Left Hand of Darkness and the Tao Te Ching

Days slip into August, WorldCon is on the way, a hedgehog friend has moved into the garden, a lone Canada Goose with a broken wing finds support riverside, plenty of writing is underway, as well as reading. I don’t usually publish reading blogs side by side, but I’ll make an exception, for the special times when what books we might choose from the shelf intersect with life. Perhaps that is always the case, although I’m speaking of some happy, by-chance crossovers brought by the author who keeps on giving, Ursula Le Guin.

I had thought to re-read The Left Hand of Darkness a while ago, a book I remembered as thought-provoking, and layered. I wondered what more messages I might receive this time around. I started, I put it down, I wasn’t sure why, time went by. Meanwhile I had stumbled on Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu. No sooner was I graced by Lao Tzu’s philosophy, when I realised Ursula Le Guin had written her own translations in her writings, Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching. Reading these texts side by side, the layering of messages seeped through into the moment, and I received my first new realisation of The Left Hand of Darkness: it’s so obvious, with the yin yang symbolism on the cover, but only now was I able to feel the inspiration that moved the stories. This time around I devoured the pages, following the stories as told by Genly Ai, transcripts from his diplomatic mission to the alien world of Winter in the lands of Karhide. The narrative is hugely colourful, the language engaging and evocative, revealing an intriguing and complex world, alongside Genly Ai’s internal dialogue.

This is a wonderfully imaginative and intuitive journey, revealing the light and shade, and the flow of energies through lands and stories gathered along the way. The author’s attention to detail on human complexities, the ability to reflect and switch the lens on commonplace themes makes for a captivating narrative. There are reflections on othering, feeling like an outsider, the work towards seeing through the eyes of others rather than through our own, thereby decentring the experience of the narrator and moving to empathy. There is a timeless quality to the messaging, relevant to contemporary themes and challenges of patriotism and nationalism, with thoughts offered about isolationism being rooted in fear. There are offerings of karmic shadows and the times to walk away, while owning everything. There are warnings of foretelling, and discussion of balance, knowing when to take action, and understanding when action grows unprofitable, when to seek information and when information grows unprofitable, and knowing when to simply sleep.

The Left Hand of Darkness was first published in 1969, and I feel in places some discernment is now also necessary in the reading. With renewed and deeper understandings, Ursula Le Guin herself reflects on her writing career, in places recognising how she would approach some things differently if she were to write them now. The evolving dialogue between author and work in itself is in keeping with themes in the aforementioned works: the process of life, the lessons learned, and the timeless quality of a perceptive, intuitive and insightful lens.

If you’re so inclined, I’ll leave you with a link to an interview Ursula Le Guin gave on her thoughts and relationship with Taoism. Click here.

For the Love of Books #38

Summer is in full swing in the UK, which means WorldCon will soon be here. I’m looking forward to tuning in and taking part in virtual panels, and for a big dose of inspiration. In the meantime, in contrast to sun, sea and sand, two brooding and atmospheric reads doing what young adult fiction does best, telling big stories in short novels dealing with coming of age traumas, grief, and what to do when your sister turns into a zombie. I highly recommend both for all ages.

The Migration, by Helen Marshall

The Migration is a dark and inventive apocalyptic novel, driven by defiant hope. In the face of climate catastrophe, as storms and floods ravage the world, a mysterious juvenile immunodeficiency disorder called J12 begins afflicting the young. When Sophie’s younger sister, Kira, is diagnosed, the girls are taken to Oxford to live with Aunt Irene, who works with a centre specialising in treating the illness. Sophie learns about various therapies used to treat the afflicted, but Kira’s immune system is attacking her brain and she is deteriorating, revealing a strange twist in her mouth, and an odd look in her eyes. Finally the hospital pronounce Kira dead. But Sophie knows that the dead aren’t staying dead. While the state are burning bodies of the young, Sophie vows to find a way to save her sister’s body from the pyre. But at what cost?

This was a compelling read. The science behind the strange disorder was intriguing and felt believable. The main character, Sophie, was fully fleshed and relatable, as was the multi-faceted sibling relationship, which brought Kira to life despite her zombie state. In truly cataclysmic circumstances, Sophie faces mortality, grief, danger and loss, at a time of life when she has so much to live for. The love she has for her sister is her motivation, not willing to let go against all the odds, alongside a developing understanding of the big questions: death, the afterlife, and the connections between famine, plague, and ecological changes. I particularly enjoyed the well-thought out and intriguing reveal, fusing fantasy with science, told with humanity that doesn’t shy away from the gritty realities. There is also a tender reveal of the power of the human heart, alongside an intelligently woven kaleidoscope of biology, history, and transformation.

