In Memoriam: Poul Anderson

Poul Anderson was my entry into science fiction, both the literature, and the people/fandom. I was barely out of high school when I read in the newspaper that he was Guest of Honor at a local science fiction convention. I had never been to a con, but I had read some of the great names—Anderson, Asimov, Clarke, Heinlein, a few books of each. Anderson was my favorite. His characters were both the most real and the most noble, no cardboards or stereotypes, and perhaps best of all, even his women were people. And he turned out to be a really nice guy at that con.

While I haven't read even half of his enormous output, and I no longer count him as my favorite author, and there must be years since I've read an Anderson novel, or indeed anything at all written by him, the news of his death made me stop in my tracks and leaves me with a lump in my throat. Despite some of his books being marked by the mass production syndrome, at his best he is a really uplifting and inspiring writer and his work will always be a part of me. Thank you, and rest in peace.
 —Thomas Gramstad

Wednesday was a bad day. It started out all right, but then I checked my e-mail and found a notice informing me that Poul Anderson has passed away. Seeing the words on the computer screen was a shock; I'd known Poul was ill but until that moment I'd hoped he'd pull through somehow. A world without Poul Anderson didn't seem possible.

Poul Anderson wrote the very first SF novel I ever read, The Star Fox. He introduced me to heroic fantasy with The Broken Sword, Three Hearts and Three Lions, and Hrolf Kraki's Saga. He made me howl with laughter with Operation Chaos and The High Crusade. He made my think about freedom and tyranny in stories like "No Truce With Kings" and "Sam Hall." When I was a teenager, I wanted nothing in the world so much as to work for Nicholas Van Rijn and the Solar Spices and Liquor Company. The word which I have always thought best describes Poul's work is exuberance. His optimism, even in the face of the essential indifference of the universe to human hopes and fears, was sustaining.

I was only fortunate enough to meet Poul Anderson once, but it was an occasion I shall always treasure. In 1983, I was a twenty-year-old college student attending an L-S Society Space Development Conference in Houston, which also happened to be where I first heard of the Libertarian Futurist Society. After the opening ceremony, I had the good fortune to crash a party being given by Jerry Pournelle in his suite, at which I met Poul and Karen. I've never forgotten the grace and kindness he displayed toward someone who clearly didn't belong in that room full of editors and successful writers. Instead, when he found out I was an engineering student, he told me about a problem he was having designing the floodgates for the harbor of Ys. I wish I could say that I gave him the solution he used, but frankly I was so awed at being treated as an equal by a writer I had admired for a decade that I wasn't much help. That was Poul Anderson, though; no pretensions, just a wonderful, friendly man who wrote the most thoughtful and outstanding stories.

If there really is a Valhalla for SF writers, then there's one hell of a party in progress right now, as they welcome a true gentleman into their midst. As for those of us still around, our world has become a much poorer place without Poul Anderson in it. Fair winds and following seas, my friend.
 — William Howell

While I saw Poul Anderson at a Minicon or two in Minneapolis in the late 70's, I only had a chance to talk with him when he was Guest of Honor at an Icon in lowa City. Leaning against a wall in a room party drinking a beer next to Poul, I struck up a conversation with him. Despite his numerous awards and my early memories of devouring his Dominic Flandry and Nicholas Van Rijn stories, he projected an easy air of approachability. I asked him about his forays into screenwriting. Before he began discussing his experiences, he said, "Well, if you're really interested—" Friendly, unassuming, and well-rounded, Poul Anderson seemed to me the epitome of good grace and talent. I'm sad to hear he's gone.
 —Russ Madden

From old friends and admirers in Norway: Our deepest gratitude, our fondest memories of the man and his work. For Poul and his family, a word from Havamal:

Fe doyr, frender doyr, sjolv du doyr pa same vis. Eg veit eitt som aldri doyr: Dom over daudan kvar.

Poul Anderson was just 18 years older than I am. At this remove from both our birthdates, the difference does not seem great. But for me, as a child, the difference made Poul one of the formative science-fictional influences of my life. Poul's stories were among the earliest things that I ever read. Along with a very few others (Heinlein, Asimov, Clarke, ...) Poul was at the top of my attention.

Later, when I first began to write science-fiction to sell, Poul was significant in another way. Then, I studied how he wrote, and how he achieved the effects that he did. It's good to study technique of all the writing one admires, but for me Poul's directness and his interest in character and ideas was especially important.

I didn't meet Poul until Baycon, in 1968. I remember he was looking for his costume helmet. I saw it first and managed to hand it to him—and said "hello". For me, that was one of the important moments of Baycon.

Around 1970, Harry Harrison and G. C. Edmondson and Poul and families would occasionally get together in San Diego. Often I was present. All these writers treated this young writer as a friend. I remember Garry and Carmen Edmondson taking Poul and Karen and me down to Tecate.

It is very hard to write a science fiction story about an idea that Poul has not previously treated, and treated superbly. At the same time, he was never possessive of his ideas, and more than once when I complimented him on some twist, he would point out an earlier source for the insight.

As I got to know him as a person, I realized there were many other things about Poul that were worthy of emulation. Poul had a basic modesty, civility, and courtesy. He was willing to make his opinions known and he was willing to work for the common good (for instance as President of the SFWA).

Over the years, I learned something of how many close friends Poul and Karen have all over, and of the good experiences that brought them all together. At least equal to his science-fictional contribution are those friendships, those attitudes, and what Karen and Astrid and Greg and family have brought to the world and will bring to the world.
 —Vernor Vinge

I remember being fifteen years old, very heavily into science fiction—real science fiction, like Heinlein, Pohl, Korbluth, Clarke, Clement, Wyndham—and a loyal member of the Science Fiction Book Club who sometimes forgot to reply to the monthly mailings (which meant I'd automatically receive both of that month's selections).

After one such lapse in 1961, a novel called Three Hearts and Three Lions arrived unbidden to my door. I'd heard of Poul Anderson but had never read him. I knew he wrote SF but this was fantasy. Yuck! No way I was wasting my time on that junk.

But then came a family vacation involving a long ride. With nothing else to read, I slouched in the back seat of the car and reluctantly opened Three Hearts and Three Lions.

And had the time of my life. Couldn't put it down; laughed out loud; became a Poul Anderson fan for life.

Through the ensuing decades I watched Poul's career, wondering when he was going to get the big break he so deserved. Despite the number of excellent series he wrote, none of them propelled him to the bestseller lists. When Piers Anthony's Xanth stories started hitting it big in the 80s, I was reminded of Three Hearts and Three Lions and realized that all the ingredients fueling Xanth's success—the trolls and ogres, the jokes, the bad puns-—had been present in Three Hearts and Three Lions.

How Poul felt about that, I don't know. I imagine he'd have shrugged it off with his usual Nordic cool. He was a household name among SF and F fans, and he'd spent his life writing what he wanted to. Maybe that was enough.

He leaves behind a body of great work and no enemies. We should all be so lucky.
 —F. Paul Wilson