Fantasy author Robert Jordan died yesterday afternoon. He saw eleven of the twelve books of his bestselling fantasy series, The Wheel of Time, published before his death.
There is a lot of speculation about what will happen with the final book in the series (working title, Memory of Light). As you might expect, wikipedia.org has all the latest details of Jordan's death and what is known about the final manuscript in the series- while Tor's website lists the author as available for interviews on a variety of fantasy-related subjects. Jordan's official blog is down.
At news of Jordan's death, I saw lots of discussion about the worth of his series. I'll repeat now what I've said to many spec fiction fans who love or hate Jordan: like his character, Thom Merrilin, Robert Jordan was a gleeman- part storyteller, part entertainer. His narrative style in The Wheel of Time had more in common with the technique of ancient storytellers than the modern- he made use of repetition, a sprawling cast of characters, and the larger-than-life canvass of a detailed magical world to tell his tale. The books in his series aren't meant to be read as individual literary treasures, but as live entertainment. People and places readers have come to know and love come to life in intricate situations that Jordan juggled like his minstrel predecessors juggled bottles and balls.
To delve into The Wheel of Time is to curl up with a full belly, grease dripping down our chins, and watch the performer's shadow cast by flickering torches on a damp stone wall. The shadow shivers and grows into a story that becomes a part of our experience. The power of the tale doesn't come from language, pacing, or anything typically found in the writer's toolkit: the power is raw, unadulterated story.
I wish the gleeman was still around to finish the tale.
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