Iain Banks diagnosed with terminal cancer (Died 6/9/13)

[Vendetta]

Fuck.

The Hydrogen Sonata was his best book in ages, but now it's unlikely we'll see more. SF will get a shitload less interesting without him.

[Broomstick]

I was sort of hoping, before I read the article, that it was one of those terminal cancers where a person could still live several quality years. I wish him and his "future widow" all the best. As much as I'd like more of his writing, he has the right to spend his remaining time however he wishes and I hope he still has some good times ahead. Meanwhile, I'll be grateful that he shared as much of his imagination with us as he has.

[2000AD]

Haven't read much of his recent stuff as I thought he tailed off a bit but Player of Games is one of my all time favourite novels.

This and Terry Pratchett make it seem like the universe is conspiring to take away my favourite authors.

[Terralthra]

Fuck cancer.

[Admiral Valdemar]

Ugh. I still can't believe it. My first thought was pretty much 2000AD's post. I still haven't finished Matter even, but Use Of Weapons is one of my favourite novels of all time.

[The Xeelee]

He has spoken of a desire to have the publishing schedule of his new book moved forward.

[cosmicalstorm]

I finished reading his books last year. They have a strange quality to them that is hard to pin down and I will always remember the journeys of imagination he offered me. For the first time in a long time I felt a very strong sadness when glancing over the news. What a pity there are no minds around to deal with stupid things like a broken cell.

[Mlenk]

Even though I haven't read much of his non-sci fi material, the Culture universe will always remain one of my favorite book series of all time. Truly a sad day.

[K. A. Pital]

Have a good finale - all I can wish to the author who envisioned one of the most grandiose space utopias. I'll always aspire to write something of the sort, in fact, it might have been that I would've never started writing shit if not for Banks.

And too bad we are not the Culture to repair the body in a heartbeat, heh, but perhaps we'll have more incentive to become such a civilization.

[CaptJodan]

Saw this this morning. Extremely sad news. I always felt the universe he created in the Culture novels was one of the best universes I've ever seen. The creativity of being able to see what was possible with a utopia that freeing was always something I was amazed at, and the Culture became a place I truly wished I could have seen. I have always looked forward with childlike glee to the next novel ever since I learned of the novels here. Now there will be no more.

I hope what time he has left is filled with happiness, and that the end is painless.

[Shadow6]

Message from Iain, Updates and Guestbook



He has written some truly amazing literature, Culture and otherwise.

I hope his remaining time is as happy and fulfilling as can be.

[Crazedwraith]

Actually reading Look to Windward right now. He's not my favourite author but I still keep coming back to his books nevertheless and he's a great ideas man.

There is very sad news.

[Dartzap]

His family have just confirmed his death.

[Crazedwraith]

Well damn.

RIP Mr Banks, your works will live on.

[Broomstick]

I hope he enjoyed his final days as much as possible under such circumstances.

[The Grim Squeaker]

Goddamn. RIP Mr Ian (M) Banks

[Admiral Valdemar]

And I was just contemplating rereading Use Of Weapons again last night, after coming across an old post of mine about it on SB.com. He will always be Iain M. Banks to me.

[LadyTevar]

Iain Bnaks dies of cancer, age 59

Author Iain Banks has died aged 59, two months after announcing he had terminal cancer, his family has said.

Banks, who was born in Dunfermline, Fife, revealed in April he had gall bladder cancer and was unlikely to live for more than a year.

He was best known for his novels The Wasp Factory, The Crow Road and Complicity.

In a statement, his publisher said he was "an irreplaceable part of the literary world".

A message posted on Banksophilia, a website set up to provide fans with updates on the author, quoted his wife Adele saying: "Iain died in the early hours this morning. His death was calm and without pain."

[Big Orange]

What's unavoidably sad is that he was still banging out solid sci-fi novels in recent years (Matter, Surface Detail and The Hydrogen Sonata), he was still quite young really, and a lot of creative potential was unfairly robbed by his cunting cancer. I'm particularly rattled by his death on a personal level since I met him in person at a book signing only last October.

A tremendous creative talent that's walked down the Crow Road much too soon.

