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His relentless and daring boundary-breaking gave us both classic stories that shattered long outdated restrictions on what science fiction writers could do with their medium…and embarrassing, inexcusable incidents when the boundaries that he ran roughshod over were ones that should be most respected, as in his infamous encounter with Connie Willis at the 2006 Hugo Awards, when he groped her breast and then tried to pass it off as a joke.

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He was one of the most litigious people alive, and though he was certainly right in believing that Hollywood has always felt too free to lift whatever it likes from writers (especially writers in despised “popular” genres), surely not everyone Ellison dragged into court was guilty of the intellectual theft he was too quick to accuse them of. The combativeness and pugnacity that led him to aggressively and unceasingly fight for his rights (and the rights of all authors) sometimes veered close to outright paranoia and too often led him to indulge in verbal - and even physical - assaults on those he took umbrage at. To an unusual degree, the man was the work and the work was the man it’s no surprise that they would sometimes share the same faults. When that happened, the result was writing that came across as excessively mannered or self-indulgent, though we forgave him for it, because we knew that he poured himself into his writing without reservation and made every line as good as he possibly could. His fearlessness, passion, and commitment to justice could set his pages aflame with power and brilliance… or they could lurch out of control.

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He was the least shy writer of his era (of any era), and his virtues and defects as a writer and as a man were on full public display for the better part of six decades.

It’s amazing that he lived to be eighty four - by all rights he should have succumbed to stroke or homicide long ago. It was immediately evident that this was a dangerous person he would break boundaries in ways good and bad, because that was life to him, and he didn’t know any other way to exist. It was actually a bit frightening, like being too close to an enormous bonfire. The couple of times that I met him in person - in the mid 70’s, at the legendary Change of Hobbit bookstore in Los Angeles - the intensity and excitement radiated from him in waves. He was one of those rare people who can actually alter the atmosphere in his presence, the air was sharper, the light brighter, the temperature higher, and everything seems a little dulled and diminished now that he’s gone. All that I can say is that the world has instantly become a less interesting, less vital place than it was when the human bomb that was Harlan Ellison was still ticking away. The immanent threat is over finally, we can all relax a bit.Īn authoritative assessment of Ellison’s tumultuous sixty year career can now begin and is far beyond the scope of this piece, even if I had the ability to do it - which I don’t. No man was ever less likely to die peacefully in his sleep at the ripe old age of eighty four, but that’s exactly what happened on the morning of June 28th, and the effect is tantamount to global nuclear disarmament. That was Harlan Ellison leaving the building. Did you feel that? That sudden drop in pressure, that slump, as if the world itself had let out a long-held breath? I’m sure it was registered on every spot on earth, from Cleveland to Calcutta, from Reykjavik to Tierra del Fuego.

I have no mouth and i must scream comic amazon