The memory that fixes itself most strongly in my mind is of us driving back to her hotel after the first cocktail party. It was a pitch black, moonless night. As I steered the car past endless university lots, I remarked at how exceptionally dark it seemed. It was as if the darkness were a seamless web, permeating both the inside and the outside the car. I could not see my hands on the steering wheel, could not see the pavement or the yellow lines. The streets were empty. It was late and cold and as we floated along, I could not see Le Guin in the passenger seat beside me. And then, her words, spoken very softly, quietly, as if to inoculate them from judgement: ‘Did you remember to turn on the headlights?’
I found this compelling in the strangest way. It isn't something I'd usually enjoy! Maybe it's just the mindset I'm in right now, but the way the author writes such plain emotions so vividly was enrapturing. Thanks for sharing!