Lathe of Heaven

A slow-burn psychological thriller that ramps up to a fever pitch while hitting quite a few strong notes along the way.

The Lathe of Heaven is uniquely gripping because its themes seem to morph so fluidly throughout the novel, giving just enough breath to each to offer social commentary while still leaving plenty of air for the reader to ponder the implications. Just to name a few, the book hits on self medication, spiraling into incarceration, medical/psychological research and its ethical implications, weighing ethical responsibilities to individuals against humanity at large, our duty to monitor our unconscious biases and an amnesic fading grasp on reality. Explored in a surrealist fictional present, these topics are provided with enough distance from our real-world understanding to mull them over with fresh eyes.

Of these, I was particularly interested in the ethics of research science as these considerations still ripple through the field of medical research today. The book offers a caricature of a fantastical medical research scenario, but its underpinning themes are still critical factors of any medical research. How patient consent is communicated, how experiments are approved, how the disadvantaged (in this case the addicted and incarcerated) may be exploited for medical gain, the professional impact of discovery, the profit motive of research and the calculus of weighing advancing knowledge that can benefit all of humanity against the sacrifices of individuals. These problems surface in our daily lives in an attenuated capacity and the book offers a hyperbolic chamber of decision making to allow us to weigh their impact.

Beyond the themes themselves, the mechanics of the story unfold in a very tangible way. The only other work of Le Guin's that I've read so far is The Left Hand of Darkness, and I found the two novels to be quite the stark contrast. Where it felt like understanding Left Hand of Darkness' world was preconditioned on an encyclopedic memory of the world's setting, The Lathe of Heaven trimmed a lot of the sci-fi fat down to only what was necessary to drive an analysis of its themes. I appreciated how direct this was, letting me devote more of my reading energy toward reflecting on the book instead of constantly retreating into the recesses of world lore to keep up. What's more, for as much as the Lathe of Heaven sticks close to many science fiction tropes, they're approached from such a unique angle that no part of the book felt like it's been overdone, even half a century after it was written.

The Lathe of Heaven was a refreshingly concise analysis of a litany of social themes, packing quite a few narrative beats into such a concise form factor. I would consider it a must read for any fans of socially critical science fiction.

I have been trying to find books that defy genre, or what are sometimes called 'slipstream' novels, and this is certainly in that category. It could be Sci-Fi, but it is more like magical realism as Le Guin does not attempt to explain the science at the heart of the main plot driver.

This is quite a short novel, but with a big story tightly wound within it. The spare writing and lack of sub-plots makes it a lively read. The central question is: 'if the only way to change the future is to change the past, then if you had the power to do such a thing, what would you change?' This thought experiment encompasses chaos theory, the ethical choice of making decisions based on moral duty or predicted consequences, and the possibility of just being content with whatever fate has in store for you. It even proposes that passively accepting fate (as most humans did before the modern era) could be deemed a form of psychopathology by our go-getting consumerist society.

The central character has the unique power to change the past, and thus the present and future. But he goes to extreme lengths to avoid using this power, and suffers as a consequence. In our individualist post-religious society, it has become a 'motivational' axiom that you can be anything you want to be if you really put your mind to it. This book tests that theory to destruction.

George Orr is a man who dreams effectively, turning his dreams in to reality. It's a gift he doesn't want, and after taking a number of dream-suppressing drugs he's referred to a psychiatrist with big ambitions for George's ability.

The story explores some straightforward themes - the ability to play God, whether the torture of one man can be justified for the benefit of mankind and how a willingness for doing good can be a truly destructive force. The book itself is easy reading, with very few twists along the way, and never really delves deeply into the themes it presents. It is an oddity for Le Guin - light reading.

That's not to say the story is not enjoyable, it's presented from the perspective of the protagonist, and little real consideration is given outside of his personal bubble. Probably an intentional effect, but I feel that some deeper world-building as George changes the world around him would have contributed to the texture of the story. George appears to live a live consisting of going to work, attending therapy and occasionally meeting one or two other people. The focus lies strictly to the psychiatrist's office, and the interaction between George and the psychiatrist. Very little dialog is given to exploring the themes. George is not an intellectual equal to the psychiatrist, and no real dialog occurs between George and Haber discussing the effects of the world around them. Both appear to take the play of the story in their stride, despite its astonishing consequences. This leads to a niggling feeling that this story could have been more, with these great ideas something bigger and richer could have been created, a five course dinner rather than a quick late-night burger.

I always say my favourite film is Raiders of the Lost Ark and my favourite book is the original Earthsea trilogy, or if pushed A Wizard of Earthsea. Picking one favourite is always a bit arbitrary but both of these are childhood favourites that have survived repeat viewings/readings and have developed accretions of personal associations that add to their significance to me. I think I can now go a step further and say that LeGuin is becoming my favourite author because she just has so many completely top-notch books: books that are about something, are thought-provoking, are elegantly written, tell excellently crafted stories about real people (though often in unreal situations) and reward repeat reading. The USA should consider her a National Treasure.

The Lathe of Heaven must go on my list of these superb works. It has a main protagonist whose dreams can retro-actively change reality. That's an idea any science-fiction writer would have made a pact with the Devil for - but most of them would have then squandered it on mere pyrotechnics.

LeGuin saves the pyrotechnics not for the story, but the story-telling; pyroclastics feature in the story, however. What do I mean by pyrotechnical story telling? Here's an example: A second-rank protagonist gets some brief promotions to view-point status. In the longest of these, she starts the scene in an extremely agitated, anxious state of mind. The prose is all short sentences and sharp edges. As the scene progresses over several pages, she gradually calms down and the prose gradually shifts to the calm, languid prose readers would more usually associate with LeGuin. This use of style to emphasise the mood of the character is clever and successful but is merely in the service of her aims. Too many of her contemporaries would consider such deployment of technique as the purpose of the book itself.

So if you haven't read this book, please do so - this is literature at its finest.