Philip Jose Farmer's hometown paper, the Journal-Star, reports that he died this morning at the age of 91.
Like so much of SF, PJF was a curate's egg -- his best work (like "The Lovers" and To Your Scattered Bodies Go) was as good as anyone's, his worst (I'll refrain from naming any here) were similarly comparable to anyone's, and his oddities (all of those versions of Tarzan, for one thing) were much odder than anyone's. But that all matters much more in the hurly-burly of a career lived than it does after the fact; with a bit of luck, the best of PJF will be remembered for years to come, and the worst will be quietly forgotten.
I expect to see a lot of tributes over the next days and weeks; for now, here's his Wikipedia page, which has a solid overview of his career.
1 comment:
It's a sad passing. As a youngster, devouring every sci-fi book I could find, JPF was a revelation to me. His intelligent and sensitive treatment of religious belief, and his use of it to explore ideas about humanity, made him one of my favourite writers for a while and earned him a special place in my affections.
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