[Terralthra]

As the saying goes, fuck cancer.

You will be missed, Iain.

[Spice Runner]

A very sad day. I have been getting into the Culture novels, currently reading Matter. He was a great writer who created a wonderful universe. He was a giant of SciFi.

[Crazedwraith]

I should be blogging about The Ocean at the End of the Lane, because it comes out in 9 days and the reviews and articles are starting, and right this minute I should be doing the writing I have to finish before I hit the road.

But I just learned that Iain Banks is dead, and I'm alone in this house, and I cope with things by writing about them.

I met Iain in late 1983 or early 1984. It was a Macmillan/Futura Books presentation to their sales force, and to a handful of journalists. I was one of the journalists. Editor Richard Evans told me that he was proud that they had found The Wasp Factory on the slush pile – it was an unsolicited manuscript. Iain was almost 30, and he got up and told stories about writing books, and sending them in to publishers, and how they came back, and how this one didn't come back. "You ask me what's The Wasp Factory about?" he said. "It's about 180 pages." He was brilliant and funny and smart.

He fitted right in. He was one of us, whatever that meant. He wrote really good books: The Wasp Factory, Walking on Glass and The Bridge all existed on the uneasy intersection of SF, Fantasy and mainstream literature (after those three he started drawing clearer distinctions between his SF and his mainstream work, not least by becoming Iain M. Banks in his SF). His work was mordant, surreal, and fiercely intelligent. In person, he was funny and cheerful and always easy to talk to. He became a convention bar friend, because we saw each other at conventions, and we would settle down in the bar and catch up. (A true story: In 1987 I was at a small party at the Brighton WorldCon in the wee hours, at which it was discovered that some jewellery belonging to the sleeping owner of the suite had been stolen. The police were called. A few minutes after the police arrived, so did Iain, on the balcony of the Metropole hotel: he'd been climbing the building from the outside. The police had to be persuaded that this was a respectable author who liked climbing things from the outside and not an inept cat burglar returning to the scene of his crime.)

We were never good friends, mostly because we were never in the right places long enough. We were pleased to see each other. We ate together. We talked. We liked each other's work. We always figured we'd have more time.

The last time I saw Iain was in Edinburgh, in August 2011. Amanda and I had taken a big house for the duration of the festival, and on the night that she did a gig in Glasgow, I invited over a bunch of writers and a bunch of actors and comedians who really liked writers. Because Iain was coming over and he had written Raw Spirit, a book about going around Scotland to find the perfect dram of whisky, I bought the most special and fancy bottle of whisky I could for the night, especially for him.

He arrived with a large bottle of red wine. "I don't really drink whisky any more," he admitted. "Not since the book." The ridiculously fancy bottle of whisky was tasted by everyone except Iain.

It was a fine and glorious night. There were fireworks, which didn't go off as expected, and the best conversation, and I was looking forward to repeating it this year.

In April I heard Iain had terminal cancer.

I didn't write to him. I froze. And then, a week later, with no warning, my friend Bob Morales died, and I was upset that I hadn't replied to Bob's last email, from a week or so before. So I replied to Bob's last email, although I knew he'd never read it. And then I wrote to Iain. I told him how much I'd loved knowing him, how much I'd enjoyed being his friend, even if we only saw each other in the flesh every few years.

I finished: "I think you're a brilliant and an honest writer, and much more importantly, because I've known lots of brilliant writers who were absolute arses, I think you're a really good bloke, and I've loved knowing you."

And he wrote back and said good, comforting, sensible things. Goodbyes are few enough, and we take them where we can.

I hoped that he'd get better. Or that he'd have time. He didn't. Hearing of his death hit me hard.

If you've never read any of his books, read one of his books. Then read another. Even the bad ones were good, and the good ones were astonishing.

[Shadow6]

From his latest update it sounded like he expected to have a bit more time. Tragic news.

[cosmicalstorm]

His last book which he started writing before the cancer revolved around a man in his 40's who is diagnosed with cancer! That is a horrifying coincidence. I'm not sure I have the guts to read it, the opening chapter of The Bridge is very creepy in how well it relates the torment of dying.