This is a letter from I Know you to You Do Not Know Me.

Did you also write such letters in your lifetime? Those conceived in mind and never sent to your heroic models? Is a celestial pen lighter than the ink one? Be sure that you are very much present here, in this time-space reality. With your books, and, also on your social platform accounts. What shall be done with the accounts when we pass into a different dimension? Are they supposed to be maintained by loved ones or closed? Any thoughts?

Anyways, I translated your trilogy Gift, Voices, Powers into Slovak, the fantastic trilogy Annals of the Western Shore. Into my mother language you most probably did not speak or write. I felt so near to you in the process. In fact, you inhabited my mind those months working on translation. A delightful work. You master the English language like no other, its rhythm, melody, strength. You sculpt, paint, compose parfums and music with it. Several of my friends enjoyed the translated version and they also send their hello. One of my friends calls you The Queen. I hope you are blushing up there reading this.

Why do you think we need to embrace our vulnerability and summon our courage such as your characters do? How would an individual slide into a complete darkness causing evil to oneself and others? Can you consult the Angels on the matter? Perhaps those who really have an experience guiding such individuals. We always can choose which side to stand on, right? But what to do when the burden is so heavy that it constantly pushes one down into despair and gloom? No angel’s wings are strong enough to leverage them, are they?

Have they built you a statue in your hometown park already? You probably do not care, I know. Perhaps a library there has your name? Fleeting fame of human deeds, you say? Down here, a thirst to write cannot be quenched by anything other than writing. Even in times of visual dominance when many people openly claim they do not read at all. Nevertheless, a group of readers is still steady and big enough to support the publishing and book selling sector. Do you talk business in your realm?

Now, I realize I do not know many facts about you, I know your slender figure, deep eyes and strong features of your face and your short hair, blond earlier, white later. But not much else. The souls know each other without the facts glued to their skeletons and flesh. Anyhow, now I feel like opening a search and learn more. So, I pause now and come back.

The advantage of reading is that we slip into eternal presence. Time disappears.

Now, you were born in 1929, the same year as my father. Your mother was a writer herself. Writer’s daughter, then? How did it shape you? You stayed married to your husband all your life, had three children together. 23 novels, A Wizard of Earthsea, sold in millions of copies. Accomplished, dearest Ursula, is accomplishment a word you would use frequently?

The Left Hand of Darkness. Your words are of the same material as your soul, I dare to say. You finished the collection of poems the same of January when you died. So, you wrote to the very end. And what is the end anyway?

With your permission, I quote your verses here:

In the vast abyss before time, self is not, and soul commingles
with mist, and rock, and light. In time, soul brings the misty self to be.
Then slow time hardens self to stone while ever lightening the soul,
till soul can loose its hold of self . . .

Emerald-green is your favourite colour, is it not? You love cats, you recognise true strength in women, you listen to rivers and rivulets, rocks and pebbles. Then, transform their song into language. Sieved through your soul, carved in your pen, Life is a Miracle.

Your website says you died peacefully at home, aged 88.

P.S. Could you drop a line?

Yours,

Reader-writer-translator-sister.

Kay