I’m late posting this because it’s already been a busy month. And the list is short, since I taught a workshop. Reading a lot of student manuscripts cuts into my reading time. (Mostly proposals and queries this time. By the end of the workshop, they were very, very good–but I can’t recommend them, since most folks will never see them.)

I also read a lot of books that passed the time, but just didn’t excite me. So here’s what I did enjoy in May:

Barth, John, “Toga Party,” Best American Short Stories, edited by Stephen King, Houghton Mifflin Company, 2008. Talk about judging a writer by his reputation. I’d always heard that Barth was lit’rary—which to me often means snobby and unappealing. His books look dry as toast as well. Needless to say, I’d never picked one up. I don’t read for intellectual pleasure or to impress my friends with my profound choices. I read for sheer enjoyment.

But I read the year’s bests every year to find new authors, and to look at trends. I also love short fiction, and every year, the BASS has some gems. Not as many as Best American Mysteries or the sf/f collections, but enough to keep me reading.

Imagine my surprise when I realized Barth was one of this year’s gems. Imagine how my surprise grew when I realized (from reading his bio) that I’d never given a story or novel of his a chance before.

“Toga Party” is set in an East Coast suburb, at a neighborhood party. The Toga Party, which comes from the movie Animal House, was a big deal when I was in college (yes, when Animal House came out—we even had a guy in my dorm who could take a mouthful of potatoes, like Bluto, and slap his cheeks, spraying them everywhere—popping a zit, as Bluto would say. And yes, in those days, that was impressive). So I was familiar with the concept of the party, which Barth got exactly right.

Only he set it among a community of older adults. So the togas didn’t drape shapely forms, like they did when I was in college, but aging bodies. The entire story is a wonderful treatise on growing older, on death, and on living. It’s beautifully written as well, and packs a hell of an emotional punch.

Surprised me. In a good way. Now I’m off to read more of Barth’s work.

Burke, James Lee, Jesus Out To Sea, Simon and Schuster, 2007. I almost didn’t buy this book. I’d read half of the short stories somewhere else—one or two in the Year’s Best Mystery, “Jesus Out To Sea,” and “The Night Johnny Ace Died,” in Esquire. The thing was, I remembered all the stories I’d read. I didn’t think the slim volume would be worth the $14 cover price.

Boy, was I wrong. First of all, the stories I hadn’t read, like “Texas City, 1947,” and “The Burning of the Flag,” were spectacular. Even better were the stories I’d already read. I had no idea that “Why Bugsy Siegel Was a Friend of Mine,” involved the same characters as “The Burning of the Flag.” I’d liked “Bugsy Siegel” without knowing that; I loved it once I knew.

And the title story, “Jesus Out To Sea,” is just plain heartbreaking, no matter how many times you read it.

I was going to single out the stories I liked, but I liked each and every one of them, as well as the collection as a whole. It’s marvelous. Burke is one of our very best writers.

Clark, Rod, “Voice Over: The Beast of Asje Road,” Rosebud, Spring, 2008. It’s been my privilege to have known J. Roderick Clark for nearly thirty years. We used to work together at WORT radio in Madison, on the old Wednesday night news crew. Rod would write a commentary on a manual typewriter, and read it live on-air an hour later. Even after 25 years, I still remember most of those commentaries (and sometimes quote them). Eventually, both Rod and I turned away from the news business and went into publishing. Rod has published Rosebud magazine for 41 issues now—and they’re always fiesty, interesting, and filled with excellent fiction.

Of course, I read his column, “Voice Over,” before reading the rest of the magazine. And this month’s VO is just plain charming. Even though I have trouble envisioning my now domesticated friend walking his dog every evening, at least he walks through the wilds of Wisconsin and imagines werewolves. Now that’s the Rod I know. Beautifully written and memorable, the essay is from the Rod I know as well. Order a copy and enjoy.

Cowdrey, Albert E., “Twilight States,” The Year’s best Fantasy and Horror 2006, edited by Ellen Datlow and Kelly Link & Gavin Grant, St. Martin’s Griffin, 2007. I bought Albert Cowdrey’s first short stories at F&SF when he returned to writing after a thirty year absence. I adore his work, and this story is no exception. It’s rich and detailed and the characters are beautifully drawn. Worth reading.

Epstein, Joseph, “My Brother Eli,” The Best American Short Stories, edited by Stephen King, Houghton Mifflin, 2008. I’ve been thinking about this story ever since I read it. It’s about the impact a writer has on his family, not just the writer in the story, but any writer. I’m not sure I agree with Epstein’s conclusions. I’m not sure I disagree with them either. But they sure caught me. The story was riveting and the characters memorable. And I’m still debating his theme–with myself, of course.

George, Elizabeth, Careless in Red, HarperCollins, 2008. I love Elizabeth George’s mystery novels. I’d forgotten, however, that George is one of the few writers who slows you down as a reader. Her writing demands word-to-word attention. Not only are the characters wonderful, the setting superb, and the plot interesting, but the writing itself is excellent.

