It's Virginia Woolf's birthday today and Ursula Le Guin recently passed away. Such literary greats. Just last week I was thinking about re-reading Le Guin's novel, Lavinia. A retelling of Virgil's Aeneid from the perspective of Lavinia, the daughter of King Latinus and Queen Amata, and the future bride of Turnus, who never once speaks in the original tale, but in Le Guin's book, is given her own voice.

Here's Le Guin's view on being called a “science fiction” writer, and about the genre in general from The Paris Review, 'Art of Fiction no. 221':

“I don't think science fiction is a very good name for it, but it's the name that we've got. It is different from other kinds of writing, I suppose, so it deserves a name of its own. But where I can get prickly and combative is if I'm just called a sci-fi writer. I'm not. I'm a novelist and poet. Don't shove me into your damn pigeonhole, where I don't fit, because I'm all over. My tentacles are coming out of the pigeonhole in all directions.”

Love these words, love her writing, and I couldn't agree more about being pigeonholed. And yes, she was an incredible novelist and poet.