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RIP: Charles Sheffield
uberdood writes "Dr. Charles Sheffield, noted for such SF works as the Heritage Universe series, Tomorrow and Tomorrow, Higher Education, The Ganymede Club, Brothers to Dragons, Cold As Ice, and The Mind Pool, has died of brain cancer at the age of 67. Sheffield will be remembered for colorful characters such as McAndrew - and the wealth of short stories that helped make SF pulp rags so enjoyable. More information can be found via the Washington Post article. One of my favorite authors, dammit."
At least he was able to live his life to the fullest.. or as full as any human can
Is calling it "brain cancer" an American thing ? In the UK we always refer to the condition as a "brain tumour".
Incidentally I never read any of Charles Sheffield, but the death of any SF author is a loss and a shame.
graspee
I lose
is that the first post under this article WASN'T about Stephen King. And I'm sorry to be heretical, but I don't consider Charles Sheffield to be an American icon, either.
John
of posted a larry king or bsd is dead troll, but chares sheffield would have to do.
I just heard on talk radio this morning, charles sheffled was found dead this morning in his home. Even if you never knew who he was, you cant forget that his grave will be slashdotted.
p.s, slashdot is running on a 300 baud modem today!
Well He was my most hated author DARN IT
Wasn't he a baseball player or something?
can slashdot stop with the obituaries? especially those about people most have never heard of besides the slashdot editor?
killed him. I have proof... over here, somewhere.
Paradise...
I'm choppin' broccolli
Charles Sheffield was a man who did everything we all wanted to do.
He took the usual path of life, went and got a job, got married, and had children. But when he turned 40 and was in Iran doing business for a huge multinational corporation, something in him snapped -- and after reading a Sci-Fi novel, he decided to become a writer himself.
He left his high-paying job, and later his wife left him because he couldn't pay the bills. After miserable failure, he still persisted, and eventually got published and became a famous and respected Sci-Fi writer.
He's gone now, but at least he didn't go through the last years of his life a zombie like everyone else: an overworked corporate zombie with a wife for show, someone who, on the inside, is truly happy but is too afraid to challenge it.
Never heard of him. He's no loss, obviously.
In other news, my fat cousin Larry stubbed his toe. Back to you, Brian...
Let's be honest - he was only 67. He didn't get to live his life to the fullest. His life was taken from him by a brain tumor. If you follow his news on his web site or any of various places he published his thoughts, he still had a lot of writing ahead of him.
I met him years ago and he seemed far younger than his actual age. He was a brilliant man and an author who deserved far more recognition than he received. Sheffield was, perhaps, THE finest writer of SCIENCE fiction during his time. He carried a regular job as Chief Scientist at the Earth Sciences Corporation and was more prolific than most full time writers. In a field that barely pays a fair rate for adult novels, he also wrote short stories and novels for young adults. His name should have been ranked with Asimov, Heinlein and Clarke.
Perhaps now that he's gone the SF community will realize what they've lost - or perhaps they'll just go back to reading Star Wars and Star Trek books.
Kermit
I'm really not that sure what sources this article came from, but I can assure you, I'm still alive.
I'm currently in the the middle of writing a new book, but I can't say its' name - you'll have to read it once it's done.
Yes, it is me, not a fake. And I did write all those books.
.
You know...If the Copyright laws wern't so f'ed up, chrisd could actually POST some of his stuff, so the rest of us clueless morons could appreciate just what a great man this (possibly) was. When you're dead, your stuff should go into public domain, period.
And while I'm at it. Screw YOU Disney!
.
"A microprocessor... is a terrible thing to waste." --
GeneralEmergency
what the hell is wrong with /. today?
Slow as fuck.
Die, gas pumper!
I appreciate that this man has made significant contributions to Science Fiction, however, I really don't want to use headline space for every person who dies who is of interest to the Slashdot crew. Actresses, potentially transgendered computer sciences (remember that one?), etc.
And generally, a great deal of disrespect is generated with stories, such as these. A spinning grave icon, indeed. But this isn't news for nerds.
For those of you who haven't read his books, you have a treat coming. Many of them are available in open etext formats at http://www.webscription.net as part of Baen Books' wonderful webscriptions. His latest novel "Resurgence" just showed up in full there two weeks ago, and I have my usual library-donation hardcopy sitting on my desk as I type this.
