James Oliver Rigney, Jr. (October 17, 1948 - September 16, 2007)
This past week has been one of terrible sadness. It is with great grief that I inform my small world, albeit late, that Robert Jordan, that writer of writers, that raconteur of raconteurs, has passed away.
Robert Jordan, as most of you must know wrote the Wheel of Time series. It is one of the most marvelous series that I have ever read. I began reading the Wheel of Time in the 8th standard, 10 years ago. It has probably shaped my life and the approach to it more than any other book I’ve read. I’ve written about this before and I fear that I’m going to write a post that is exactly the same. I am the same person, however, and though water has flown under tons of bridges and has gone on to the sea, the river remains the same, the man remains the same, the book remains the same.
RJ showed me the grandeur of his mind and, through it, the grandeur of the world. The world was brighter owing to him and my dreams turned to colour when sleeping after reading WOT. My cycle turned into a stallion on my way to school, sticks turned to quarterstaff, plastic to burnished gold. Rainbows inevitably appeared when the rain storm ended. But, it was all much more than this, wasn’t it? RJ showed me what it meant to be a knight –that duty was often heavier than mountains, that death was lighter than feathers. That dreams have meaning beyond measure.
And who can forget his characters – persons who became my brothers, sisters, lovers. Who went to sleep with me at night and woke in the morning. Characters that shared with me their deepest sorrow, their profound happiness, their hopes, their fears, their love. Goodbye, Mat, Goodbye Min. You whom I once loved. Goodbye, Thom, Moridin, Demandred. And Rand… and Moiraine. Goodbye.
Thank you, RJ and Goodbye. May you shelter in the palm of the Creator's hand, and may the last embrace of the mother welcome you home. God bless Harriet, Brother Wilson and the rest of the family. May the Light protect all of us.
…and the raven said, “Strew a handful of seed around the stones so that there will be life here again.”
3 comments:
isnt it a dream, to wish that you are sung and written about after you are dead -
not for your achievement,
nor your goodness,
but your inspirations, and color that u gave to others ?
I wish that once, after I am dead - the folk women in my motherland sing about me during their campfire nights ..
That kids fight over who is going to be the 'prince' (T your que :) ), the gals the princess ..
hmmm .. what a joy, I will consider my duty complete when that happens.
I will lay my sword to rest when that happens ..
Ten years? I envy you. I discovered Jordan my first year in college, and braved the wrath of my HOD reading novels between classes...
He confiscated Lord of Chaos two chapters before Dumai's Wells. Toughest four hours of my life.
:)
Babe: that's actuall true. Immortality is, after all, what all mortal fools aspire for. There is actually this really nice story from the Mahabharat where Yudhishtra says that the most astounding thing was that 1000s die every day and yet people wish to live forever. I suppose that this is the only way to do it.
Tangled: I used to do the same thing when I was in school, sit in the last few benches with the book just below my desk
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