What Is Dead May Never Die: Speculative Fiction Authors and Their Afterlives

 

It’s said that when Czech author Franz Kafka was on his deathbed in 1924, he left instructions to his executor Max Brod to burn all of his unpublished writing. Brod ignored the author’s wishes and spent the next decade publishing Kafka’s works; even though some of Kafka’s works were incomplete, they were printed in their incomplete form (the Castle ended mid-sentence!). History has more-or-less exculpated Brod’s decision because thanks to him, Kafka’s name has endured and the works he preserved from destruction – including the Trial – have become much studied and adored.

Yet when authors in speculative fiction die, their unfinished works are not usually published in an incomplete format; it’s become far more common for another author in the field to assume control of the work and finesse it into a finished status. For those authors who had recurring protagonists, it’s also common to see their heroes carried on by other authors; L. Sprague de Camp and Lin Carter likely wrote more words about Conan than Robert E. Howard himself.

At last year’s WorldCon in Seattle, authors Brandon Sanderson and George R. R. Martin were asked at a panel that, as Martin wouldn’t “be around for much longer,” why not turn over his A Song of Fire and Ice series to Sanderson for completion? (The exchange was reported on Kotaku)

The question arose because Martin’s series, begun in 1996, last saw a new book published in 2011; although Martin has repeatedly promised the next book in the series the Winds of Winter will be completed (and has published excerpts to pacify his fans), this is by the far the longest gap between books in the series.

Why was Brandon Sanderson dragged into this humiliating question? After author Robert Jordan died in 2007 with his Wheel of Time series incomplete, Sanderson completed the Wheel of Time series, taking a co-author credit for the Gathering Storm (2009), Towers of Midnight (2010) and a Memory of Light (2013).

Yet it seems especially bizarre to ask Sanderson this question because Sanderson had made his thoughts known as far back as 2016 that, while he had great respect for George R. R. Martin, he not only was not interested in finishing a Song of Fire and Ice, he didn’t especially like the content: “I don't shy away from difficult material, but I prefer not to get explicit,” he wrote on Reddit. “Honestly, when I read it in George's work, I often just cringe. I don't think it fits in prose; I think it looks tacky.”

Sanderson has been singled out by many fans as the voice they want to continue a Song of Ice and Fire should Martin fail to complete it himself – not because his voice is similar to Martin’s, but simply because he’s a fellow author of speculative fiction who has finished another author’s works before. It’s the same thinking that’s seen the rise of books “written” by A.I.; it sees authors as interchangeable and undistinctive.

Truly, the culture surrounding speculative fiction has long coached fans to believe it’s both normal and expected that when one author dies, another author will continue their work.

Sometimes it’s simply been playful; Edgar Allan Poe left behind an incomplete work called the Light-House and many authors have attempted to complete it, offering their own attempt at writing in the “voice” of Poe. Some authors were personally requested to complete an incomplete work by the original author prior to their death; other authors took it on as simply a work-for-hire.

Christopher Tolkien and Guy Gavriel Kay completed the Silmarillion and published it in 1977, four years after the death of J. R. R. Tolkien. Christopher continued to edit and publish incomplete works of his father’s up until 2018 (Christopher died in 2020).

Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series was continued by Eoin Colfer with 2009’s And Another Thing… Adams’ also left behind an incomplete Dirk Gently novel that was published in 2002 as the Salmon of Doubt, one year after Adams’ death.

Reviewing And Another Thing…, the Guardian wrote, “Distinctive writing rises from an individual mind and life, and so asking another author to take over is as logically nonsensical as, say, for the executors of George Best to find a boy on the streets of Belfast and ask him to extend the player's career.” Despite this caveat, the reviewer concluded: “I feel that Eoin Colfer has achieved a perfectly calculated adaptation: a novel which serves as a fitting memorial but also has a life of its own.”