Brother to Dragons was a great book, the first and only fiction I've been able to read over and over.
Damn.
incripshin
Charles Sheffield was a man who did everything we all wanted to do.
Wrong: I have no desire to be a third-rate hack so obscure that even dedicated, long-time SF fans have never heard of him. I have no desire to die at age 67 from a brain tumor, nor have I any desire to be a poverty-stricken failure and have my wife leave me. From what I can tell, those things are all he ever did.
If he were "famous and respected", I'd at least recognize the name.
Some people who make a decent living are quite happy. It's idiotic to go around claiming that anybody who can pay the bills is a "zombie" and miserable by definition.
All the evidence at hand indicates that Charles Sheffield was a pathetic loser. I have no doubt that he welcomed the brain tumor as a blessed release from the desperate, hopeless Hell he'd made of his worthless life.
If the Science Fiction Writers of America had ever had the good sense to initiate a euthanasia program, Sheffield would have signed up without a second thought.
Raymond and Meg waited anxiously for over an hour while the doctors rushed to save Patrick's life. Pacing the waiting room, Raymond did most of the talking while Meg listened. She played with her hair nervously and fidgeted with her clothes, but commented often enough to indicate that she was listening. He knew he was speaking nonsense, but if he didn't keep talking, keep pacing, he knew he would go crazy with worry. Several times, he wandered down the hall for more coffee.
.I believe you'll find their numbers in his billfold."
.floating. . .
.so they could meet with an even bigger success.
He had been as excited about taking on this assignment as Patrick had been but now more than anything he wished they hadn't bought that issue of the Atlanta Review and hadn't read the article written by Margaret K. Miller.
The police had arrived at the Sheffield residence about fifteen minutes after the ambulance and paramedics. Charles Sheffield, after being treated for a mile concussion, had been arrested and was currently being detained at the county jail. Although extremely tired, Raymond was too preoccupied with the possibility that his friend might die to allow himself to rest.
He did not tell Meg that he was overwhelmed with guilt. Why had he left the house? he should have went for a walk with Meg and Sam. Then he would have been there when Sheffield showed up--and he could have come to his friend's defense. How could he ever forgive himself if Patrick died?
Finally, Doctor Egan, came out to talk with them, stopping Raymond's internal chastisement, at least temporarily.
"How is he?" Raymond asked through trembling lips. Meg stood to stand, arms nervously folded across her chest, and hear the news.
"He's slipped into a coma," Doctor Egan replied. "It may be quite some time before he regains consciousness."
"If he ever does?"
Hesitantly, the doctor nodded. "The arm needed twelve stitches. He lost a lot of blood, but he's undergoing a blood transfusion which should take about another thirty minutes."
"What about any possible brain damage?" Meg asked.
"It's too early to tell the extent of any lost brain functions, but his EEG came out normal. Our main concern is his windpipe, which was nearly crushed, and at this point, we don't even know whether or not he'll be able to talk ever again. We will know more when we have the chance to thoroughly examine the results of the tests. I've placed him in ICU. His condition will be constantly monitored. Do you know who did this to him?"
"Yes. It was the owner of the house in which we were staying in. He was furious, because he believed we were trying to break up him and his wife."
"Is there any truth to that?"
"None whatsoever."
"I helped his wife get a job," Meg informed the doctor. Charles Sheffield saw that as a threat. I don't know what decade he's living in, but in the nineties, it's acceptable for wives to work and in many cases, necessary."
"What were you doing in his house?"
Flustered, Raymond looked away from the doctor and stared out the window. "Well, it'd be a little difficult to explain."
"I don't have any right to pressure you for an answer, but whatever it is you best think it over thoroughly. Sheriff Yeltsin will be by shortly to take a full statement from the both of you. I hope you plan to cooperate with him," Doctor Egan continued. He sighed heavily, obviously perturbed by the incident. "Does Mr. Marland have any family I can call?"
"His mother is still living, and he has a younger sister. Ah. .
The doctor nodded and left the room.
Raymond returned to his pacing, wondering if the police were now informing Lisanne Sheffield that her husband had attempted murder.
About forty-five minutes later, a nurse approached them to let them know that they could see Patrick for a few minutes. Anxiously, they followed the nurse down the corridor to ICU.
