ellen_datlow | Thomas M. Disch RIP

I've just found out that Tom Disch committed suicide in his apartment on July 4th. He was found by a friend who lives a few blocks away.

I'm shocked, saddened, but not very surprised. Tom had been depressed for several years and was especially hit by the death of his longtime partner Charles Naylor. He also was very worried about being evicted from the rent controlled apartment he lived in for decades.

I last visited with him about a month ago, when I ran into him shopping at the Greenmarket across the street from where he lived (he rarely went out because he had trouble walking). He invited me up for cheese and bread which we bought together at the market and I visited for an hour or two. He seemed more optimistic about his work than he'd been for at least a year as he had three books/novellas coming out over the next year.

Tom wrote wonderful stories (I only read one or two of his novels but kept meaning to read more) and if you haven't ever read the collections Getting into Death or Fundamental Disch you need to find and read them.

Tom, as much as you were a bitter, sometimes mean curmudgeon--I'll miss you.

John Clute on Tom Disch

And possibly the best obituary by Elizabeth Hand on
Salon

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Sad, sad news. Tom brought tremendous gifts to the field, not only in the usual sense but in what he taught us about whimsy and depth and fright and how to look at the world through a sideways mirror.

It's definitely time to revisit those gifts.

~ Marta Randall

Oh no.

Camp Concentration has had its place on my bookshelf for more than half my life. He was one of the greats - whenever I saw one of his, I bought it. There aren't so many writers I would say that about.

I'd known for some years that Tom Disch wasn't happy with his life, but what a terrible waste.

I still remember the first of his novels I ever stumbled on--it was a secondhand copy of CAMP CONCENTRATION. It was summer in New York, a Sunday, and I took the book to a park and read it all that afternoon. It was like a hammer on the head. This is what SF could be for. Writers could dream this big.

Vale, Tom. And (see his Endzone post June 24) I'll save Saturday night for you.

A couple of years after I had the privilege of reprinting Tom's story "Emancipation" in an anthology, he came upstate for a poetry reading. I was recovering from major surgery and couldn't go to the reading, so Tom came to our apartment and graciously signed every one of his books (we had them all) with a different, witty inscription.

At least we still have the books, and the poems.

Pam Sargent

The first story I read by him was "Descending," many years ago (1962?) in Fantastic under Cele Goldsmith. I have never forgotten it and its stunning final image. Since then I sought out and read as much of him as I could. I just learned of his suicide via the MetaFilter and am following links. This is so terribly sad, as he was very much a part of my developing love of fantastic literature when I was young.

A.L. Sirois

Dammit. I have read and admired his work since my teenage years, have kept on reading him, and was geekily gawkily delighted when you introduced me to him, Ellen.

I've had, in fact, Fundamental Disch as my reading chair book for the past week or two, just the thing -- in so very many of the thing's forms and approaches -- after coming in from working in the fields and around the farm.

As far as his novels, by all means keep on meaning to read them -- when you get to them you will be rewarded; they are written to last, as with so much of his work, and carry a timelessness that will carry them onward.

In everything except, no doubt, the state of being in-print.

A good and serious writer.

Keith,
I didn't know you had a blog!
Get in touch.

Such terrible news.

I originally posted this comment on Matt Staggs's blog (http://is.gd/NS1), but since my sentiment applies to *everyone* who is affected by this loss, I am sharing it here as well.

- - -

I hope your grief passes as painlessly as possible; I hope this for everyone who knew him, or was touched by his words. After the worst of the mourning subsides, let it be replaced by sustaining memories of his achievements, and narrative genius, not of his mortal weakness.

I don't recall anyone mentioning how good an artist Tom was. I admired and I admit, coveted at least two of his paintings. One of a priest. One of the pleasures of visiting was to check out his new paintings and admire his older ones.

I had read Tom Disch’s 334 and Camp Concentration many years ago. A few years after the death of Philip K Dick we began an occasional correspondence because of his interest in my book, Search for Philip K Dick, a correspondence that widened and deepened over the last six years, especially after the death of his partner. He was a very inspiring correspondent; I wrote him better letters than I was ordinarily able to write. He has always been very pleasant and kind to me, given me helpful tips about my writing, encouraged me, warned me of pitfalls in the publishing business, and made connections for me with agents and publishers. He offered to write an introduction for a book of mine and make cover for it (he was still painting at the time).

I invited him and his partner to visit me in Point Reyes and after his partner died, I invited him to come alone. In our correspondence he even became a little romantic although I could never tell when he was kidding and when he wasn’t. Both in E mails and over the phone he was lots of fun and very funny. He invited me to visit him in New York, he couldn’t come to Point Reyes because he didn’t want to fly. I think he would have been a fish out of water away from New York although he did kid around about taking cruises with me; the last time he wrote he suggested we take a cruise to Antarctica. Some of the prose in his letters was dazzling. That man could write! He was very frugal. He never would buy an up to date computer even after he had sold his papers to Yale for a considerable sum. He described recipes he had made out of left overs which actually sounded very good! We exchanged Netflix recommendations, I read several of his books of criticism, we exchanged poetry. His persona in his letters was very different from the persona in his Endzone blog.

I was stunned and sad to hear that he was dead, and doubly sad that he took his own life...if he did. He had told me that he had diabetes and other physical problems. Oh, Tom, if I had only made that last phone call, written that last letter would it have helped any?

Goodbye brilliant scholar, poet, critic, essayist, novelist. Prolific and talented man. I spent all day rereading your letters. You were still alive to me today.

................................................................Anne Dick

Anne,
Thank you. Your memories of Tom are bringing back a flood of my own memories of him.

I remember him being flirtatious with me...

When he was a theater critic he sometimes invited me (I was one of several friends he'd call at the last minute on the off-chance we were free) to plays--in fact...one that I THINK I attended with him was the Mabou Mines version of Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said --horribly miscast. We also sent to a viewing of a major "modern art" auction and made fun of a lot of the stuff there (I'll never forget the disco ball)...

And when he was still physically able, he helped me carry home a large carpet that I'd bought.

I was more affected that I would expect by the news, since it has been many years since I read Disch's work. But I went back after I heard and looked at his postings on LifeJournal. My god -- count the number of times death, suicide, bullets and similar themes come up in his recent writings. He doesn't seem very happy in those postings.

I'm heartbroken to hear this news. I knew Tom well when I lived in NYC. We went bowling together many times. He and Charlie had the best and longest "marriage" of any couple I know (of either sex). He was as easy going and non-judgmental in real life as he was sharp and demanding as a critic. I haven't talked to him in years and now I'm sorry I let his friendship slip away.

I just heard about this, and am so, so upset. I wish to fuck I'd told him how much his work meant to me, changed me.

Oh fuck. I was out of town for a couple of weeks, and then this. fuckfuckfuck
Camp Concentration and 334 were the most difficult and rewarding novels I've ever translated. I still feel that buzz, from 13 years ago.

I'm sorry you're finding out only now.

Just re-read Neighboring Lives a few months ago. What a book. The lexicon, the leprechaun, the dragon and the drone, and all that.

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Thomas M. Disch RIP

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On Wings Of Sorrow

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He will be missed

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