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.
Shocked and saddened
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.