The Dispossessed is a sci-fi classic, winning Hugo and Nebula awards in the mid-seventies, and continually being reprinted in new editions with increasingly elucidating cover art. I won't go into a long description of why this book is so great--taut and clear writing style, strong characterization, lyrical passages describing complex inner monologues and difficult philosophical/political/physics concepts that seem to defy the passage of time--rather I will comment on the way the themes of this novel seem to stretch and grow in my brain.

LeGuin posits a sociopolitical dance between two opposing planets: wealthy, capitalist and glamorous Urras; and arid, anarchistic Annares. Shevek, a brilliant Annaresti physicist on the verge of uncovering a fundamental truth about time and space is consistenly quashed by his countrymen who, though attesting innate individual freedom, have become stuck in a passive-aggressive determination to retain the status quo. Frustrated by his inability to test and pursue his theory, he arranges to travel to Urras in the hopes of sharing his work with Urrasti physicists.

LeGuin explores gender roles (the oppressed vs. equality), division of labor, freedom as something earned or inherently owned, and of course, anarchism vs. centralized government while we follow Shevek through uncomfortable social situations and conversations thick with hidden meaning. The arid deserts of Annares contrast with the lush and bejeweled Urrasti lifestyles. People from Annares speak honestly; Urrastis deceive. The interrelationships of the characters expand in my mind like landscapes scrolling across the window of a train.

I see me in and the people I know in both troubled civilizations: the aristocrats and the vegetable-growers, the trust fund babies and the self-made. LeGuin never preaches, and her writing doesn't suggest a personal bias. At the end, when I began to wonder more and more where our current civilization might fit in, LeGuin introduces an Earthly ambassador. I won't write more. Read the book and see if you agree with the human.

The Man Who Was Thursday is one of those books, like The Borribles or The Name of the Rose, that you're vaguely aware of, you think might be cool, but you end up never getting around to reading because there just doesn't seem to be A Way In. It's not like you'll have your feet up in front of Emmerdale and something makes you go 'Ah, that reminds me - I've always wanted to read The Man Who Was Thursday. I'll order it off Amazon now.'

Which is a shame, because it's a very special book.Like PG Wodehouse or Elmore Leonard, GK Chesterton just has a wonderful, fun way with a sentence. He's the kind of guy who could write six paragraphs about European farm subsidies and make you come away wanting to dance the tango in your living room. But the action here is far from dull. TMWWT* is about a clever young man who infiltrates a secret society of deadly anarchists - each named after a day of the week. Can our hero keep his head, his identity and his life in the face of Europe's most grotesque and sinister murderers?

All of which is amazing. But it's not really what TMWWT is about. The ruse leads the hero through a maze-like plot which is pretty much entirely composed of twists. You'll be on the edge of your seat as he tracks down each member of the gang and tackles their unique brand of evil head-on. But somewhere around the middle of this short novel, you spot a pattern. A very large pattern that makes the plot as stylised as the dialogue. A plot which is insane, infuriating and brilliant, and which will have you smiling like a Cheshire Cat as you turn each page. If I gave it away here I'd be the world's biggest bastard, but it's fair to say that it's unique in the world of literature. To put it bluntly, Chesterton has written a book about the pursuit of God.

There's something enticingly movie-like about the novel, what with all the chases around London, special effects (including a memorable elephant), sword fights, dreamscape countryside and constant mortal peril. But like all that's good about Chesterton, it also has a devil-may-care, winsome, romantic streak a mile wide. If it was going to be a film, it should have been directed by Hitchcock, starring a Princess Bride-era Cary Elwes, and Orson Welles. And it would be a classic.

So go on - order The Man Who Was Thursday off Amazon right now!

*It's somehow very appropriate that this looks like TMNT. Go figure...