I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but I can’t seem to read even a four and a half page short story without a notebook handy to scribble in.
Ursula K. Le Guin’s story just has so much going on in the first page alone: The imagery paints a detailed picture that leaves little to the imagination in describing a place called Omelas. But before the end of the very first page the reader is also facing transcending genres, from fairy tale to contemporary fiction; a point of view that we believe to be third person that we suddenly find is actually the first; being given a full description then throwing out to the reader a case of “think whatever you will”; a theory on happiness that challenges our beliefs of utopian life and our reality; and all the while involving the reader in a constant switching of gears of time and place. We’re building this city together with the narrator. This is really good…
But then, suddenly we’re facing ourselves in a most brutal and questioning manner. Le Guin led us right into it, and how in hell do we get out without an answer of some sort.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology