Forward

I was saddened to learn that Robert L. Forward had died. I was a little shocked, too, although I'd read on a listserv that he was ill; I guess I didn't expect the hard news so soon. But death is always a shock. Full stop.

I squelched my initial impulse to post about this. Not having known him in person, I have no memorable personal anecdote to share. Not having read all his novels, I have no admiring oeuvre-spanning analysis of his work to offer.

But I loved his book Dragon's Egg, and it comes often to my mind. Although it's been lauded for its science and its ideas, it had a warmly humane sensibility that has stuck with me over all these years.

Through just one book, the person-as-author intersected with my life and influenced my thoughts and left me with a persistent sense of his mind and heart. That sense is merely a construct produced by my self interpreting the narrative self he chose to portray through his words, but it's a powerful one that's lasted for many years.

When I told a friend that Forward had died, he said, as we've said too often recently in the SF field, "Oh, God, not another." That made me realize that my sorrow wasn't on behalf of my industry or my community. I'm sorry that the man who wrote that book is gone. And I'm so glad that he's not. Because I loved that book, and I resonated with the sentience behind it, and it's kept coming to mind over all these years, and it will continue to.

One book.

That's pretty wonderful.