Midway through this long (621 pages) novel, I had the thought that the novel was a small book. By this, I did not mean that the book was short or tiny; I meant that the subject matter didn’t seem grand enough for a bestselling novel. I didn’t mind; I figured a long-time bestseller like George could get away with that.

But in the last 100 pages, she upended my assumptions and made me realize that this tiny murder—the death of a boy rock climbing—was much, much larger than the single event. Heartbreaking, amazing. Elizabeth George wrote another marvelous book.

Jones, Chris, “The Things That Carried Him: The True Story of a Soldier’s Last Trip Home,” Esquire, May, 2008. Esquire and one or two other publications seem to be the only ones in America that realize 1) There’s a war going on; 2) America is fighting in it; and 3) the troops are citizens, with real lives, real families, and real pain. This particular article talks about something the Bush administration doesn’t want us to think about—the soldiers who’ve died.

The article itself is ingenious. Written in reverse order—starting at gravesite and going to the soldier’s actual death—the article has power because it does the unexpected. I had to read it over the course of several days. But read it I did. And read it you should. Just to honor the troops—and their families.

So there.

Klosterman, Chuck, “Chuck Klosterman’s America: Anyone Seen My $4.2 Billion?” Esquire, April, 2008. Finally, an answer to the decline in CD sales in the music industry, a decline that did not lead to an increase in on-line sales (even if Napster got counted). Worth checking out, just to give you something to think about.

Mamet, David, “The Audience; or Lessons from Duck Hunting,” Bambi vs. Godzilla, Patheon, 2007. This essay which focuses on convincing the audience is as much about politics (I kid you not!) as it is about moviemaking. And worth reading for the little nuggets of wisdom that appear throughout.

Mamet, David, Bambi vs. Godzilla: On the Nature, Purpose, and Practice of the Movie Business, Pantheon, 2007. As you can tell from all the highlighted essays, I loved this book. Everyone who is contemplating a career in Hollywood needs to read it, particularly the essay “Manners in Hollywood,” which begins with the phrase, “manners do not exist in Hollywood,” and goes on from there. At least, if you read this essay (and book) before you go, you won’t be surprised by what happens to you.

Those of us who have spent time in Hollywood just nod in recognition. But even if you’re not contemplating a career (or even a toe-dip) into that gigantic pond, you’ll find great stuff in here. Not just on critics or on writing (even though there is much here—and some great advice), but also on the movies themselves. For Mamet is a movie lover and it shows.

Mamet, David, “Reverence as Opposed to Love,” Bambi vs. Godzilla, Patheon, 2007. Finally, finally! Someone who agrees with me about actors. Much as I liked Olivier in Marathon Man, I thought he was vastly overrated in everything else. And so does Mamet. He lists Tony Curtis as one of the best actors of our time, citing Some Like It Hot and so many of his other films. Not because Tony Curtis was Acting, but because he became the characters. Yes! That’s it. That’s it exactly.

Sedaris, Dave, “April & Paris,” The New Yorker, March 24, 2008. It’s not often I laugh aloud when I’m reading. When I do, I’m startled by the writer’s sheer artistry and sheer audacity. Sedaris makes me laugh more than most humor writers do, maybe because he often writes about working from home. Not that this essay is overtly about working from home. It’s about one of those little obsessions that we self-employed homeworkers get. In Sedaris’s case, he became fascinated with the spiders on his window ledge. Um. Yep. That sounds familiar. Only my experiences with these tiny obsessions are never quite as funny….

Sideways in Crime has just come out with my novella “G-Men.” The anthology (and the story) are getting stellar reviews. Both Locus short fiction reviewers placed “G-Men” on their Recommended Reading Lists for the month.

–”Of the names that may be less familiar to British readers, “G-Men” by Kristine Kathyrn Rusch, an American scribbler who somehow finds time to write SF, mystery, fantasy and romance, stands out. A ’60s-set story of J Edgar Hoover’s death that also dramatises conflict between President LBJ and his attorney-general, Robert F Kennedy, it brilliantly conjures up a sense of place.”
–Jonathon Wright, SFX

–”Kristine Kathryn Rusch has a novelette about the murder of J. Edgar Hoover during the LBJ administration that is one of the best things I’ve read by her.”
–Don D’Amassa, Critical Mass

The news came across the lists this morning: Algis Budrys died.

On the one hand, his death was not a surprise. AJ had been sick for a long time. On the other hand, it’s quite a shock. It seems like I’ve known AJ all my life. When I met him, he wasn’t well, but he wasn’t horribly ill either. It just seemed that AJ would be around forever.

I met AJ in June of 1985, when I attended Clarion Writers Workshop in East Lansing, Michigan. In those days, I wasn’t a genre reader. Or at least, I didn’t know I was a genre reader. I read every book in my path. I also subscribed to fiction magazines, including F&SF. I had read AJ’s book columns, but I didn’t know he had written some of the classics in the field until April of 1985, when I got accepted to Clarion. At that point, I read everything I could find by the writers who were going to teach me. Since AJ was going to be the first instructor, I started with him.

