On Losing Gene Wolfe

Few deaths in the SF field have hit me as hard as the passing of Gene Wolfe. Wolfe’s novels and short stories have inspired me from boyhood, and the field is a little smaller and dimmer without him.

I first encountered his work as I read voraciously through all the SF novels and magazines in the Community Liaison Office library at the American Embassy in Paramaribo, Surinam. That donated library introduced me to so many greats: Isaac Asimov, Octavia Butler, Nancy Kress, Ursula LeGuin. Something about Wolfe’s work stood out, even for and eleven-year-old dead set on reading most anything he could find.

Some have criticized Wolfe’s dialog, because it was often stylized and bore little resemblance to real speech patterns. I never cared, and I don’t care now. His dialog was always a treat for me. Neat and crisp as folded sheets, it was often set among rushing dreamlike stories like stones in a river.

During my time at The Evergreen State College, I became obsessed with one story in particular—"Copperhead,” first published by Ellen Datlow on scifiction.com It was layered, but simple. Short and impactful. The plot centered on a gadget with a straightforward purpose, but its function implied volumes and volumes of story beyond the page. It was exactly the sort of story I wanted to create. I might finally have achieved a similar effect with a story of mine entitled “Good Night, Gracie,” but that’s for others to judge.

“Copperhead” reminded me of the stories my grandmother would tell as she drifted off to sleep, and for me, there is no higher praise than that. My grandmother’s stories often started with familiar settings and characters, and maintained a certain cohesion and forward motion even as the events in them became increasingly surreal. Back in 1992, when I was devouring stories like “Beggars in Spain,” The Lathe of Heaven, Dawn, and Peace in the CLO library, it never occurred to me that I might one day meet Octavia Butler, or Ursula LeGuin, or Nancy Kress. I never did get to meet Gene Wolfe, but I’ll carry his memory with me always.