Just found out that #DavidDrake died today. He’d been in poor health for a while, so this isn’t exactly a surprise, but it’s still an ugly shock. 78 years is a good run, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
We only met once, at World Fantasy Con thirty or so years ago. Corresponded occasionally after that. I won’t claim him as a friend, but he was at least a friendly colleague—and he did regard me as a colleague, which was a hell of an ego boost for a young writer. Maybe one of these days I’ll even live up to it.
He was badly damaged by his experiences in Vietnam, and that damage came out in his writing. A lot of readers bounced off his style, and a lot of others bounced off … certain characterizations and plot elements. If you’re in the latter group, you know what I mean. I came close, a few times. But I didn’t stop reading his work. Couldn’t, really.
His work helped me deal with a whole lot of the snakes in my own head, and I know a number of other vets, across multiple generations, who can say the same.
There is a very small number of military science fiction writers who get it right, out of a sea of hi-ho, we’re off for jolly adventures—including a great many who are praised for their realism. Truffaut was right: it’s impossible to make an anti-war movie, and maybe it’s impossible to write an anti-war book too. I’ve largely abandoned the genre for a number of reasons, and that’s one of them.
He never claimed to be anti-war. He wasn’t pro-war either. He just looked unflinchingly at the insanity of the whole thing. And maybe that was for the benefit of his own sanity, but he brought a whole lot of us along for the ride.
Ave atque vale. I hope he’d appreciate that.
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