Raymond had heard and understood Doctor Egan, and yet he was not fully prepared for the sight of his friend with all sorts of machinery hooked up to keep him alive. Patrick appeared lifeless, despite that the machine monitoring his heartbeat and another showing his EEG patterns, were giving out near-normal readings.
A nurse, hovering in the doorway, watched as Raymond clutched Patrick's hand and silently prayed. When he was done, she said, "Two more minutes, Mr. Steele."
He nodded without looking up at her. Not letting go of his friend's hand, he prayed that Patrick would return his grasp.
Returning to the waiting area, Meg and Raymond sat down with another cup of coffee, and closed his eyes. The image of his friend lying helpless in the hospital bed would not leave him alone.
"Excuse me," a man said and Raymond and Meg looked up to see a heavy set man with a badge, which read Sheriff Yeltsin, pinned to his jacket. "Are you Raymond Steele?"
"Yes," Raymond answered hoarsely.
"And you are Meg Miller?" Meg nodded.
"I need to talk to the both of you one at a time. Ma'am if you don't mind, I need to ask you to step out of the room for a while."
"I think I'll go browse the gift shop for a while," Meg offered before leaving.
"Do you mind if I sit down beside you?" the sheriff asked. Raymond shook his head and the sheriff took his seat. "I'm really sorry about your friend, but I must ask you a few questions. When we questioned Charles Sheffield he told us that you and Patrick Marland were staying in their home, but they wouldn't say why. Can you explain what happened?"
"I'm not sure I can, but I'll try. Charles Sheffield believed that Patrick and Meg were trying to convince his wife to leave him. Meg went to visit Lisanne at their hotel room once, because she was worried about her. She didn't like the way Sheffield was treating her."
"How was that?"
"He was overly protective like he wouldn't let her out of his sight. So Meg went to talk with Lisanne, because she thought if there was any real trouble going on in their marriage, maybe Lisanne would open up to another woman. Meg found out that Lisanne wanted to get a job, but Charles strongly discouraged it. Meg convinced her to stand up for herself. It was quite incredible really that Lisanne found the perfect job right away. Meg went to visit her there at the plant shop, and Lisanne was happy there. I don't understand why any man would object to his wife finding a job that she really enjoys to occupy her time."
"I agree with you. My wife has been a member of the workforce for the past twelve years. As hard as it is for you or I to understand, many men during the fifties and earlier thought a woman's place was in the home doing the housework and taking care of the kids. Unfortunately, even in the nineties there are a few men left of that school."
"There is no excuse for that!"
"And you believe this is the only reason he attempted to kill Patrick Marland? Raymond nodded. "Why him? It sounds as though Meg Miller was the main one involved here."
"I'm not an expert on criminal motivation, Sheriff. I can only guess that he attacked patrick, because he saw patrick as the one in charge of our operation. Besides, maybe it all fit in with Sheffields' warped idea of male domination. He could have been thinking that Patrick was responsible for Meg's actions because he didn't keep her on a tight enough leash."
"Okay. That's a fair answer. You still haven't told me why Sheffield allowed you in his house. You did, however, let it slip that the Sheffields were staying in a hotel room. Just why was that?"
Raymond grappled for a moment between ideas of telling the sheriff lies, partial truths or the whole truth. Eventually his moral values won out. "The Sheffields hired Patrick and I to investigate a series of unexplainable events, which they believed could only be the direct result of a haunting."
"Ghosts?" Yeltsin questioned skeptically.
"Yes, and Patrick and I concurred. There is a substantial amount of spectral activity occurring in their home."
"I see." His tone was still quite dubious.
Mr. Sheffield wanted Patrick and I to monitor his house for any unusual activity. And whether you believe it or not, we did witness things that could only have a supernatural explanation."
"Let me guess, you boys think you have some psychic connection with the afterworld."
"It's the truth," Raymond replied adamantly. "I have proof on video tape. There were two ghosts in that house, Ben and Karen Simms." He paused, beginning to cry, quiet, uncontrollable sobs.
Yeltsin placed a reassuring arm around Raymond. "I know how difficult this must be for you. Take a moment to catch your breath."
"I'm sorry," Raymond apologized several seconds later. "I've been trying so hard to remain calm, so I can make it through this night. "I never thought anything like this would happen."