A Monster Calls, by Patrick Ness

13-year-old Conor desperately wants to believe that everything is fine. Following his mum and dad’s divorce, he lives alone with his mum, who is sick. Ever since she first fell ill, Conor has suffered nightmares, which worsen, and culminate in a strange visitor appearing at his bedroom window. This ancient, elemental force of nature begins a conversation of stories, but can they unravel the turmoil of Conor’s complicated young mind?

A Monster Calls is a compelling and deeply moving story, layered with themes of illness, grief and the truths we try to hide. Poignant messages are effortlessly woven into complex characters facing life in starkly vulnerable times, forced to deal with the added trauma of teenage bullying, by those trying to hide their own insecurities and lack of understanding. Conor navigates his unravelling world supported by his Grandma, described as not being like other Grans, and who proves to be a big breath of fresh air. I enjoyed this representation of an older woman dressed in tailored suits, and with dyed hair, a gran who says sixty is the new fifty, considers classic cars need the most expensive polish, still has a job, emails birthday cards, and has a cleaning lady. And at the centre is Conor, needing to be seen, needing to speak his own truth, watched over by an old yew tree, standing guard, a presence that proves to be protective of an unravelling young mind.

This is an imaginative narrative following a boy’s journey as he loses his mother, the impact of grief, how he is supported and how he survives, and the fact that there is life after. A wonderful read for any age.

What are you reading?

 

Colours of Summer

Mid-summer in the UK and the recent heatwave has been hot hot hot, but work continues and book fairs bring a chance to meet new readers, and enjoy wonderful surprise encounters. I was lucky enough to share a morning coffee with Clem So, the actor from Star Wars, Mission Impossible, Bond films, etc… etc… Such an interesting career he has had. I was way too shy to ask for a selfie, but great conversation, including sharing thoughts on my own work, with the political messaging of characters working to overturn systems of oppression. If art can be a form of resistance, it can also be a form of creation, and among the colours of a fantasy backdrop that’s what I seek to do, work with characters who are creating the conditions for a world of equality and freedom, for the people, and for the natural world.

Meanwhile at home the flowers are growing, bringing much needed colour after the sad news of losing Tiggy, a twenty-year-old cat who sadly passed away. She arrived with us just ten months ago, and soon became accustomed to the life of a writer. Now she leaves a space that can’t be filled.

From a feline presence to birds, and the fledging sparrows are more confident than ever, heading close to the door, a reminder for more seed. While nearby on the river, cygnets are getting used to life, eagerly checking out passersby. It’s lovely to see so much wildlife.

A trip to the beach is always a refreshing sight, to clear the head, help turn the page, as I move between several projects. The edits of Blood Gift Chronicles Book 3 are in, time to pick up some poetry and art, before early drafting on the next novel.

More events news coming soon too. Poetry shares are regular, as are book fairs, but more is on the horizon.

Lastly, but by no means least, a special message to all those who celebrate, remember, campaign or dare to dream…

Wishing you a very

HAPPY PRIDE

Dragons, Lions & a Springtime Update

With spring underway I have a number of creations to share news of. Firstly, my new painting inspired by Return of the Mantra, Blood Gift Chronicles Book 1, featuring the mountain lions of Shendi, or so the stories go…

It is a land that has long suffered drought, after the natural world was forsaken for crystal mining. Delving into the old tribal ways of mythology and folklore, Suni’s journey coincides with a fight to reclaim the natural world, and so begins this trilogy. As the series progresses, new lands are explored, revealing other forces at play in this interconnected world. Decades later (in the story) and book 3 (coming soon) will reveal just how far we’ve come, including the true face of dragons in an origin story that brings it back home, incorporating some heartfelt appearances from early characters now grown.

And did you spot the dragon? It arrived all the way from the Dragonlands, first told in The Warder, Blood Gift Chronicles Book 2. More news from my series coming soon…

In other publishing news, two poems are featured in anthologies this month. Firstly, The Power of Place is a tribute to the East Devon landscape, including the Jurassic coast, inspiration behind my featured poem, ‘Cosmic Sand.’

Available to buy – click here.

And I’m delighted to have my poem ‘The Long Dawn’ published in ‘Destinations’, created by Flight of the Dragonfly with selections made by the University of Brighton. My poem pays tribute to the river Exe, and a very special heron.

Available to buy – click here.

In other news, we are in the midst of the season of PRIDE here in the UK. With that in mind, a special mention to some sci-fi/fantasy titles with lgbtqia+ leading characters, fabulous supporting characters, queer worlds, and the themes that continue to reflect and inspire positive change.

