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| An exception novel, by an exceptional author. |
Even before I finally met her, I knew she was an exceptional
author.
In 1998, I attended Westercon, my first real Science
Fiction convention. There I purchased a
subscription to “Locus,” a monthly magazine that covers the Science Fiction and
Fantasy literary market. Reviewers
regularly praised novels by C. J. Cherryh.
Those same novels almost always landed on the Recommended Reading list
each February, from which subscribers vote on the Locus awards. At some point, I learned she had won several
Hugo awards, which are voted upon by the members of each year’s World Science
Fiction Convention. After awhile, I
began attending local conventions, where I heard her work frequently cited
by panelists. Over time, it grew clear
to me what an influential author she was.
When she was selected a few years back as the Guest of Honor
at Condor, my local convention, I realized I needed to buckle down and start
reading her books. Yet reading Fiction is
an instinctive process that defies my best intentions. I can be looking forward to reading a
particular book, but when I pick it up, I suddenly realize that, for whatever
reason, something in me is calling me to read something else. Because of this, books that I want to read immediately
sometimes linger for years before something in my brain decides, “Okay, it’s
that book’s time now.”
Such was the case with C. J. Cherryh. Her Hugo-winning novel, Downbelow Station,
had sat on my shelf for years. Finally,
a few weeks before the convention, I picked it up and started reading it. Yet, even though I knew I would see her
shortly, and had looked forward to reading this book seemingly forever, I just
couldn’t immerse myself in the story. So
reluctantly, I set the book aside. At least
I’d be able to listen to her insights during the panel discussions, even if I lacked
a basic understanding of her work and career.
Then it happened. I
saw her standing in the con suite, enjoying a snack between panels. She seemed approachable. And suddenly it struck me I had something to ask
with her about: her strong relationship with the DAW publishing company. Having read “Locus” for so long, I had read a
lot about its founder, Donald A Wollheim.
He had helped many great authors such as Robert Silverberg and Roger
Zelazny launch their careers, had edited and run publishing houses before
starting his own, and had proved instrumental in developing the SF and Fantasy
paperback field. Yet he was also something
of a divisive figure in publishing. It
seemed as if I was regularly reading some criticism about his business methods,
or the way he took advantage of his authors.
One case in particular bothered me: reports that Donald Wollheim had
printed paperback editions of The Lord of the Rings without J. R. R. Tolkien’s
permission.
C. J. Cherryh had known Donald Wollheim personally. Even if he had discovered her, I couldn’t
believe that such a well liked and highly regarded author would have stuck by
someone as unethical as some reports had painted him. I asked her about him, treading carefully at
first, knowing that she had developed strong links with the Wollheim family and
Sheila Gilbert, who with Donald’s daughter Elizabeth (or Betsy) now runs
DAW. I soon found the time flowing by as
she told me story after story of his kindnesses to her and other authors, and
illuminated me as to what had really occurred on each of the issues I
raised. After I had spoken with her
awhile, I respectfully asked her about the charges regarding Tolkien. Her explanation of Donald’s actions seemed
logical and reasonable, and overall, I gained the sense of a man who cared
deeply about authors, their work, and the SF and Fantasy field.
I found her to be an utterly delightful conversationalist,
completely without airs. Some authors
might have feigned outrage at my audacity to even respectfully ask such
questions. She took them at face value,
recognizing that I was interested not only in her personal history, but wanted
to fully understand such an important historical figure in Science Fiction
publishing. Nor did she seem upset that
I asked her no questions specific to her stories. Not once did she look at her watch, search
out others to talk to, try to steer the conversation onto another topic of her
choosing, or invent an excuse to back out of our conversation gracefully.
In the end, I was the one to break off our discussion, as there was a panel coming up that I wished to attend. I got the feeling she really enjoyed our
conversation, and would have willingly spoken with me for as long as I desired. Because of C. J. Cherryh, I also know that if
I ever have the honor of being published by DAW, I would be well cared for as a
writer. That means a lot, given the constant
uncertainties surrounding the publication field and authors' careers.
After the convention, I found myself picking
up Downbelow Station. I bonded with her
characters and their dilemmas. I couldn’t
turn the pages fast enough. When the
novel ended, I understood why it had won the Hugo award. Yet more than that: I was devastated that the story was over. So the next time I
headed out to the bookstore, I sought out more novels by C. J. Cherryh, whom I
had come to realize was not only friendly, gracious and completely
down-to-Earth, but also an author of exceptional storytelling ability.
Reminiscing about a literary role model,
Dragon Dave
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