Alfred Bester’s Psychoshop was completed by Roger Zelazny, which was published in 1998. Bester died in 1987 and Zelazny in 1995. Greg Bear joked that when he accepted the task of writing the book’s introduction he was the only science fiction author willing to risk his life by putting his name on the book. “The book is meant to make you grin,” Bear wrote, “but with a shake of your head; laughter with an edge. Bester laid down this tempo, but it was not at all difficult for Zelazny to pick it up and draw it out. Zelazny, after all, was one of Bester’s literary children; what Bester pioneered, Zelazny made his own country.”

Publishers Weekly wrote of Psychoshop, “There’s much fun to be had here, but the book doesn’t represent either writer in top form. Bester’s style in the first part of the novel seems date, and things don’t gel until Zelazny takes over halfway through the book.”

In his Year’s Best Science Fiction, Gardner R. Dozois wrote Psychoshop “is more of interest for nostalgic value than as a successful novel on its own terms, although flashes of the vivid prose styles of both authors do shine through here and there.”

Frederick Pohl completed Arthur C. Clarke’s the Last Thorem in 2008 (Clarke had turned over the novel for Pohl to finish prior to his death). Library Journal wrote that the Last Theorem “has been panned by critics and readers alike, and with good reason. It is uneven and occasionally dull, and it struggles to blend incompatible themes.”

Tessa B. Dick completed her ex-husband Philip K. Dick’s the Owl in Daylight in 2009 (long after his 1982 death) but Philip’s estate forced her to withdraw the novel from the marketplace.

Robert A. Heinlein’s Variable Star was completed by Spider Robinson in 2006, long after Heinlein’s 1988 death. Publishers Weekly judged, “Nostalgia for Heinlein’s early work may pique interest in this posthumous collaboration, but old Heinlein hands may be disappointed that the book is incomplete, being all journey and no arrival.”

Terry Bisson completed Walter M. Miller’s Saint Leibowitz and the Wild Horse Woman in 1997 after Walter died the previous year. Booklist wrote, “The able Terry Bisson has completed but can't compensate for Miller's desultory plot.”

Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson continued the Dune series long after Frank Herbert’s death in 1986. Frank Herbert wrote six Dune novels, but what’s that compared to the seventeen (and counting) Brian and Kevin have gifted us?

Kevin J. Anderson also completed L. Ron Hubbard’s Ai! Pedrito in 1998; he collaborated with Lydia van Vogt to complete A. E. van Vogt’s Slan Hunter in 2007; he wrote a Captain Nemo novel based on Jules Verne’s character. Indeed, Kevin J. Anderson may also be recognized for the many Star Wars novels he’s written but his magnum opus is surely the novelization to the film adaptation of Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill’s League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. He also served as the coach for Microsoft’s beloved mascot Clippy the Paperclip (“It looks like you’re writing a prequel… would you like help with that?”). Truly, he has both borrowed and given in equal measure.

These are just a few of the many works in speculative fiction where an author’s demise has not prevented new works coming out under their names. The phenomenon exists outside of speculative fiction, of course; Tom Clancy, V. C. Andrews and Robert Ludlum’s names continue to appear on books they never wrote.

As the reviews I’ve cherry-picked demonstrate, the results of one author finishing another’s work seldom satisfies audiences. Indeed, many of these works have become forgotten since their publication. Bester fans are happy to have Psychoshop, but it’s in no danger of displacing the Demolished Man or the Stars My Destination in his bibliography.

As I say, it’s easy to see why fandom believes someone else should come along and finish a Song of Ice and Fire should Martin fail to do so himself. My earnest plea is: Maybe you should reconsider?

Less Than Requited

Minute by minute, hour by hour, there is love which goes unrequited. Our culture likes to elevate unrequited love, to raise up the sentiment as one which is noble. Soren Kierkegaard, for instance, considered unrequited love to be about as great an example of love that there is, because by its nature it exists in only one direction - from the one who loves to the one who is loved.

Unrequited love sounds great and ideal, right? The Kierkegaards of our world would note that it is unsullied by harsh reality. This love you hold for a person from afar but is never returned, how marvelous it must be to love without receiving love in return! And surely for many there is a wish to avoid acting on unrequited love (or more aptly put "a crush") for fear of reality - fear of rejection.

