Iain Banks died

The news came on 10 June, only a couple of months after the news of his cancer. What more is there to say, another fortnight later? After all, I’ve seen more articles related to his death than those related to Edwin Morgan’s demise three yers ago. I’m still reading The Crow Road, still enjoying it even more than the first time round, still wondering whether my spheksophobia would allow me to enjoy The Wasp Factory as well, or whether I should try some of his sci-fis instead. I doubt I would go into The Quarry, not now anyway, but I hope I will find the time to try something else by him soon.

(Added next day.) And yet there is one more thing to mention: I marvelled at the way he bore it. I can’t imagine myself being an atheist and still full of life and accepting such prospect. But maybe… “Maybe it is true that the people who really live do not care about dying; maybe fear of dying is what you get when deep down you know you never really lived,” as James Hawes’ Pete Thompson put it. The latest was obviously never Iain Banks’ problem.

 

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