I read Rogue Moon. I had no idea it was a classic. In fact, I had no idea that science fiction had classics. Okay, let’s be honest. I had no idea that science fiction existed. All I knew was that I liked stories with outer space in them. I liked time travel stories. I liked stories about robots.

And I loved Rogue Moon.

I expected its author to be a slender, blond-headed man who spoke in a cultured East Coast accent and who intimidated the hell out of me. I turned out to be right about the intimidation. As nice as he was, AJ was a formidable man.

I later discovered I was right about the slender, blond man who had written Rogue Moon. When he wrote the book in the late 1950s, AJ had been quite the looker. But the man who walked into my Clarion class on that night in June was heavyset, breathing so heavily we all thought he was going to have a heart attack right there, and he was angry. Michigan State, where Clarion was held in them there days, was remodeling the graduate dorms where Clarion was usually housed. We were in a freshman dorm with no phone service, crappy rooms, and a lounge instead of a meeting room.

He was used to the amenities. We weren’t. So we didn’t understand why he was so upset. He battled the administration that whole week as well as got us on our feet as young writers. He laid the ground rules, he told stories, and he enchanted us. By the end of the week, we were all Budrys fans.

He came back in the middle with his lovely wife Edna, and cooked us all a spaghetti dinner. By then, we were jaded students who knew everything. He just smiled and went back to Chicago for another two weeks. He returned for the final weekend, and critiqued stories alongside Damon Knight and Kate Wilhelm, teaching us by example that the professional writers (and editors and reviewers, which they all were) did not agree on what made a great story, although they all agreed on what made a bad story.

I figured that was all AJ would do to influence my life. We were sent away from Clarion to start our professional writing careers. I already had a professional writing career, but it was in non-fiction. Clarion made me decide that fiction writers could actually earn some money, and I was going to try.

I was in the process of trying the following April when AJ called me. He invited me to an experimental workshop in Taos, New Mexico, sponsored by Writers of the Future. I was not a winner of Writers of the Future. I never even made the finals. In my entire beginning writer career (even after this workshop), the best I did was an honorable mention.

Yet AJ was clear: he wanted me to be one of the 12 because, he said, I had a bright future. Little did we know how much he would influence that.

I managed to scrap together $1000 for plane flight, hotel, and food. That money should have gone to my divorce and the very expensive attorney I had just hired. Instead, it covered expenses (Writers of the Future covered the cost of the workshop).

I showed up in Albuquerque, spent a few days with my Clarion classmate, Sally Gwylan, and got another phone call from AJ. He said he’d arranged for another student to give me and Martha Soukup (yet another Clarion classmate) a ride to Taos.

The driver, along with two more writers, Lori Ann White and Jon Gustafson, showed up that Sunday morning. And cynical me, the woman who thought love at first sight was something made up for the movies, fell in love the moment the driver got out of the car.

That was Dean Wesley Smith. We’ve been together ever since.

AJ used to joke that he told Dean to pick me up–and Dean did. AJ encouraged the relationship when a lot of people were warning us away from each other. I don’t know if he saw what a combination we’d be or if he was just a romantic. But Dean and I owe him everything.

After Taos, we were on the guest list for many WoTF events. We went to the U.N. as speakers for a WoTF event; we got flown to LA several times for events. I went all over the country because AJ believed in us. Oddly the only piece I ever sold to WoTF was a non-fiction article I wrote in collaboration with Dean for one of the volumes. I was a guest instructor in Malibu one year. Me, AJ, and Orson Scott Card. They were the ones in charge; I was the gopher. I think this was 1988. And even though I heard AJ’s stories yet again, I learned a lot from them.

To me, he was a mentor, a teacher, and a great writer.

And then he became one of my writers. I think that was the strangest part of our relationship. I became editor of F&SF and inherited Algis Budrys, the respected book reviewer. He asked for editorial feedback, but there wasn’t much I could give him. He already knew so much more about writing/reviewing/fiction than I could imagine at that point.

We also worked together at Pulphouse. And when he took over Tomorrow Magazine, he resigned as F&SF’s book reviewer. I think letting him do that was the biggest mistake I made as an editor. I missed him, but more importantly, the readers missed him. And while F&SF has great columnists, no one has ever been able to replace him.

He put his imprint on the field in so many ways–as a writer of classics, as a teacher, as an editor, and as a reviewer. He encouraged young writers. I think most of the influential writers in the field, as well as the influential editors, from 1970 or so on to about the year 2000, had AJ as a teacher or a mentor or a friend. Some pushed against him. Some embraced him.

But he influenced all of us.

Hard to believe he’s gone.

I wasn’t able to attend the ceremony where the awards were given out, so my certificate arrived this past week. So here I am (among the flowers) with the framed certificate. Just pretend I was accepting the award there.

By the end of the next week or so, the entire Retrieval Artist series will be available on Audible.com. Currently, you can get The Disappeared, Extremes, The Recovery Man, and the novella that started it all, The Retrieval Artist. Jay Snyder, the reader of the novels, is doing a tremendous job. If you like audio books and like the series, I’d recommend these. If you can’t get some of the earlier books at your local bookstore, here’s another option for you.