Kage Baker, one of my favourite authors of recent years, died this month. William Tenn, one of my favorite authors of my younger years, died this month.
As if that wasn't enough, Dick Francis died last night. Not that I imagine you read his work, I didn't, but I did buy his books because he was my mother's favourite author and so made great xmas presents.
I read a couple of Dick Francis novels. They didn't hold my attention, mainly because I have no interest whatsoever in horses and horse racing, but they were well written and I certainly wouldn't sneer at a Dick Francis book if I was trapped on a rainy day in the bach with nothing else to read. He wrote good, solid, middle of the road, traditionally English whodunits. It's a shame he's died, but I was half-expecting it. His last few novels were "co-written" with his son. That's always a sad sign...
Most of his novels were co-written with his wife. Only when she died did she get credit (it appears the publishers had insisted that her part be kept quiet - blech). At that point Francis "retired" and only came back when his son stepped up to do the part of the job that the wife had previously done.
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