Lastly I will leave you with a breath of fresh air with some recent signs of spring here in the south west: from playful ponies on Dartmoor, to Slimbridge Wetlands and White Fronted Goslings bringing cuteness overload – enjoy…

 

News from Eastercon 2026

At the end of a fabulously inspiring, thought-provoking, story-telling, bookish weekend in Birmingham for Iridesence 2026, Eastercon’s 77th exploration of all things SFF. Conversations were varied, and some were particularly impactful, including the idea of story-telling as a form of activism. In a world where imagination and hope are not separate, stories have the potential to inspire the work to create change, after all, if stories can reflect the world, in turn the world can reflect stories. These thought provoking conversations were well-demonstrated by examples such as We Will Rise Again, a new anthology by Karen Lord, which is now high on my to read list. As part of this conversation, it’s also relevant to consider the role of stories in helping to endure challenging times, to offer sanctuary and aid resilience in a changing world.

While imaginative tales take flight, they can also be grounding. Folklore was born from a desire to explain the unexplainable, bringing gods and tricksters to narratives to rationalise a complex world: folktales, myths and legends that bind people together to make sense of outside dangers, as well as to stay connected and rooted in cultural heritage, a form of resistance to powers that might seek to do harm to culture. Folklore as resistance preserves cultural identity, a form of activism in and of itself. For those of us who invent myth and legend in created worlds, we recognise the essential nature of its presence in fully realising the complexities of a new world. In writing Blood Gift Chronicles, creating folklore was a highlight for me, feeding into the rich tapestry of colour to create organically grown tales. Back to the conversation and folklore discussions inspired a purchase of two more editions to The Green Man series by Juliet McKenna.

A topic I particulary enjoyed as a panelist was on the subject of libraries, an expansive topic which ventured into the library greats of SFF, as well as the plight of real-world libraries, the challenges being faced, how those challenges are being met, and mostly just how fabulous and entirely necessary libraries are. For any questioning the significance of libraries, we might consider a world without them. It’s a concept explored in Ursula Le Guin’s novel, Voices, the second part in the Annuls of the Western Shore series. The story is set in a city once known for beautiful libraries, universities, canals and bridges, before the city was invaded and the occupation began. Now the place is desolate, driven by hunger and fear, with the colours of cultural fabric lost, or so we assume. But a mysterious library was kept hidden and safe, a place watched over by the WayLord. The library is discovered by the main character, a girl called Memer. The Waylord teaches Memer how to read, and as she devours whispering books that line tall towering shelves, unravelling the truth of her cultural identity from the safe sanctuary of the library, we see the importance of these spaces, and the power of the written word.

The power of the written word, and the importance of historical documenting, is a theme in The Warder, Blood Gift Chronicles Book 2. A number of historical volumes are missing in the Chamber of Scrolls, which begs the question, why, what history is being erased. It’s a relevant theme of the times today, the reclamations of history from marginalised people, as well as the current conversations about censorship. These themes were the inspiration behind the storyline in my novel, with the disappearing of historical records, what that means, and how it impacts the cultural fabric as well as individual lives.

And so I come full circle, with story-telling as a form of activism, folklore and storytelling the fabric of cultural heritage, and the magic of libraries housing the magic of stories, all this and more celebrated in a fabulously inspiring story-filled space.

And the last word goes to the Canada Geese currently resident on the lake nestled central to the built up space of the NEC and surrounds. I was grateful for this blooming burst of wildlife in amongst the built up business, delighted by the company of waddling geese as I caught a breath of fresh air alongside the water’s edge. It’s why I layer wildlife into my stories, because it matters, because this home is their home, and because it makes us all feel better.

 

Wishing everyone a great week ahead.

For the Love of Film #1

It is always a good time to watch Studio Ghibli movies, but there was another reason for selecting a rewatch of The Boy and the Heron. Next week is Eastercon 2026, and I’m looking forward to a weekend convention of all things SFF. In particular I’ll be leading a creative writing workshop on all things superpowers, and I’ll be taking part in a panel discussing libraries in the genres. I adore libraries, and there are many fictional greats to choose from, including the magical space in The Boy and the Heron…

Film Review

THE BOY AND THE HERON (2023)

Written by Hayao Miyazaki and produced by Studio Ghibli

Review by Susie Williamson

The Boy and the Heron is an animated fantasy story that begins during the Pacific War. The protagonist is a boy called Mahito, and his journey begins when his mother is killed in the war, and he is forced to leave his home in Tokyo with his father, Shoichi. Shoichi subsequently marries his  late wife’s sister, Natsuko, who is pregnant and plans to be Mahito’s new mother. They move to Natsuko’s rural estate, where Mahito encounters a peculiar heron.

