"A Child in the Eighties"

A Child in the 80s

"Daddy, how old is Groucho Marx?"
"Sorry, dear boy, he's dead."
"Gosh! And Chico? Oh yes, and Harpo?"
"Dead. All of them dead."
"Daddy, is Lassie very old?"
"Dogs die young, you know."
"Will Hay's good! Is he dead too?"
"Thirty years ago."

"Daddy, if Elvis comes this way
Can we go and hear him?"
"Elvis stays in Memphis now,
Blue carnations near him."
"Sossidge is on again tonight."
"That was Joyce Grenfell, eh?"
"Was? Oh, Daddy, did she die?"
"Just the other day."

This is immortality
Never dreamed of yet:
Life because a child sits by
A television set.
"Gary Cooper's good on horses."
"That was his last ride."
"Disney must be very rich."
"Was, before he died."

But the child who's sitting there
Starts to love each day
People who at natural breaks
Death will take away.
"John Wayne--Bogey--Errol Flynn--
Are they full of lead?"
"Darling, it wasn't quite like that--
But all of them are dead."

--Derwent May

I'm feeling much better, my brother John having heard my distress call and swooped in to take me for an evening of spaghetti (my go-to comfort food) and Season 14 of King of the Hill (humorous and encouraging). On the drive back to Seguin our talk ran around to famous people who had passed away recently and upcoming inevitable deaths that we would undoubtedly mourn (if, indeed, we ourselves lived long enough). His ran to some of his favorite musicians and singers, and then he asked me who I thought was the greatest Fantasy author still alive. I was a little stymied, and still am. I suppose Peter S. Beagle would be up on the list. He's done some classics, and lately some good things, but his entire oeuvre has been a little hit or miss. In the 'younger' generation I would have put Neil Gaiman once upon a time, but he has lately become slightly problematic, which places a sort of asterisk on his body of work. Also I can think of nothing that he's produced lately, though he's had undoubted classics. Susanna Clark is very good, but her one undeniable classic makes whatever she's produced afterward seem a little ... piping after a thunderous symphony. Tim Powers and James P. Blaylock are twin personal favorites, both still producing. Powers remains powerful, and I will eagerly read anything Blaylock publishes, though what I'd really like is another of his old-fashioned Balumnian fantasies. These two feel more like a private reserve rather than mainstream favorites; and speaking of such, I suppose J. K. Rowling must be mentioned, if we're talking about Fantasy. Popular, yes, though her writing productions have been a little spotty, no doubt hampered by her enormous initial success. Lev Grossman seems promising, though he needs more of a track record before I'd place him among the greats, by any metric (popularity, skill, success, or even champion of the genre). Anyway, the whole question reminded me of this old poem. It's almost 45 years old itself. Derwent May (British author and editor) died in 2020.