My previous review, which was on the printed edition of the book, was from 2009. That was a while and I’ve been meaning to reread this forever because I could not remember what happened. 
I’m beginning to understand why. It’s not exactly a story about things happening (Shevek would be rolling his eyes right now) but a story about what it is to have things happen. 
I don’t know. It’s gorgeous in Le Guin’s inimitable fashion and I am not the same person I was at 22–though I am contiguous with her—and the same is true of the world. And Le Guin is gone. And I wonder which of those changes is shaping my response most.