The homestead is a beautifully drawn world, with lush countryside and lakeside gardens framing a world where Mahito quietly navigates the grief of losing his mother, and the nightmares of the war and fire that took her. He is noticed by a heron, who in turn catches Mahito’s eye, an interaction that results in the heron leading Mahito to a sealed tower with a curious backstory. The tower was the last known location of Natsuko’s granduncle, who was an architect, said to have gone mad from too much reading. He built the tower after an extraordinary event when something appeared down from out of the sky, landing as a curious structure. The granduncle was obsessed, and built a tower around the structure, later sealing it during the great flood. After the granduncle’s demise, a maze of tunnels was discovered beneath the tower, and old wives tales tell of the tower being a gateway from which people are spirited away.

Mahito struggles to fit in at school, and following a fight, has time at home sick. His frightening nightmares and visions intensify, and his encounters with the heron become more bizarre. The heron is speaking with him, claiming that his mother is not dead, and that he can lead Mahito to his mother. It appears like a cruel promise, or a figment of imagination from an over-active mind, although on one occasion the encounter is coupled with a swarm of toads smothering Mahito. Natsuko saves Mahito, firing a whistling arrow that gets rid of the swarm. But the heron continues to be persistant in his visits to Mahito. Inspired by Natsuko, Mahito sets to work crafting his own bow and arrow, decorating it with a heron’s feather. Mahito soon discovers that the bow and arrow appears to have power beyond the strength of his bow arm.

Following an episode where Natsuko takes ill, apparently with acute morning sickness, Mahito sees her disappear into the woods. He heads out in search of her, along with an elderly maid, Kiriko, who tells him that it is in his bloodline to hear the heron speak. They arrive at the sealed tower, where Mahito beckons the heron to show itself and release Natsuko. Mahito leads the way into the tower, accompanied by the old maid against her better judgement, and the door seals behind them. The heron is there to guide them, leading them deep into the tower, tricking Mahito with a false sighting of his mother and eventually revealing its bizarre true nature, showing its inner birdman. The birdman is to guide them and Mahito, Kiriko, and the heron all sink into the floor.

Mahito arrives into an oceanic world. It is a place of flocking pelicans with malintent, of phantoms and curious cute spirits called Warawara. An adept fisherwoman becomes his guide and ally to protect him in this curious and potentially dangerous world, as he learns about the colour and magic, including Warawara bubble spirits that rise to be reborn in the other world. The characterisation and inner landscape of Mahito is beautifully drawn, as he navigates grief, and ventures into the unknown with courage and an open mind. He grows to be a plucky young hero with the capacity to see beyond his own problems and opinions to consider and empathise with different perspectives, including discovering compassion for Warawara gobbling pelicans who have no other food source. The range of characters bring an intriguing array of insight with which to consider Mahito’s plight, to discover the truth about his mother, and to rescue Natsuko. But in this ever-changing, inventive world, everything is never quite what it seems.

The colour of the story is extraordinary, a place where birds can be human, monster, or cute parakeets, a place where life and death co-exist, where temples straddle worlds, and minerals react as though with emotion. It is a feast for the imagination, reminiscent of the curiosities of Alice in Wonderland, while journeying through the complexities of a big and challenging emotional landscape for the young protagonist. And there is malevolence too, as the story does not shy away from the possibility of taking the wrong turn, becoming forever lost, losing our way and reaping the consequences. Since Mashiko has already lost his mother, he understands about permanence, able to recognise the magnitude of the decisions at hand. Themes of parallel worlds and magic portals grow, with hidden doorways and secret tunnels bringing increasing complexity to the labyrinth world. I also loved the time slip theme, brought by Himi, a young woman who is a plucky pyrokinetic intent on protecting the Warawara from pelican raids. She also saves Mahito and shows him many more doors in the tower that lead to other worlds, eventually exposing her own true identity and her significance to Mahito. Mashiko is left with a difficult choice to make: stay and carry the granduncle’s baton, to continue and hold sanctity for a world of bounty, peace and beauty, a world free from malice; or return to his world. It is a decision that involves Mahito making a fearless inventory of himself, revealing the personal growth he has made to becoming a young man who can recognise his own humanity and flaws, one not driven by ego but rather humility, with an ability of knowing when to let go, and what to serve in order to continue growing and becoming the best version of self to help others.

The Boy and the Heron is a testament to the strengths of the YA genre, the ability to pack a big story into a modest-sized space without compromising depth, the fast-paced colour, and the clarity offered to relevant and relatable challenges and ethics. The messages are layered, the backdrop is glorious, and the characterisation takes us to the edge of invention. Magical.