Cold Gusts
William Styron died yesterday.
Every writer has one or two authors who inspire them in ways difficult to articulate. William Styron is one of those for me, and I really feel terribly sad about his death.
His obit is up there in the link, but he lived an extraordinary life, fighting for liberal causes and writing great works, punctuated by periods of mental illness and great personal anguish. If you have never read Lie Down in Darkness or Sophie's Choice . . . pick them up and prepare to be awed. From Sophie's Choice:
Sophie ceased looking at the pictures -- all became a blur -- and her eyes sought instead the window flung open against the October sky where the evening star hung, astonishingly, as bright as a blob of crystal. An agitation in the air, a sudden thickening of the light around the planet, heralded the onset of smoke, borne earthward by the circulation of cool night wind. For the first time since the morning Sophie smelled, ineluctable as a smotherer's hand, the odor of burning human beings.
What is astounding to me, as I read his obit, is I really had very little idea of how much horrific criticism his work received. I assumed, foolishly, that because he had won the Pulitzer, because he had written works of great brilliance and sad beauty, that the world recognized that. But it didn't. In the times he published--1960s in particular--the world reviled him and said he had no business writing the story of a black man (Nat Turner) or a white woman (Sophie's Choice). Styron didn't feel that way. He felt we could, as writers, meditate on the life of another and write from that perspective. I feel the same way.
The cold gusts I reference in this post's title refer to when he came close to comitting suicide and felt the "cold gusts" of death blowing over him. The cold gusts came from him yesterday.
Is there some author you held so dear to your heart that their passing made you pause and remember? Someone you admire so greatly?
Peace,
E
Every writer has one or two authors who inspire them in ways difficult to articulate. William Styron is one of those for me, and I really feel terribly sad about his death.
His obit is up there in the link, but he lived an extraordinary life, fighting for liberal causes and writing great works, punctuated by periods of mental illness and great personal anguish. If you have never read Lie Down in Darkness or Sophie's Choice . . . pick them up and prepare to be awed. From Sophie's Choice:
Sophie ceased looking at the pictures -- all became a blur -- and her eyes sought instead the window flung open against the October sky where the evening star hung, astonishingly, as bright as a blob of crystal. An agitation in the air, a sudden thickening of the light around the planet, heralded the onset of smoke, borne earthward by the circulation of cool night wind. For the first time since the morning Sophie smelled, ineluctable as a smotherer's hand, the odor of burning human beings.
What is astounding to me, as I read his obit, is I really had very little idea of how much horrific criticism his work received. I assumed, foolishly, that because he had won the Pulitzer, because he had written works of great brilliance and sad beauty, that the world recognized that. But it didn't. In the times he published--1960s in particular--the world reviled him and said he had no business writing the story of a black man (Nat Turner) or a white woman (Sophie's Choice). Styron didn't feel that way. He felt we could, as writers, meditate on the life of another and write from that perspective. I feel the same way.
The cold gusts I reference in this post's title refer to when he came close to comitting suicide and felt the "cold gusts" of death blowing over him. The cold gusts came from him yesterday.
Is there some author you held so dear to your heart that their passing made you pause and remember? Someone you admire so greatly?
Peace,
E
posted by Erica Orloff at 6:32 AM
8 Comments:
That excerpt is just stout as hell, Erica. Talk about tight prose. Truly stellar. Beautiful.
I have to read that book now. Thanks for sharing that.
Jude:
You won't regret it. But have tissues ready. You're a guy who cna cry over a good book, aren't you?
E
Absolutely. Those are the best kind.
Jude, are those the best kind of guys? or books? or both?
Doesn't really matter, I qualify as the first.
It is a sad day indeed. He was an amazing writer and human being.
Thanks again for sharing Erica.
ewoh:
I agree. Best of both. :-)
A remarkable man.
E
LOL! I meant those are the best kinds of BOOKS. Sorry 'bout that.
But I'll take your word on it, Erica, that we're the best kind of guys, too. ;)
:snif: That was really, really touching.
I felt the same way at the passing of Jim Henson and Steve Irwin.
Hey Karm:
I was sad over the Croc Hunter, too.
E
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