Sometimes someone comes along who is so far out of the ordinary that
they leave you stunned. One such is Iain Banks, who writes great
fiction. His books have a unique originality that hooks the reader in.
As
a person he always seemed to be just one of the herd, though clearly a
grifted and successful author. Then he finds he has gall bladder cancer.
His way of dealing with that has taught me how to live and die.
It's
a hell of a lesson to learn and come the moment I'll probably maker a
total hash of it and get it all wrong, but if I remember Iain, I have a
chance of doing it right. He doesn't whinge, wonder why, or put it all
out there for us all to gawp at. No long articles in the press
detailing his treatment or his dashed hopes for the future.
Iain
just gets on with it and thanks the people he has loved and who have
loved him. I wish I had met him, I think I would have loved him too.
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