dht@druri.UUCP (Davis Tucker) (10/06/85)
ORSINIAN TALES by Ursula K. LeGuin
book review by Davis Tucker
Despite its cover, and despite the publisher's blurb, this is
*not* a science-fiction *or* fantasy collection. The tales are
of Hungary, and Hungarians, and it seems that the only reason
why "Orsinia" is mentioned at all is to fool the unsuspecting
science-fiction fan who refuses to read anything else (What can I
say? Fooled me into buying it, too). But be that as it may, this
is a truly excellent collection, crafted with a fine eye to the
nuances and subtleties that define "well-written", as opposed to
what often passes for it these days.
These short stories are set in various times in the history of
Hungary, from the Dark Ages to modern times, and are exquisitely
crafted gems that bring to mind great Russian literature by such
short-story geniuses as Gorky, Chekhov, the early Tolstoy, and
especially Turgenev. The Slavic touch is omnipresent; the characters
breathe their lives and break their hearts in a stew of environment,
a rich sea of detail and description. These stories, singly and
collectively, rank very high on my list of great short literature.
What LeGuin accomplishes is nothing new, nothing astounding in
and of itself, no breakthrough in technique, no earth-shattering
ideas. She has confined herself to the small dilemmas and monstrous
defeats and sacrifices that all of us face; she has limited herself
to describing humdrum situations, everyday affairs of the heart. The
reader is not immediately catapaulted into the glittering world of
high fashion, drugs, and international intrigue, nor thrust into a
crippled starship or a supernatural child's mind. The world of "Orsin-
ian Tales" is small, circumscribed, each story shares the same general
location of towns and countryside. It is a world, though it may be
Hungary, that we have all known in some form. Maybe not so poor, maybe
not so rich, but the characters that people her book are ourselves and
those around us.
Though it is unfortunately misused, "sublime" is the only word that
can be used to describe the beautiful quality of LeGuin's prose. She
writes with an economy that speaks pages more than any elaboration.
Afternoon light shines through a window just so; a dress is worn exactly;
a lamp is broken, an accident that brings two pained people together
across years of loneliness. There are very few wasted words in "Orsinian
Tales". What needs to be said is said, and what needs to be left unspoken,
what cannot be explained, is left between the lines. She evokes more with
a simple ten-word sentence than can be imagined - reverberations of mean-
ings from pages before, sometimes from a previous story, immediately spring
to mind and flesh out the picture she paints. There are layers and layers
of meaning in these stories; I don't pretend to understand them all, but
just knowing they are there provokes the reader into further study and
a greater appreciation.
What is so wonderful about this collection is its depth and breadth
of understanding of basic human situations and relationships. There are
no great kings, there are no wild geniuses, there are no insane villains.
There are quarrymen, and students, farmers and housewives. Nothing awesome
occurs, but it is precisely in this presentation of the mundane that LeGuin
brings the reader to a deeper understanding of what happens in our own lives,
as well as those of others. She has made the difficult simple, and the heart-
rending easier to take. At no point are simplistic solutions and plot res-
olutions offered. Men grow old and die, broken by a hard world, they fall
in love and lose their love, women sparkle and laugh in their girlhood and
take on the cares of the world later, bearing the burden of their children's
misfortunes and mistakes.
"Orsinian Tales" is not a depressing or dull work. The inevitabilities
of life are not put forth as quietly desperate and terrible truths. They
are merely facts, facts which various people deal with in various ways.
To say that these tales are either hopeful or full of hopelessness is to
miss the point - to LeGuin, living is walking the fine line between both,
sometimes in despair, sometimes in love. There is no overwhelming tone
of depression, as with many of Dostoevsky's works. There is no underlying
symbolism which twists the facts of a situation into a totally different
setting, as is the case with Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It is the simplicity
of her presentation that will make some of these stories seem shallow;
but a second reading will reveal a surprising depth. It's not that the
reader has to work to understand any given tale; they are very basic
stories, ones we have all heard before. The reader does have to put
forth effort to see that it is exactly such simplicity that reveals
a greater meaning.
It is difficult to stress how exceptional this collection is, and how
moving are its stories. After reading it, you will feel as if your eyes
have been opened to what has always been obvious, like coming out of a
dark building into the sun. There isn't anything "new" here; there doesn't
need to be. What is presented is our own lives in the lives of others,
illuminating the majesty of the regular world. The world is reflected
as it is, wonderful but not strange, beautiful but not glamorous,
familiar but not dull.brust@hyper.UUCP (Steven Brust) (10/14/85)
> > ORSINIAN TALES by Ursula K. LeGuin > > book review by Davis Tucker > > Despite its cover, and despite the publisher's blurb, this is > *not* a science-fiction *or* fantasy collection. The tales are > of Hungary, and Hungarians, and it seems that the only reason > why "Orsinia" is mentioned at all is to fool the unsuspecting > science-fiction fan who refuses to read anything else (What can I > say? Hungarian??? Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! (Please pardon me, but . . .) *Sigh* Good review, Davis. You really make me want to read it, and I will. But Goddammittohell. I am very upset. I have just finished a novel called BROKEDOWN PALACE (due at the end of the year) which is largely based on Hungarian folklore. If I'd known *Leguin*, for God's sake, was going to do it, I wouldn't have dared. Now, even if no one thinks I just set out to imitate her, my work will inevitably be compared to hers. And who wants to be compared to Leguin???? I thought I was being really clever, too. "Gosh," says I. "No one has taken a good look at this whole branch of folklore. There is wonderful stuff here." Crap. Waste of an Allan Lee cover, too. You know what really burns me? Leguin and I have the same f**king agent. Why didn't she TELL me? Is Leguin Hungarian? What right does she have...er, sorry. No point in that. She's damn good. I want to read it, but I'm scared as Hell. What a thoroughly wretched piece of business. Excuse me. I have to get my blood pressure out of control. I feel like a mainstream author who's just gotten the wonderful idea of writing a long fantasy about elves, dwarves, and small people with hairy toes, and then finds out... Oh, just one note: Do NOT refer to the Hungarians as Slavs. They aren't. (In fact, if Leguin made them appear Slavic, I have some hope...) Sorry to flame. This is the most upsetting thing that has happened to me in LONG time.