"Did you witness Charles Sheffield attack your friend?"
"No. I was out for a drive. I didn't return until he had hung Patrick, and Meg had knocked Sheffield unconscious with a liquor bottle."
"I see, then I'll ask for specific details from her. You aren't planning to leave this town any time soon, are you?"
"No!" Raymond snapped. He intellectually understood why the Sheriff had asked the question, but it still sounded absurd. The thought of leaving his friend's side when Patrick was fighting death never crossed his mind. "I'm sorry," he said in a quieter tone. "It's just that I'm so worried about my friend. You have to understand that I'd do anything to help him."
"Of course, I do. I hope your friend pulls through. If you'll excuse me, I need to speak with your friend now." The Sheriff tapped Raymond reassuringly on the shoulder before standing up and walking away.
* * *
Al exited the imaging chamber and rushed passed a startled Gooshi and into the room where Sam's body was kept. Though he prayed Sam had leaped out of Patrick, he feared that Sam was fighting for his life. Sam had met with danger enough times before, but never had he clung to life so tenuously.
Al could not see Sam. The team of doctor's on the Quantum Leap project were hovering over Doctor Beckett's body, attempting to revive him.
"How is he?" Al asked, wanting to touch his friend, but knowing he needed to keep his distance so the doctors could do their job. They'd already hooked up a electrocardiograph and were now checking for any signs of brain activity.
Dr. Beeks glanced at Al. "He's in a coma," she replied. "We'll know more in a couple of minutes."
Al placed his cigar in his mouth, but didn't puff on it. Instead, he let it hang, limp in his mouth as he watched helplessly while his friend fought to stay alive. He didn't know if Sam's soul was here in 1999 or back in the past with Patrick. But whenever the time traveler was, Al could not help him.
"We're not picking up any brain activity," one of the doctors exclaimed. "I think we're losing him."
No! Al screamed internally. This can't be happening! Sam was supposed to leap out to somewhere safe if his life was in danger. HE promised that to Patrick.
Gentle, feminine arms wrapped around Al's waist to comfort him, but he didn't turn to look at the woman. He couldn't look away from his friend.
"Al, I think you better get some rest," Tina said. "They won't stop trying, not until they've tried everything. You know that."
"I know that, but what if they try everything, and nothing works?" Finally, he did look at his lover. "I can't rest," he said. "I don't know what I can do, but I can't rest."
"Okay," Tina nodded, "I understand."
Shamelessly, Al broke into tears. "If he's really dead, then I have nothing left. My entire life for the past several years has revolved around Sam and the Quantum Leap project. I'm nothing without him. Nothing without Sam."
* * *
Before his leaps had always been instantaneous, but this leap seemed prolonged, almost has though he were hovering through not only time, but space as well. God, what is happening to me? he tried to scream, but could find neither the voice nor the body from which to propel the words. Had he destroyed the space-time continuum as he knew it?
Then somehow he suddenly knew where he was and why he was there. He needed to remain calm and rational, because wherever Patrick was, he now needed Sam's help. Their roles had reversed. It was time to return the favor, for Sam to play the guide.
For a long time, he remained in that strange void, floating . .
Until he heard a voice, indiscernible at first, but quickly growing louder. "Can anybody hear me?" Patrick asked in a frightened voice.
"Yes," Sam replied. "I'm right here beside you." He reached out to touch Patrick reassuringly, and Patrick flinched, obviously afraid of the darkness.
"But I can't see you!"
"Don't let that scare you. You're safe where you are."
"Where am I, then?"
"You're in between dimensions," Beckett answered. "God created this crevice where neither time nor space exists, to give us a chance to recover from our ordeal. When we are physically, emotionally, and spiritually prepared, we'll slip fully into a dimension."
"If we're here, in between dimensions, then we must be dead. We've failed!"
Sam had never experienced failure in a leap and had to admit that he had been starting to believe that he couldn't fail. This was a highly unusual circumstance--even for Quantum Leaping, he had to admit. It was riddled with contradictions and paradoxes. Somehow he now knew that they were meant to initially fail all along. .
"No, Patrick, I don't believe we're dead. I think we are in some type of coma-induced limbo. And we haven't even failed--not yet. There was a part of the equation that I don't think you considered--didn't even realize as a possibility. You assumed that you would have to be dead to crossover into other dimensions, so I did not even look for a near-death scenario. Now that it has occurred, and we realize the error--Patrick, we have to examine why it is a positive turnabout that we met with partial failed in our dimension."
