At 35 I can no longer say that Arthur C. Clarke is my favourite writer, but it's hard to think of another who had more of an influence on me. As well as the incredible eye- and mind-opening qualities of his stories (how many people predicted communications satellites AND pay-per-view porn... in the same story?), he was the first writer whose style I was ever aware of -- not just style in terms of putting words and sentences together, but in terms of putting a story together. He was also the first writer whose work I consciously critiqued, which is why I rarely read his work after my teens... but like so many other people, I will miss him.
Of all the tributes to him floating around, I think the most touching is a collection of them at Global Voices. What's unique about these is that they all originate from Sri Lanka, where Clarke spent most of his life (and, of course, the future home of the geostationary space elevator.)
Matthew
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Another Country is here
The April-May issue of Asimov's, which contains my story "Another Country," is now on the shelves. Here's a preview:
Geoff squinted at the figures emerging from the fissure, his period recognition chart at the ready. Not that he needed it, in this case: he was able to fix the new arrivals as soon as he saw their tunics and trousers -- late-Empire Romanized Goths, probably fleeing Attila's invasion of lands their own ancestors had invaded a few generations before.
"Te salutem do, amici," he said slowly, holding his hands up and palm-outward. The light was fading now, and the four prefugees were looking around apprehensively. The reception room, built around the fissure that had first opened right downtown fifteen years before, had been designed to minimize culture shock, with no modern technology or materials visible.
The fissures had consistency but no logic: prefugees from the Mongol invasions wound up in Seattle, Aztecs in Paris, Romans in Ottawa, and so on. The only thing that was known for sure was that they always brought people from places and times that were much worse than now, periods of tremendous chaos and danger; as a result, the people that came through were wary, and some of the first encounters had not ended well.
Geoff squinted at the figures emerging from the fissure, his period recognition chart at the ready. Not that he needed it, in this case: he was able to fix the new arrivals as soon as he saw their tunics and trousers -- late-Empire Romanized Goths, probably fleeing Attila's invasion of lands their own ancestors had invaded a few generations before.
"Te salutem do, amici," he said slowly, holding his hands up and palm-outward. The light was fading now, and the four prefugees were looking around apprehensively. The reception room, built around the fissure that had first opened right downtown fifteen years before, had been designed to minimize culture shock, with no modern technology or materials visible.
The fissures had consistency but no logic: prefugees from the Mongol invasions wound up in Seattle, Aztecs in Paris, Romans in Ottawa, and so on. The only thing that was known for sure was that they always brought people from places and times that were much worse than now, periods of tremendous chaos and danger; as a result, the people that came through were wary, and some of the first encounters had not ended well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)