What I find interesting is how our popular culture believes in unrequited love as the most perfect form of love. In film, television, books and comics, invariably one character will pine for another character. How we in the audience must long for them to become a couple! And then they do, our faith in the pureness of unrequited love is fulfilled! Hoopla!

The rending that launched a thousand slash fics

Unfortunately, we are so preoccupied with this idea that it grants some examples of unrequited love a depth they were not meant to possess. Throughout Chris Claremont's X-Men he toyed with the idea that Wolverine held feelings for Jean Grey, even though she and Cyclops were a couple. Claremont certainly seemed to believe in the love between Jean and Cyclops, so Wolverine's pining for Jean served primarily to create some tension (as well as character development for Wolverine). Over the years Claremont would note Wolverine's feelings as a matter of continuity, but the Jean/Cyclops relationship was one which stood the test of time.

That is, until Claremont was no longer writing those characters. In 2001 writers began toying with a dangerous notion: What if Jean loved Wolverine? I call it 'dangerous' because it leans into many of the terrible false narratives we men like to tell each other - the so-called 'Nice Guy' narrative where women, in spite of all evidence, are supposed to be interested in us and will 'come around' given enough time. More to the point, it eliminates Jean Grey's agency in all of this; because Wolverine had feelings for Jean, it was simply assumed her character felt the same way for him. In the real world, the healthy thing is to move on from unrequited love (which Claremont had by giving Wolverine new love interests, starting with Mariko Yashida). Unfortunately, in the realm of fiction a potential couple who haven't 'hooked up' are treated as a loose thread, one which must be tied.

The television series Star Trek: Deep Space Nine opened with series regular Dr. Julian Bashir carrying an embarrassingly-obvious torch for his crewmate Jadzia Dax, whose disinterest in him romantically was likewise evident. Although the two had their moments across the early seasons, by the show's 3rd year it was clear they were very good friends and unlikely to change; in the 4th season Jadzia became romantically interested in a new cast member, Worf, which lasted through the end of the 6th season when the character was killed off. Enter Ezri Dax in season 7 and suddenly the Bashir/Dax relationship is given another chance, ultimately leading to them becoming a couple.

As Darren Mooney puts it on his blog:

It feels like an awkward reversal of what had been a nuanced and compelling friendship. There was something reassuring in the idea that an unrequited (and slightly pervy) crush could develop into genuine (platonic) affection, and the arrival of Ezri Dax undercuts that aspect of their relationship.

But all that is past is mere prologue; who I really want to talk about is Jorah Mormont.

This son of a bear.

Jorah is a character from George R. R. Martin's A Song of Fire and Ice book series and has been adapted into the television version, Game of Thrones, where he's ably played by actor Iain Glen. If you know only the television show, you may be surprised at how differently Jorah is characterized in the prose. It should be noted that in the original books every chapter is written from the perspective of a single character and there are many characters whose point-of-view is never granted to the readers. Jorah is one such character, having appeared across the five novels thus far without ever seen from his own POV. His thoughts, turmoils and challenges are witnessed from a distance, usually from the perspective of Daenarys Targaryen (later, via Tyrion Lannister).

It is not so clear at the beginning but by the second novel (and 2nd season of the program) Jorah's affection for Daenarys - the queen-in-exile he's sworn to serve as bodyguard to - become evident. In the novels, this usually manifests itself as jealousy: as other men offer their services to Daenarys' cause, Jorah will bitterly whisper his misgivings to her. In time, Daenarys realizes Jorah is an unreliable counselor because his affections for her clouds his judgment. During the 3rd novel, Daenarys loses all faith in Jorah.

One of the most damning incidents against Jorah occurs in the first book when Daenarys' brother Viserys is murdered by the Dothraki after he threatens Daenarys' life. The reader is given little reason to care for Viserys, who is consistently petulant and ignoble, but when his death plays out Ser Jorah is shown to be extremely negligent in that he permits events to spiral out of control until Viserys' death is inevitable. "Good riddance," so saith the audience. But Jorah was supposed to be Viserys' loyal bodyguard. In time, it becomes clear Jorah betrayed his vows to Viserys because he wanted Daenarys for himself. Viserys would have been a terrible king, but in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, characters can frequently be defined by how dutifully they follow their oaths. Jorah tacitly betrays Viserys; how could he be trusted with Daenarys' safety when he takes his oaths so lightly?