"It is my failure, because I am the more experienced psychic. I was supposed to guide you and prepare you for any possible outcome. In that, I failed."
"That only proves you're human--like the rest of us," Sam said in a warm tone. "I understand why God allowed you to slip into a coma and for us to get stuck in this limbo. We met with partial failure, because he needs you to live out those other lives. As painful as it will be, it is your destiny to help each of those worlds begin to make positive changes. In a way, it's a lot like my leaping from lifetime to lifetime putting right what once went wrong. You will remember everything, not from life to life, but if you succeed--when you return to your life as Patrick Marland. The knowledge will aid me in my life's primary mission--writing. Who knows maybe a Pulitzer Prize is part of your destiny after all."
"I'm scared," Patrick said, shaking violently. Sam placed reassuring arms around the other man. They remained that way for a long time, with Patrick crying softly into Sam's chest.
Sam had no sense of time, but he imagined that hours passed. Sometimes, he and Patrick spoke, while at other times they spent long moments in silence. Eventually, Sam felt something tugging at him and realized he was being taken to a different time--and place.
He felt a strong pull forcing him inside another host. Who am I? he wondered, oddly sensing Patrick's aura nearby as though he were still one with the psychic.
He tried to move, discovering that his limbs were strapped securely to a spit. He wiggled his hands to loosen the rope, but it wouldn't budge. He moaned as unbearable pain rose from his abdomen. He realized it was a lot like he felt after Thanksgiving dinner--only a lot worse. After he overcame his initial shock, Sam realized that there was a tube, pumping a yellow-brown liquid, running down his throat. He started to gag and his throat swelled around the tube, cutting of his air supply. I'm going to die, Sam thought.
A tall man, nearly seven feet tall rushed up to Sam, and sticking his fingers in Sam's mouth, forcefully reopened the victim's air passageway. Chuckling, he gestured toward another man, who eagerly joined him. The first man licked his lips and chuckled again, a laugh that seemed to carry with the wind for miles. Through the corner of his eye, Sam could see a huge pot with a blazing fire underneath. He had the sinking feeling that that pot was meant for him. Oh God, they're cannibals! he screamed internally. He suddenly remembered what he had read in Patrick's journal. This was supposed to be Patrick's destiny. Not mine! Not mine!
As the men grabbed either end of the spit and lifted it, Sam bizarrely felt eager for the boiling pot, wanted to experience the agonizing death. Before they reached the pot, however, the flashing blue light hurdled him into his next host and out of danger.
"Oh boy," he exclaimed as he realized he was now the tall man, carrying the victim to the boiling pot. The thought of watching someone boil to death revolted him, but he didn't dare stop. What would the other cannibals think? More importantly, what would they do if he refused to participate in their ritual? Besides, he knew this destiny had to be carried out no matter how torturous it was for him or Patrick. He had to continually remind himself that it was for the good of this world. Although at the moment, he couldn't see how.
"Be careful," a woman exclaimed. "If you drop it, you'll contaminate the meat!"
Sam glanced in her direction, trying not to show his disgust. He wished Al would show up with some advice or that he would leap again. He was in another dimension, one where time passed at an accelerated rate compared to his world. Al probably couldn't find him, probably couldn't travel to this world even if he could find Sam. Worse, Al probably thought he was dead. Upon arriving into the void, he had realized that Patrick, in their world, had slipped into a coma. Now he wondered if he had also slipped into a coma so he could enter into this dimension.
"If you don't cook the meat soon, sire," a man piped up. "I shall start an entreaty to have you denounced as head."
The crowd began chanting, a low almost inaudible verbiage. Sam's nerves rang with deja vu as he remembered the eery vision he'd had on the landing.
He tried to will himself to bring the victim's body closer to the boiling water. He stared into the pot and thought of lobsters screaming as they were being cooked alive and knowing this would be ten times worse. "I can't," he tried to say, but before the words were fully expelled, he leaped yet again.
This time, into a small child watching the ritual assassination from a distance. He tried to hide his eyes in the skirt of a woman who must have been the boy's mother, but the mother reached down, tilting his head away from her skirt and slapped him briskly across the cheek.
