"YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE."

I was saddened beyond words last Thursday when I heard that 66 year old British fantasy author Sir Terry Pratchett had succumbed to the combination of a chest infection and the rare form of Alzheimer's from which he had suffered for the last eight years.

In the innumerable obituaries and tributes which have followed his death, Pratchett is most often referred to as a satirist, comparable to Jonathan Swift in his trenchant mockery of the everyday world through his fantasy creations.  I realize that satire was part of Pratchett's intention, but to categorize his work purely in that fashion would miss the incredible depth of creativity and perception which characterized his writing.

Terry Pratchett made me stay up late and and get up early in order to read his books.  His imagination was limitless, and his style was simple but eloquent, with every word doing exactly what he wanted it to do, nothing less.

When I think of Pratchett's work, I don't think of satire, I think of the characters.  It is an enormous loss to realize that I will never again read a new story about Sam Vimes of the Watch, Esme Weatherwax the witch, the virtuous Captain Carrot, Nobby Nobbs (whose name may say it all), Rincewind the Wizzard*, Death, Death's granddaughter, or any of the host of other amazing characters who populated Pratchett's novels.  All gone, all ended - or, more accurately, not ended, but left in limbo.

Because of that, somewhere out there a man in a suit** is steepling his fingers together in the fashion of Montgomery Burns and thoughtfully saying, "You know, I bet we could find someone who would take over the Discworld series if we paid them enough money..."

Stop.  Just stop.

Terry Pratchett was a genius, one of those people whose talent was based in a unique perspective, and it would be a heart-breaking betrayal of his legacy for anyone to even attempt to imitate that talent.  If someone does succumb to the lure of lucre, I would strongly recommend that they be thrown into the scorpion pit along with the mimes.

Goodbye, Terry.  Thank you for letting us all see the world the way that you did, and for letting us see the worlds that no one else could have shown us.

- Sid

* This is not a typo, although really, it is. 

** In my world, the villain is always a man in a suit.  Draw what conclusions you wish from this.

Presumably very very rare.

- Sid

All our yesterdays.

 

Yesterday was a sad day - Leonard Nimoy passed away at the age of 83.

The character of Spock as portrayed by Nimoy is arguably one of the most iconic and recognized science fiction characters. He’s the first mainstream alien, he represents an enviable philosophy of logic and thought, but was always seen as a character with hidden depths and passions - after all, it isn’t that Vulcans lack emotion, but rather that they control them. 

But it seems so unfortunate to define Nimoy’s life and career by a single character, although that seemed to be his fate for many many years. Nimoy discussed his ambiguous relationship with his green-blooded alter ego in two books: I Am Not Spock in 1975, and I Am Spock twenty years later in 1995.

As the second title would seem to indicate, time heals all wounds, and as time passed Nimoy came to terms with his inescapable link to this single role from his professional portfolio, embraced it, laughed about it, and ultimately accepted it as a part of who he was.

Regardless, rather than say goodbye to Spock, let us say farewell to Leonard Nimoy:  actor, photographer, artist, musician, director, writer, husband, father, and human being.

- Sid