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Ursula Le Guin, my favourite author, just passed over the wall of stones.

I always wanted to meet her, although I knew I never would.

Ursula was, in my estimation, the best author I’ve read. She was wise and humane and original and vital, in her writing and, as best I can tell, through her life. Her craft was beyond impeccable: every sentence beautifully turned out, rhythmically perfect, and unfailingly clear, without ever being pretentious or showy, despite the planet-sized intellect that lay behind it. 

I’ve just watched the The Worlds of Ursula K. Le Guin, a documentary by Arwen Curry that was filmed mostly in Ursula’s last year with us and completed not long after her death, and you should watch it, too, if it becomes available near you.

Here’s a short piece I wrote about how her work has inspired me since I was a child, which I wrote for Alan Baxter a few years ago:


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