"You'll watch," she said, "and you'll enjoy every succulent moment of it."
He watched, barely controlling the urge to vomit, as the victim screamed in agony. Sam struggled to break free from the woman's grasp, but she held on firmly. A moment later, he escaped when the pulling of the leap stole him from her and the cannibals' world.
It's such a shame. And "Cold As Ice" was Vanilla Ice's launch pad into film. Shame he didn't write "8-mile" for Eminem, otherwise i think he'll just end-up another washed-up white rapper.
Why don't they ever mention that in his bio?
As a long-time fan of his McAndrew stories (I'm in the middle of "The Compleat McAndrew" right now), this really saddens me. With these stories, Dr. Sheffield showed that he really knew how to take an esoteric scientific subject (like Kerr-Newman black holes) and explain it in layman terms (through McAndrew trying to explain it to Captain Roker). I haven't read any of his other works, but if they're as good as the McAndrew stuff, I'm probably missing out on some good stuff.
Windows is the Acme of computing -- in the Wile E. Coyote sense.
Dennis Ritchie - yeah THAT Unix dude runs.. hmm.. well, take a look at the screenshot of his desktop! (www.unix.se asked famous Unix people to send a screenshot of their desktop)
THIS is his desktop!
I'm not very widely read when it comes to SF, and I can honestly say I'd never heard of Charles Sheffield before I saw this article. Now that I know about him, though, I'll be sure to look him up at the bookstore.
As long as we're talking about SF authors, I can recommend two authors you may not have read: Alfred Bester and Greg Egan. Bester's two most well-known novels are The Demolished Man and The Stars My Destination, which really are great classics from the 50s. Egan is a current writer; his books involve a lot of nanotech and quantum physics (some of it even comprehensible), like Permutation City and Diaspora, although I would really recommend Diaspora as his best book so far.
"Destroy science and religion. Science would re-emerge exactly the same; but not religion." - Penn Jillette, paraphrased
Just want to say that Tomorrow and Tomorrow was a damn fine book. Shame that such a skilled and imaginative SF writer had to leave us.
True genius is grasping a situation like a peice of fruit, and peircing it just right so that it drains dry.
You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the
Friday night and the lights are low
Looking out for the place to go
Where they play the right music, getting in the swing
You come in to look for a King
Anybody could be that guy
Night is young and the music's high
With a bit of rock music, everything is fine
You're in the mood for a dance
And when you get the chance...
You are the, young and sweet, only seventeen
Dancing Queen, feel the beat from the tambourine
You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the
You're a teaser, you turn 'em on
Leave them burning and then you're gone
Looking out for another, anyone will do
You're in the mood for a dance
And when you get the chance...
You are the, young and sweet, only seventeen
Dancing Queen, feel the beat from the tambourine
You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the
I've never seen a (Score:-1, Funny) before. This is why I browse down under the bridge...
I just heard the news on slashdot -- noted SF author Dr. Charles Sheffield, died of brain cancer. No other details were available (unless you clicked on the washington post link!).
Even if you didn't enjoy his books such as "Tomorrow and Tomorrow", "Higher Education", and "The Ganymede Club" (not to be confused with "The Gay Men Club"!), you probably enjoyed watching his son, Gary Sheffield, help the Florida Marlins win the world series. Truly a geek icon.
Do you even lift?
These aren't the 'roids you're looking for.
Dr. Sheffield continued to work with Earth Satellite Corporation after he turned 40 and his mathematical work was the basis for a lot of Earthsat's early success. He's definitely made a mark in the geology/remote sensing community. Mr. Doug Hall, CEO of Earthsat, sent out a very moving e-mail addressing the man's achievements, which I don't think would be appropriate to post here. Maybe Chris Peterson, of Earthsat, is a slashdotter and could comment further. In answer to the troll above, don't bother. You're obviously far too dumb to know much about geology or the widely varied disciplines Dr. Charles Sheffield worked in. Reminds me of my own field of study, Materials Science. You've probably never heard of that either.
[-)
What would Richard Feynman do, if he were here right now? He'd do some math and he'd follow through!
But I fancied myself more as a Rocket Queen, anyways.
Oh, and did you know that there's actually a metal tribute album to ABBA?
Rock on!
