Octavia E. Butler 1947-2006
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Octavia E. Butler 1947-2006
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Sandra Y. Govan
Professor of English
UNC Charlotte
Charlotte, NC 28223
Octavia E. Butler Passed This Way Once
1947-2006
originally published in Obsidian
She’s gone. There may be some lingering discrepancy about the day she departed—some accounts have reported that she passed on Friday, February 24th; others say Saturday, February 25th. No matter, except for those who crave accuracy, the fact remains, at only 58 years old, she’s gone. The woman, the brilliant writer, the tall, warm, witty, generous, straight talking, seemingly strong and sturdy African American woman who pioneered the trail as the first Black woman to take on science fiction and make the genre her own—well, she’s gone. While she was not the first African American to venture into speculative fiction, or science fiction, her preferred term, she was the first to truly open up the genre, first to mark the path others now follow—other women, other people of color, other young Black people who had seldom seen themselves reflected in the genre. She held up the mirror for us. She put race and gender, persistence and power in all her stories. She consistently allowed us to see Black folk as a distinct presence in the future; she gave us stories of strong capable women who were black and brown, tall and small, women who were survivors, women who were smart, women who were thinkers and actors and shapers; powerful women who followed her credo of change.
She’s gone, and life is change. Philosophically, I suppose, we could say that each death, each person’s passing, is just another transition, just another change. This fact does not lessen our pain. Certainly, it did not mute the distress, the outraged disbelief and grief, the sheer shock, the immediate intense sense of loss so many of us felt when we heard the news. Some cursed; some cried. None of us were willing to accept the word passed by NPR, by friends on phone or e-mail. My friends in their mid-fifties protested, “But 58! That’s so young! I can’t believe it!”
Perhaps we were feeling our own mortality. Perhaps what happened to Octavia spoke to our own nightmares. She was single. She lived alone with no close family nearby. She apparently went out into her yard and fell, hitting her head on a cobblestone. By the time someone found her, it was too late to save her. But Octavia lived alone by choice; by her own account she lived the life of a happy hermit; she valued her solitude, she loved her work. She also loved her new home town of Seattle with its established science fiction community with whom she could socialize when she chose. She enjoyed the role of “mother” or “grandmother,” advisor and mentor to those picking up her mantle. But most of all, she liked crafting her own stories, writing her many novels, because as she said, “I am essentially a novelist.”
Her works bore out her claim for she left behind a substantial number of works for us to ponder. From Kindred, her 1979 “grim fantasy” about slavery, to the Patternist saga which includes Wild Seed (1980), Mind of My Mind (1977), Clay’s Ark (1984), Patternmaster (1976), and Survivor (1978). There are three books in the Xenogenesis trilogy, Dawn (1987), Adulthood Rites (1988), Imago (1989); and two shaping the Parable cycle—Parable of the Sower (1993) and Parable of the Talents (1998). She could never quite finish what was to have been Parable of the Trickster-- health issues intervened. In 1995, in acknowledgement of her creative efforts to improve the human condition through her complex fiction, the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation awarded her a "genius" fellowship award. In noting her accomplishments, the Foundation observed that "Octavia Butler is a writer of unusual merit and exceptional creative ability." In 1999, Butler won her first Nebula in the “best novel” category for Parable of Talents. Her last novel, Fledging, was published in October, 2005. Also in October, 2005, Octavia E. Butler was inducted into the International Black Writers Hall of Fame at the Gwendolyn Brooks Center of Chicago State University.
She’s gone now. The writer who did not bend her prose around the latest critical craze, who did not attempt to force her stories into the appropriate theoretical box, has left us. She left a legion of fans stunned by her sudden unexpected departure—fans who will grief because they not only loved her work but loved her, loved that she “represented” for us. I think that what she would ask of the folk who will continue to read her work, be they fans, fellow writers, or academicians, is that we read her work carefully, that we understand appreciate the story she was telling us, for telling a good story was absolutely essential to her.
She was my friend. She invited me into her home; she visited me in mine. We were kindred spirits with connections that went deeper than "writer and "scholar." Our birthdays were one year and one month apart. We both had family roots in Louisiana. Both of our maternal grandmothers followed the classic African American migration pattern from Louisiana to California. We were both largely solitary children who felt at odds in our respective communiites--her discomfort sprang from being deemed too tall and shy; mine derived from being thought too small and a "cripple" (as they said in those days). We both found refuge in reading--any kinds of books, all kinds of books; we both haunted our respective public libraries. We both harbored a desire to be writers. Her persistence led to the many works she produced--including the short story collection, Blood Child, first published in 1995; expanded and republished in 2005--and multiple awards she won. Me, well, I followed my father's advice to, "let teaching be [my] vocation and writing be [my] avocation." I became a teacher and a scholar, a literary critic who focused on African American writers--which led to my reading and then meeting Octavia Butler. While teaching at the University of Kentucky a friend mentioned Kindred. I bought it and read it all through the night, caught up in its drama, held by the perils facing protagonist Edana Franklin, unable to put the novel down despite a 9:00 o'clock class later in the morning. What I read first for pleasure became one of the cornerstones of my professional career; two of my earliest scholarly publications were on Butler's novels -- Kindred and the novels comprising the Paternist saga. We both became writers, though Octavia E. Butler was infinitely more famous.
As I said, she was my friend. Over the years we exchanged cards and calls; we held conversations at various conferences, we laughed together at the same political idiocies; and, while respecting each other's privacy, we kept each other abreast of developments in our lives and with our respective health issues. But, she’s gone now and I shall miss her. I will, however, continue to read and teach her stories. Like the legion of other fans and scholars who truly enjoyed her work, felt enriched by it, I will do my best to keep her work, and her memory, alive.