It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything here. After finishing my last book, I decided to take a much-needed break from the keyboard. The time has been spent—when work and family obligations allow—catching up on my recreational reading. Right now, I’m half way through Jim Harrison’s True North. Harrison, known primarily for Legends of the Fall, has long been one of my favorite authors. I was quite upset when he died last month. If you’ve never read any of his work, I highly recommend not only Legends, but The Woman Lit by Fireflies, The Farmer’s Daughter, The Summer He Didn’t Die, and The Beast God Forgot to Invent. Better yet, read any Harrison book you can get your hands on (his most recent, published earlier this year, is The Ancient Minstrel).
It’s been a brutal year in terms of talent passing away. David Bowie, Glenn Frey, Keith Emerson, Prince—certainly, the names are too many to list here. A musician’s death can hit us on a personal level. Music plays a vital part in so many of our lives. Listening to a favorite musician every day they become something of an acquaintance. I feel the same way when it comes to authors and their books.
Harrison was incredibly prolific, releasing a book a year. He wrote novellas, novels, poetry, and was an excellent food writer (try reading The Raw and the Cooked without wanting to guzzle a bottle of wine or tear into a piece of meat). His immense appetites and funny—yet thoughtful—views on life were clearly evident in everything he wrote. I’ve finished every Harrison book wishing I could sit down and have a drink with the man. Thankfully, he left behind an amazing body of work to be enjoyed through the years.