The Lathe of Heaven

Like mainlining pure, unadulterated 1970s. Into my veins!

More seriously, here Leguin wrestles more thoroughly with the Eastern-tinged quietism one sees in her other works (most famously, perhaps, in Wizard of Earthsea). The psychiatrist Haber is a more compelling and convincing lame-o square villain than the antagonist of "The Word for World is Forest." And as always, Leguin's prose style is a pleasure, with both long evocative passages (the floating jellyfish vignette that opens the book) and sharp, snappish asides.

The Lathe of Heaven was the first Le Guin novel I ever read, and in many ways it is the speculative fiction novel I had always been waiting for. That's because it is just so marvelously written, in addition to being wildly imaginative and deeply engaging. Le Guin, I discovered, is the sort of writer that could write anything and I'd gladly read it, and this became clear within the first two pages of the book.

Le Guin's greatest achievement in The Lathe of Heaven, however, is that it all just feels so real (and this in a book with continuum-shifting dreaming and an invasion of extraterrestial turtles). The characters, and the protagonist George Orr in particular, are believably portrayed and psychologically complex. The characters' show more actions and the turns of the plot follow naturally though not entirely predictably upon one another. And the world itself is immersive and detailed, in spite of its frequent oneiric rearrangings.

It is this visceral reality of Le Guin's impossible fiction that gives The Lathe of Heaven its this-worldly literary impact. The near-novella hits on countless issues in its less-than-two-hundred pages (everything from geo- and global politics to Taoist spirituality), but more than anything else it is an exploration of moral responsibility. Through its imaginative set-up, Le Guin creates a mutually opposed protagonist-and-antagonist pair, neither of which is straightforwardly blameworthy for his actions, or straightforwardly innocent, either. In this moral morass Le Guin asks us to contemplate what a concerned agent can and should do.

It is a powerful and thought-provoking question, and The Lathe of Heaven poses it in a powerful and thought-provoking way which is also eminently readable and thoroughly enjoyable. show less

George Orr's dreams change reality. It's terrifying, and he's been taking drugs to eliminate his dreams. His drug use is illegal, and his explanation for it sounds insane, so he lands in the office of an overbearing psychologist. The doctor seizes the opportunity to fix George through untested dream research technology.

A pretty trippy literary work, in all the best ways. The Lathe of Heaven feels like a Dick plot with all the anthropological richness of Le Guin. I was surprised how very un-dated it felt (it was published in 1971 and seems to be set 50 years in the future / approximately now, though in clearly a different timeline). In addition to blatant near-future environmental commentary, this book boasts very rich literary themes of show more power and morality and love and otherness. It's a prescient, well-executed story, and a worthwhile read for fans of literary speculative fiction. show less

This is, I think, Ursula K. Le Guin’s most successful novel. It is a tight intellectual thriller that pays homage to science fiction writer Philip K. Dick to such an extent that it goes beyond parody to masterwork, in the end outdoing Dick himself.

It is also both sweet and comic, though the central tragedy and epiphanic novum at the end is neither sweet nor funny.

As much ad I enjoyed The Left Hand of Darkness and The Dispossessed when I first read them as a teenager, this is the only sf work of Le Guin’s that I can read over and over again.

Caution: the two movies made from the work are claustrophobic; do not watch either one before reading the book, which is far better.

George Orr's dreams tangibly change reality. Not prophetically; he doesn't see something in a dream only for it to happen later. Rather, as he returns to consciousness, the reality outside his mind shifts instantaneously to agree with the reality of his dreams. Sometimes these changes are small. Perhaps a new picture on the wall, or a new occupation for the dreamer. But sometimes they change the fundamental framework upon which is our current timeline is based. Orr is an ethical man, developing a founded fear that his dreams are altering the lives of the unconsenting masses. It doesn't help that these "effective" dreams come up seemingly at random, so he begins to drug himself to prevent dreaming altogether.

Unfortunately, Orr becomes show more dependent on the drugs, and draws the attention of the authorities who assign him to a psychologist that can help him with his "delusions". It's here that we spend most of our time, as Orr becomes increasingly convinced that his psychologist, a raging egotist who has developed a machine that can induce the "effective" dreams, is using his ability to shape the world as he sees fit. Orr is overcome with a feeling of being trapped, suffocated, unable to take ownership of his life, torn between being sent to what amounts to prison or letting this man abuse him under the guise of global improvement.

