To everything there is a season, but it seems to me the recent deaths of some of the writing world’s ultimate greats has been a longer and more brutal season than usual. In the past few months we’ve seen the lives of Maurice Sendak, Adrienne Rich, Ray Bradbury and Nora Ephron come to the end of their final chapter, and I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sentiment for the path they paved and the lessons they taught.
As late 20-somethings, we’re probably coming to a time in our lives where we have to face the fact that heroes get old. Role models that once were everything can be gone in an instant, leaving the question of who do we look up to now? But the nice thing about writers is that their greatest works are committed to the page. And though paper ages, stories can be told forever.
So, where Sendak was the master of childhood fantasy, Rich’s poems were dark and raw. Bradbury’s works were literally “out of this world,” while Ephron brought a simple realness and honesty to everything she touched. All were glaringly different, yet similar in their love of the written word.
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