While I knew he had been ailing for years, I never reconciled that knowledge with the natural eventuality of death. For me, he was a living champion of culture, of words, of language and of beauty that can only be captured by his pen.
I haven’t cried yet, but the tears are coming. Finishing 100 Years of Solitude after years of trying and failing to get into it was a soothing balm for my soul. It snapped me into a view of myself I’d never wanted to know, and it encouraged me to start writing again.
The sting of this loss will haunt us all for a while; those of us that were touched by his work and voice.
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Reblogged this on The Student Becomes The Teacher and commented:
The loss of this wonderful writer is truly tragedy for every passionate reader, aspiring writer, or any member of the literary community.
Thank you for the re-blog!
I can’t say I’ve read any of his work, but his name resonates to me differently – a band by the name of Moxy Früvous spoke about a number of authors in a song of theirs and his is the one that stuck.
So when I saw that he passed away, that’s the first thing that came to mind. Not entirely fitting for a man who penned some great works, but a memory nonetheless.
I will certainly have to check out the song and regardless of how you remember the name, it’s remembered. Sometimes, that is enough.