I just discovered Dr. Sheffield's marvelous writing two weeks ago. I have been getting back to massive consumption of SF, after a 10 year break while I raised my son who is now 20. One can't read a book a night when a single parent. So lately, I have been looking for fresh new hard sf. The first book I read was not fiction. It was "The Borderlands of Science". I followed that with several of his Jupiter Novels. I very much enjoyed his writing. To bad Science has not advanced far enough to provide better solutions to cancer.
One of my favorite authors, dammit.
So this is all about you?
I've only read a little of his work. A SFBC compilation called "The Proteus Manifest". It contains Sight of Proteus and Proteus Unbound.
I actually got it as a filler during one of the times I've joined the Club in the past 25 years.
I've read and enjoyed it several times but never took the time to read any of his other work. I suppose I will now.
R.I.P.
Ursula Andress, Catherine Deneuve, and Charo, twice...
Parent post is a deliberately innaccurate troll.
Kind of a neat way to honor an author you admire, doncha think?
"Prepare for the worst - hope for the best."
So, here's my question: Does anyone who has read him have a suggestion on which book would be a good one as a first read? Not necesarrily his best (as that might include his series) but a single novel or collection that would give me a feel for his work and let me know if I would like to dig further into his collected works.
Thanks
"Prepare for the worst - hope for the best."
I read several of Sheffield's novels in middle school; although I loved his books, I thought that he was just some obscure author that nobody else knew about. Flash forward many years...imagine my surprise when I happened to stumble upon this headline on Slashdot.. I had no idea that he was such a prolific and amazing individual. Rest in peace, Mr. Sheffield.
In any case, Locus Magazine has acknowledged the fact and dedicated a link to it. If you have a favorite who has passed away recently, you might want to look there and then click on their obituaries. You just might discover something you didn't know about your favorite author.
"Prepare for the worst - hope for the best."
I just heard some sad news on slashdot - Sci-Fi writer Charles Sheffeld was found dead Saturday in Casey House Hospice in Rockville. Apparently, Mr. Sheffeld had inoperable brain cancer. I'm sure he will be missed by the Slashdot community. Even if you didn't enjoy his work, there's no denying his expressive characters were among the best. Truly an American icon.
Sheffied was a worthy contributor to the "hard" science fiction genre. One of his most famous works, The Web Between The Worlds, came out within weeks of Arthur C. Clarke's The Fountains of Paradise, both of which championed the idea of a space elevator, then an virtually unknown concept. Clarke and Sheffield, in very different styles, brought this concept to a wide audience. This coincidence was to be referenced by Kim Stanley Robinson in his superb Mars series, for which Sheffield is credited as a major influence. In Red Mars, the elevator is tethered at a city called Sheffield, and the wieght at the other end is called Clarke.
Sheffield's books were thought provoking and often humourous - I'm convinced the character of Bat, introduced in Cold of Ice, is more than a little inspired by the same characters that brought us "Comic Store Guy" in the Simpsons, for instance. But themes from drug use, the use and abuse of genetics, as well as the basic generic science and technology standard for everyone in this field, haunt his novels and are investigated in ways rarely seen elsewhere.
This is a great loss to science fiction. Charles Sheffield was an original one-of-a-kind thinker, who wrote books anyone could enjoy. RIP, Charles Sheffield.
You are not alone. This is not normal. None of this is normal.
Charles Sheffield is dead. He died (most probably, brain tumors almost always are) a horrible death. He had lived through some very hard times (especially given that his first wife died of cancer) and nevertheless managed to be a successful author and a very respectable scientist - surpassing me and 99% of the /. readers when it comes to such things as experience, intelligence, creativity, academic skills and success in life. One of the saddest things probably is that he still had much potential and that is now lost forever. (Well the saddest thing is that some people have to die so horribly so soon and with all our technology we still can't do anything about it.)
So what the f*ck is going on here? In this thread I see ACs trolling and flaming all over the place. Allright, maybe you haven't read his works but so what? What's wrong with you people, if anything else doesn't matter to you then there is still the matter that someone is actually dead! Where is the respect for that? Whether you have read his stories or not, whether you liked them or not, this is a sad loss. (And yes, I know that other people die, too, and that's also a loss.)
Let's see... this story has been up at least three hours now and no, I still don't care.