The Lathe of Heaven is, in many ways, Le Guin doing PKD better than PKD sometimes does PKD. It has all of the amphetamine induced fever-dream qualities you would expect from him, with some of the humanity and deft prose work that I have come to expect from her. Her prose is often alliterative, rhythmic, and warm, which juxtaposes the often grim reality the characters find themselves in. At its core, this is a story about playing god, Taoism, and riding the wave of life. Le Guin employs a beautiful metaphor about a jellyfish that is tossed around in the ocean to describe Orr's life ethic, and it's a memorable one. While it has a lot to do with philosophy, The Lathe of Heaven never strays into being didactic. I felt left to my own devices when making my conclusions, which is always nice.

It also isn't lacking when it comes to the plot, characters, or pacing. So quick, so easy to read, so engaging. Much akin to Silverberg, though in a much different way, I always feel that I am in experienced hands when reading Le Guin's work. She balances the importance of a good story and having something worthwhile to talk about in a masterful way.

There are really only two faults I have with The Lathe of Heaven, but neither of them deter me from highly recommending it. First, I found the descriptions of how the psychologist's contraption works to be tedious after their second repetition. It's too detailed for something that's so fantastical. Likewise, there are similarly large blocks of exposition explaining the new realities that the characters find themselves within; how it has changed to agree with Orr's dreams. I wish that Le Guin had a slightly more subtle hand with these descriptions, leaving the reader to infer more about the world from hints rather than lectures. She certainly is capable of doing so, since the particulars of the aliens towards the end are more or less left completely opaque and up to reader interpretation. show less

Le Guin has an incredible imagination and she’s equally adept as a thoughtful futurist as she is an untethered fantasist. Written in 1971, Lathe of Heaven impressively projected the trends of the time into a turn-of-the-twenty-first century reality that foresaw the extremes of climate change and perpetual conflict among the major powers. The central story, however, is the role of dreams and the impact one individual’s subconscious can have on reality. Rather than one man’s dreams influencing reality through a retelling, Le Guin imagines the main character’s dreams changing reality and his therapist’s attempt to steer those dreams in order to create a more perfect world. In that quest for perfection, however, they learn that show more they can’t account for every flaw and in turn create an alternative string of disasters. Without imperfection, there is no balance in the world.

From my own first read and from other reviewers, I’m certain I’ll need to have a go at this book again sometime in the future. Lathe of Heaven is also the first of Le Guin I’ve ever read, so I have no other experience with her work, but I did enjoy this first look. show less

The Lathe of Heaven - LeGuin
4.5 stars

I checked the original publication date of this book twice while I read it. It was first published in 1971. At that time Le Guin was writing about a dystopian Portland,Oregon of 2002. It seemed surreally correct that such a surreal novel would be so completely current to the real world concerns of 2025. Drug abuse, climate change, weather extremes, war in the middle east; we seem to be experiencing everything that George Orr knew. (Except the aliens. Most of the time Le Guin’s humor is like a sly wink, but the aliens were overtly humorous.)

“ In fact, it was, the endless warm drizzle of spring—the ice of Antarctica, falling softly on the heads of the children of those responsible for melting show more it.”

This is a novel of few characters. Primarily there’s George Orr, the man whose dreams become reality, and the psychiatrist, Dr. Haber, who seeks to control George’s dreams in a (possibly) benevolent attempt to improve life on earth. The way that George can profoundly alter reality with a single dream creates frequent disconnects in the narrative of this short book. Paying close attention does not always clear up the confusion. Disconnection and confusion is the essential plot point.

In the introduction of my paperback edition, Kelly Link says, “Le Guin’s influence has expanded beyond all original bounds of genre, appropriately so, as her writing was profoundly slippery, generous, shape-shifting and out reaching from the very start.” ‘Slippery’ is a good description. I would reread sentences or complete paragraphs and find multiple meanings in the content. Le Guin was also a poet. That is apparent throughout the book as she is often writing about Orr’s dream state. The book opens with nothing less than poetry about jellyfish. And dreams.

“What will the creature made all of seadrift do on the dry sand of daylight; what will the mind do, each morning, waking?”

The structure of this book reminded me of the more recent This is How You Lose the Time War. They are both short novels of speculative science fiction. They use a dialog between two primary characters. And in my personal copies, both books are littered with post-it notes. show less