Ursula K. Le Guin, my hero, died on a Monday. On the Wednesday that preceded her passing, only five days before her death, I sent her the only piece of fan mail I’ve ever written. In it, I struggled to contain and express the boundless praise and thanks due to a woman who, despite our never meeting or interacting in any way, was and is one of the chief figures of my life. Though I know that it is almost impossible that Ms. Le Guin received, let alone read, my letter before her passing, I am glad to have sent it. Through her I learned that to write words is to create magic and so even if she never read my thanks, they are out there now, in the world, their spell of gratitude cast in the act of writing. That will have to be enough.
Before I knew that I wanted to write, my passion was music. It is fitting then, that I was introduced to Ms. Le Guin, unquestionably my favorite author, by the music of Gatsbys American Dream, unquestionably my favorite band. I found them both, Gatsbys and Le Guin, at a crucial stage in my life; as an adolescent I may have discovered my personhood through Third Eye Blind and The Lord of the Rings but in my burgeoning adulthood I discovered purpose – that I had meaningful control over who I was and who I could be – through Gatsbys American Dream and Ursula K. Le Guin. In my mind they are bound together, those two, the author and the band, and for many years now I have lived in the tangle of their connection.