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When one looks in the box, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the cat.

Reactor

Philip José Farmer died today, aged ninety-one, a good science-fictional age. According to his homepage, he died peacefully in his sleep.

I never met him and know nothing about him personally. But he was one of the giants of science fiction and it’s almost impossible to overstate his importance in the field. He was the first of the new generation of science fiction writers who came along to revitalise the genre in the fifties and sixties. He was one of the pioneers of SF that was about people and sociology and weird ideas rather than engineering. He came up with ideas and “what ifs” that were impossible and brilliant and wrote about them in a science fictional way. He was an ideas writer, and judging by the introductions to his short stories he threw off ideas like firework sparks. But he was also a terrific stylist. People talk about “luminous prose,” well, Farmer had a meteoritic prose style that blazed across your eyeballs at lightspeed and left you dazzled and blinking. He could delineate a character in just a few words. He was irreverent and funny and clever, and he had ideas like “what if William Burroughs had writen Tarzan instead of Edgar Rice Burroughs”  or “what if Jesus was born again and burned at the stake this time” and then carried them through.

His Riders of the Purple Wage in Dangerous Visions blew my head off, so did The Alley God, and so did the original Riverworld novella—what an idea, everyone in all of history ressurected naked along the banks of an enormous Mississippi. It was later expanded to multiple volumes which were one of the first things I waited for, thus starting me on a lifetime of waiting for books to come out. He wrote more than thirty novels but his best and most memorable work was at short lengths, at a time when that was the lifeblood and the experimental crucible of the genre. Heinlein dedicated Stranger in a Strange Land to him. He was influential on the way the genre developed, he was the New Wave before there was a New Wave, and by the time it had been formed he’d moved on and was doing something else. He was always an exciting writer, you never had any idea what he was going to do next, he brought modernism into science fiction, and there really wasn’t anyone like him, ever.

I’m very sorry to hear that he’s dead. I’m glad he lived long enough to be named a Grand Master (2000) and the be given World Fantasy Life Achievement Award (2001).

They should name an extra-solar planet after him.

About the Author

About Author Mobile

Jo Walton

Author

Jo Walton is the author of fifteen novels, including the Hugo and Nebula award winning Among Others two essay collections, a collection of short stories, and several poetry collections. She has a new essay collection Trace Elements, with Ada Palmer, coming soon. She has a Patreon (patreon.com/bluejo) for her poetry, and the fact that people support it constantly restores her faith in human nature. She lives in Montreal, Canada, and Florence, Italy, reads a lot, and blogs about it here. It sometimes worries her that this is so exactly what she wanted to do when she grew up.
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