The recent death of P.D. James reminded me how hard it is to say goodbye to good authors. As long as a favorite writer continues to publish books, I don't like to think about 'the last one', even though it's inevitable. And even if a favorite hasn't published anything in quite a while, I still cherish the hope that one more volume will emerge.
Some of those whom I've "loved and lost" in recent years besides James are: Ellis Peters (Edith Pargeter), Dorothy Gilman, Lilian Jackson Braun, and Elizabeth Peters (Barbara Merz). If you see a theme here, it's good detective fiction writing. I am a glutton for that genre, especially British detective fiction. And of course when the writer dies, the series ends. Oh, how I'd like for Brother Cadfael to tackle another medieval mystery in Shrewsbury or for Amelia Peabody to astonish and overwhelm the archaeological profession in 1920's Egypt. I would love to read just one more adventure featuring Mrs. Pollifax, really I would. Alas, those story lines are done. I re-read the books frequently, but not compulsively. They are old friends. After Christmas, I will organize my P.D. James collection and begin reading her debut novel.
I wish I could have met James. One of my good friends in London actually worked with her in the Home Office for a time. She and he frequently took their "elevenses" together in the same staff room. This was quite early in her writing career, and she had left the Home Office before I met my friend.
I did meet Ellis Peters, at a little bookshop in Winnetka. It was called "Scotland Yard Books", appropriately enough, since it specialized in mystery fiction. Peters was touring the U.S., promoting her latest book, and stopped off for a book signing. Some friends and I zipped up to the North Shore, books in hand, and had the opportunity to meet and greet Peters. If you're at all familiar with her books, they feature lots of different types of murders and Peters gives the reader quite graphic descriptions! So I wasn't exactly prepared for what she looked like in person. Why, there sat a nice little grey-haired English grandmother! Yes, just the sort of person you could sit down with and have a lovely cup of tea whilst discussing lurid plots and hair-raising adventures. It's a delightful memory that I cherish whenever I re-read the Cadfael collection.
A writer whose delay in publishing his final work kept me dangling for years was William Manchester. No detective fiction here, just good, solid historical biography. He began a three-volume biography of Winston Churchill years ago. The series was entitled The Last Lion and I bought volumes I and II as quickly as Manchester published them. He wrote brilliantly and I commend those books to anyone looking for excellent work on Churchill. I waited and waited and waited for volume III. And waited and waited. Now and then a hint emerged that Manchester continued to work on the book. Then even the hints stopped. In 2001 he informed his waiting readers that he wouldn't be able to finish the book, due to his struggle with health issues. He didn't want any collaborators. He had over 100,000 pages of research material already written but he couldn't finish. Oh my goodness. Such a disappointment. Manchester died in 2004. I resigned myself to the loss of that final volume. Then in 2012, volume III appeared! It seems that Manchester did select a collaborator after all, who pulled together those 100,000 pages and gave us the final 20 years of Churchill's life. I don't imagine that any of you were waiting on the edges of your seats for this book to appear, but I considered it a marvelous gift. All three volumes reside on my bookshelves now.
I also confess to waiting hopefully for Dorothy Gilman to give us another Mrs. Pollifax mystery. I checked her website periodically and looked for news of her, but very little emerged. She received a few literary awards, one as late as 2010, but no new novels appeared. I suspected that health concerns also were preventing her from resuming her writing. And then, I came across her obituary in 2012, when she died of complications from Alzheimer's at age 88. Ah well, it was selfish of me to wish she had forced out two or three more books before she left us!
So goodbye, P.D. James. I hope that she and all the others have found each other in eternity and are relishing their 'meeting of the minds'. I like to think they are.
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