Initial Influences
March 10th, 2008 at 12:00 pm by Ben
I spent most of today being whisked about by a pair of Boeing 757s, on my way from Seattle to Cleveland. The best part about traveling for business is that it lets me catch up on reading for pleasure. I came prepared; I saved the April 2008 issue of Fantasy & Science Fiction for just such an occasion.
First Editions, by James Stoddard, was an early highlight. It deals with a sorcerer and a very special book collection, and though the story is quite new, it has the timeless air of a classic in the making.
A neighbor of mine collects signed first edition books by speculative fiction authors. He has some very rare ones, and some that are worth quite a lot. My own collection is not as large, and not as nice: mostly mass market paperbacks, some used, none signed. They would fetch very little on the open market, but I could never sell or trade them. The memories are worth more than the money.
Back in middle school, the crown jewel of my collection was a paperback copy of Hellstrom’s Hive, by Frank Herbert. Not because it was in great condition; the book was falling apart. Not because I loved the story, either; I only read it once.
Then why, you ask? Because of its cover.
As I matured, I continued to read science fiction and fantasy, but I developed more sophisticated tastes. (It was either that, or live out my days reading Maxim and Stuff.)
I found Harlan Ellison in college, and spent most of my freshman year devouring his output: Deathbird Stories. Approaching Oblivion. Angry Candy. And on and on. Never before had I read anything as savagely powerful, and as mercilessly honest. Ellison can wield words the way lesser men wield weapons, and to more lasting effect.
I went home that summer filled with an overwhelming sense of depression, and a newfound obsession with becoming a writer. Nine years later, I am a good deal better at my chosen craft, and a great deal happier, not least because I have learned to read the masters with care.
The hotel room here is only few snow-shrouded miles from Painesville, where Harlan Ellison spent his childhood. That small coincidence has inspired this post, as he once inspired me.