The decisions made in adapting Jorah to television force some uncomfortable questions about the priorities of the series' creators, because their version of Jorah is quite different from Martin's. Some of this is simply down to casting choices; almost everyone on Game of Thrones is chronologically older than the book versions of the same characters, and it becomes particularly of note with Daenerys, who is 13 at the outset of the first novel, but played by a 25-year old Emilia Clarke in the first season of the show. At the time, Iain Glen was 50, placing him within earshot of Jorah's 43. But while these actors have a noticeable age gap (Glen being twice Clarke's age), in the books Jorah is more than 3 times Daenerys' age! It's also unavoidable that they cast a pretty good-looking actor to play Jorah - but one of the hallmarks of the literary version is that he's not good-looking and, as Daenerys is a teenager, that alone is almost enough to ensure he will never stand a chance of winning her heart.

In the show, Jorah is extremely devoted to Daenarys; although he serves as a spy during the 1st season (as he was in the books), he quickly leaves that behind and there is none of the pettiness which so marks his literary counterpart. In the books he forces a kiss on Daenerys; on television, he's more moon-eyed than he is rapey. The show also removes unpleasant moments such as a scene from A Dance with Dragons where he beats Tyrion bloody after one of Tyrion's many japes (the television show opts for a conventional fast-friendship between the two). It is clear in the books that while Jorah is fiercely devoted to Daenerys, he is not a particularly good man. I mean, the fact that in both formats his backstory is "former slave holder, still unrepentant about it," should raise all kinds of flags for you in the audience.

Without a doubt the largest point of divergence is when Jorah's treachery towards Daenerys is discovered. On the television show he pleads for mercy, but Daenerys, seeming somewhat cruel to the audience, icily dismisses him. And we, watching the program, are certain of Jorah's true devotion to her and bemoan Daenerys for being hard-hearted. But in the books, the scene is basically the opposite of that; Jorah refuses to admit he had done wrong and refuses to beg forgiveness until he gradually realizes he's digging himself deeper with each justification - by the time he does apologize, it's too late. Despite learning Jorah had been a traitor, we know Daenerys yearns to pardon him (because the chapter is written from her POV), but because he's so stubborn she is forced to make an example of him and banish him.

The showrunners of Game of Thrones have done a lot to render what's found in the books into something more format-friendly for television, but also more conventional in terms of relationships. Thus, Jorah's lust for Daenerys, which is a destructive force in the novels, becomes, well, this:

Will they ever get together?

But is that the only path available when you start toying with unrequited love? As it happens - no! You simply have to think outside the box and not blindly obey the tropes of your medium.

Take, for instance, Buffy the Vampire Slayer; during that program's first season, a running character beat is that of character Xander Harris having a crush on Buffy. In the first season finale he finally tells her how he feels, but she rejects him; she's simply not interested in him. Xander's wounded by this, but by the end of the episode helps save Buffy's life and, in doing so, mostly comes to terms with being her friend. Although he continued to feel pangs here and there over the show's second season, as the series progressed it became clear he had moved on and was now one of her best friends. And that was perfectly okay; we in the audience liked their dynamic as friends and found their subsequent romantic pairings (most notably the Buffy/Angel relationship which cast a huge shadow over the franchise) to be worthwhile television.

Mark Gruenwald once said, "The job of those in the arts is to help people connect with life experiences of people other than themselves, thereby expanding upon their concept of humanness." I do firmly believe that, which is why the kneejerk fiction writer's belief that 'unrequited love = true love' is not only a lazy equation but one which doesn't confront the audience in areas where they possibly should be challenged. There is nothing inherently noble, good, true or pure about unrequited love. Sorry, Kierkegaard.