For what it's worth:
Charles Sheffield remarried Nancy Kress, a very talented SF writer in her own right.
You "love SF", but you've read almost none of it. In fact, since you're illiterate ("awesome", "whose"), I doubt very much that you're ever read anything in your life. And what the fuck is this bit with capitalizing "all" and "who" in the middle of sentences? Jesus Christ, you're just about the dumbest animal I've ever set eyes on.
Do the right thing and kill yourself.
I came across his writing in Analog, as usual. Higher Learning is the first one that made me remember his name.
He didn't have any books in the current batch of books in the Baen Free Library, but there are a few Borderlands of Science columns at Baen.com
I wouldn't exactly call Analog a "plup rag".
One line blog. I hear that they're called Twitters now.
Poor dumb bastard couldn't write to save his life. I read a big chunk of it, and I thought the stupid slashbot who posted it had written it. It's amateurish crap.
A "great science fiction writer" whose prose is indistinguishable from that of a slashbot? Yeah, right, whatever. Thank God the useless hack is dead.
I was most pleased to hear of your marriage some years after I met Charles at the ConAdian World SF Convention in Winnipeg in 1994. I believe it was Oscar Wilde who described second (or in this case third) marriages as "the triumph of hope over experience", and I wish you and your stepchildren well. I only met him once and spoke with him for about ten minutes, but I enjoyed everything he wrote and published, including his on-line autobiography. Our thoughts are with you.
Two: The D&D factor and "universe novels".
The first is the god-awful tolkien-like books that are written at a 6th grade level and have no imagination.
The other is "universe novels"...books set in the Star Wars universe, Star Trek...whatever. There has never been a good one.
The remaining stuff is so dull...hard to read.
That's why when you find a good sci-fi book, its like finding water in the desert.
And then the author puts out 8 sequels, and all of them suck... (see: Enders Game)
I've been a sf fan over 35 years now- since I was 10, and since the late '70s Charles Sheffield's work has been a constant favorite. I first became aware of his stories reading Analog- he had several of his early novels serialized [Proteus Unbound, Between the Strokes of Night], and quite a few shorter length works [the individual Trader's World & McAndrew stories] in it during early years of his career
Having read almost all of his sf titles, I unequivocally state that Sheffield offered a rare blend of unique extrapolations of current science & technology with interesting & well-paced plots.
I was lucky enough to meet & talk with him at a number of east cost sf cons over the last few years, at which he was a regular panelist and reader. Impressive, to say the least. If you like any kind of science-y sf, then I recommend you read any Sheffield you can get your mitts on!
My sympathies to his family, friends and fans.
silent lurker
Truth is, I was kinda scared when I saw the message about your reply at my message center ("But I know Robinson must've acknowledged him somewhere!"). Human nature to assume the worst, I guess. :)
Odd, that I never thought to call those books "beautiful," and yet they absolutely are. You hit the nail right on the head. It's a shame that there aren't more works that deserve that label.
"Prepare for the worst - hope for the best."
fuck you rocket queen
SexyKellyOsborne Is A Troll (fuck you, i dont care if i spelled your name wrong whore)
hahahah troll
SexyKellyOsborne Is A Troll (fuck you, i dont care if i spelled your name wrong whore)
My heart plunged as I read the Slashdot headline. Sheffield was one of the greats. I always looked forward to reading a new short story or novel of his.
Not since Heinlein has there been an author who so successfully pulled off the "SF for teenagers" sub-genre. Sure the plots were re-hashes, or, more charitably, tributes, but darn it they were good clean fun. Well plotted, characters you cared about, and great settings - you can't ask for more than that.
So long Doc. I'll miss you.
Hell's House ? Jay's House !
I am very good friends with his daughter Ann. She was with him quite a lot these past few months.
My thoughts and prayers go out to his family.
-F-
Under current copyright we would have to wait for 70 years before his out of print works enter the public domain, or someone who has rights re-prints the out of print stuff. Am I right in my thinking?
Brian Kernighan has an automobile which he helped design.
Unlike most automobiles, it has neither speedometer, nor gas gauge, nor
any of the numerous idiot lights which plague the modern driver.
Rather, if the driver makes any mistake, a giant "?" lights up in the
center of the dashboard. "The experienced driver", he says, "will
usually know what's wrong."
- this post brought to you by the Automated Last Post Generator...