Synopses & Reviews
Synopsis
In the fourth volume in the Why I Write series, the iconic Samuel Delany remembers fifty years of writing and shaping the world of speculative fiction Science fiction dwells mostly in the realm of possibility, where mysteries proliferate nevertheless, meaning is never static, and "time and history have convinced us that things are not as they seem." So too does all language, argues Samuel Delany, in his vigorous justification for the writing life.
Chronicling his struggle with dyslexia, the evolution of his gay and black identity during the AIDS crisis, and his experiences and relationships through five decades as a writer of fiction and nonfiction, Delany is a longtime observer of language's inner workings. For Delany, the reasons to write are inextricably linked with the habits of reading. Like the number of galaxies in the multiverse, the possibilities are endless; but in the last analysis, we write to discover our own worlds in the worlds of others--and to promote an illusion of their sharing.
Synopsis
In the fourth volume in the Why I Write series, the iconic Samuel Delany remembers fifty years of writing and shaping the world of speculative fiction Language is the way humans deal with past, present, and future possibilities, as well as the subset called the probable. This is where Samuel Delany finds his justification for the writing life.
Since the 1960s, occurrences such as Sputnik, school desegregation, and the advent of AIDS have given Delany, as a gay man, as a black man, access to certain truths and facts he could write about, and the language--sometimes fiction, sometimes nonfiction--in which to present them. "We write," Delany believes, "at the intersection of your experience and mine in a way, I hope, that allows recognition."
Synopsis
In the fourth volume in the Why I Write series, the iconic Samuel Delany remembers fifty years of writing and shaping the world of speculative fiction "Delany's prismatic output is among the most significant, immense and innovative in American letters."--Jordy Rosenberg, New York Times
Language is the way humans deal with past, present, and future possibilities, as well as the subset called the probable. This is where Samuel Delany finds his justification for the writing life.
Since the 1960s, occurrences such as Sputnik, school desegregation, and the advent of AIDS have given Delany, as a gay man, as a black man, access to certain truths and facts he could write about, and the language--sometimes fiction, sometimes nonfiction--in which to present them. "We write," Delany believes, "at the intersection of your experience and mine in a way, I hope, that allows recognition."