June 22, 1947-February 24, 2006
I was unaware of Octavia Butler until less than an hour ago.
I heard her being interviewed on Fresh Air. It was recorded several years ago, and I realized how eerie it is to hear the dead speak with so much warmth.
I was in the kitchen, at first, only half listening. They said she had died this week after a fall in her home. I thought, head injury. It seems it is still not known whether she’d had a stroke, or, if indeed, she did hit her head with so much force that it would kill her.
But now it’s too late to do anything but think about the interview, the sound of her compelling voice, the warmth she projected. I listened carefully because I felt there would be something very important coming from this woman. And I was not disappointed.
She was beautiful. Her voice was rich, and her speech was measured, the very sound of her was magical in it's resonance. The words that came from her were wise, and full of practicality, but you would know her poetic side after hearing her for a few minutes. What a delicate touch she had, yet you’d feel it, she wasn’t delicate herself, but the touch….
I feel terribly deprived now. I miss her already.
This is an era where many are, speaking quite frankly, stupid, blissfully undereducated, lacking in imagination, and devoid of genuine compassion. Vast numbers of people who don’t give a tinker’s damn about anything outside their own petty sphere overwhelm us with their brutishness.
In such an atmosphere, it is infinitely painful to suffer the loss of this exquisite intellectual. She has gone, taking her brilliant light with her.
Peaceful journeys Ms. Octavia.