanity. This is in no way following the strain of science fiction being a literature of probable or advanced future technologies. As she states in the Introduction, "science fiction is not predictive; it is descriptive." In her view the business of science fiction is to take a topic in the present and stretch it to far beyond its reasonable reach. In this sense the role of the science fiction author is to challenge the reader's set way of thinking about a topic through a metaphor that focuses on issues of the present without taking on a role reliant on predicting possible future crises.

LeGuin initially moved away from accepting the claim that she set out to challenge the reader's settled way of viewing the world by taking on gender as her central topic. She denied being a feminist writer. In her own words The Left Hand of Darkness is "a book about betrayal and fidelity" rather than issues of gender specifically. However, this topic is unavoidable as by removing gender she calls all the more attention to its presence in our daily lives. In her revision of "Is Gender Necessary Redux" she says,  ["The fact," is however, that there are other aspects to the book, which are involved with its sex/gender aspects quite inextricably] (LeGuin, 8). Thus she acknowledges the unavoidability of facing the issues of sexuality and gender which she initially downplayed for fear of being considered a feminist author.

Indeed, she claims that, "[At the very inception of the whole book, I was interested in writing a novel about people in a society that had never had a war. That came first. The androgyny came second. (Cause and effect? Effect and cause?)]" (LeGuin, 10). For LeGuin diffusion of gender followed from the conception of a world without conflict on the scale of war. This lack of gender duality, one of several lacks including a continuity in seasons, causes a sort of fluidity in form among the Gethens not found in the people of Earth and the larger Ekumen empire.

Genly finds his hosts on Gethen to be androgynous and not clearly indicative of either gender. This is apparent in his encounter with Estraven early on, "yet whenever I thought of him as a man I felt a sense of falseness, of imposture" (LHoD, page 12). This mirrors LeGuin's later lamenting of her own inability to separate her view of a gender neutral people by insisting upon using a masculine pronoun.

LeGuin's inability at the time of writing the novel to divest herself of this preoccupation with the gendered, male-dominated pronoun shows how she is bound in to the system of expression. That is to say, that her not recognizing the issue with the use of the word "he" indicates how she viewed the words that make up our world in a way that was not tied to gender inequalities, which appears naive. Her opinion on the use of a male instead of a neuter pronoun changes from believing that they don't matter to, [If I had realized how the pronouns I used shaped, directed, controlled my own thinking, I might have been "cleverer"] (LeGuin, page 15).  Through the use of gendered pronouns LeGuin appealed to the mainly male science fiction audience.

Her choice of a firmly male character also establishes the concept that the world is viewed through a male lense. As demonstrated by her choice of pronouns this extends as far as to the author's choice of how to identify the characters. This raises the question of how far our societal reliance on masculinity extends– considering that LeGuin is a woman.

"The World Was All Before Them"

Recalling Margaret Atwood’s description of science fiction as “where theological narrative went after Paradise Lost,” I saw H. G. Wells’ The Time Machine as a new take on the creation story with particular attention given to the inherent exclusion involved in creating paradise and the importance and dangers of seeking greater knowledge.

The Time Traveller’s initial descriptions of the future recall the imagery of Eden – a land of naïve but contented people, no conflict, dominion over animals (though it is in the form of having driven them all to extinction), and abundant fruit. It is striking that this land that recalls the creation myth lacks any acts of creation. There is no evidence of the Eloi procreating. In fact, though he’s only in the future for a short time (eight days which actually encompass massive leaps in time, quite like the seven days of creation in Genesis), the Time Traveller concludes that the people are sterile. This inability to produce also extends to goods and buildings on the earth’s surface – nothing is new. But what disturbs the Time Traveller the most is the loss of creativity. The people are not thinkers, and seem disinterested in working to gain more knowledge. They are Adam and Eve before the Fall, and have no intention of falling.

Of course, the Time Traveller’s initial perception of this imperfect paradise is further complicated by the fact that it comes at the cost of others being kept out. In a course I took last year on Moby-Dick, the professor noted that the creation story can be seen as a series of separations, beginning with the division between day and night. The Time Machine literally incorporates that idea, highlighting the distinction between the Eloi and the Morlocks by giving them the domains of day and night, respectively. But the story also complicates the traditional exclusion narrative of the paradise story by challenging the order of such a society. Barred from paradise, the Morlocks are a powerful force rather than the weaker party.

This concept of a change in order also comes into play with the manipulations of time. The Time Traveller’s accelerated journey further into the future is almost an exact reversal of the creation story as told in Genesis. First he notes the disappearance of man, already well under way in 802,701 with the division of humanity into the two distinct species of Eloi and Morlock. Land animals, sea creatures and birds disappear after the Time Traveller's brief interaction with them, followed by the distinct sun, moon, and stars, the earth’s greenery, the division between land, sea, and sky, and, finally, light. The Time Traveller is plunged into darkness, but is able to find his way back home, traveling backwards through time as the world recreates itself. The novel’s epilogue closes with a somewhat hopeful message that almost undermines the absolute need for creativity – “even when mind and strength had gone, gratitude and mutual tenderness still lived on in the heart of man” (117). My question is whether or not that’s enough, and I think the statement may be purposefully ambiguous. Seth raised the question of knowledge in terms of colonialism. Is it necessary to force our own system of knowledge on others who are leading supposedly ignorant but perfectly functional lives? I think this also connects to issues of learning in general. When should we seek knowledge that is beyond us and when would it be better to avoid the temptation of the forbidden fruit? Would the Time Traveller and those who heard his story have been better off not knowing what came next?

* “The world was all before them” is from Paradise Lost (12.646)

** Image Source: pointsoflight.blogspot.com