Valentine (Hardcover)

However, I am puzzled that that debate by one intercolutor should be placed in the forum for criticism of the book itself.

In my work with children with special needs, I am called upon often to offer mediation strategies. I did not think those elective skills would be called upon in science fiction. In offering this balance, I would like to say that yes, Lucius' age is clear from numerous bios on line and off. However, the reviewer may not be aware of the debate in John Clute's Encyclopaedia surrounding the inconsistencies in Lucius' age. The issue therefore may not be arithmetical but about honesty.

Regarding Lucius' alleged retirement, I would again agree that this is incorrect, but only by degree. The reviewer Jay may have meant to pinpoint a trend. Dozois said of Lucius that "no year since has gone by without him adorning the final ballot for one major award or another." That was in 1990. By 1995 Dozois was reduced to republishing mainstream fiction from Playboy ("Beast of the Heartland") and stories that weren't even published _at all_ ("Human History"), in order to get Lucius' name into the science fiction press. This is a dramatic fall off in publishing, but certainly not retirement. Lucius himself said, in Locus, that he didn't see the point in writing for a time and so he stopped.

Regarding labels. I personally know the pain that these can bring, but I think that the label of "science fiction" is an innocent enough one. Again, those of us more familiar with the genre will know that this loosely encapsulates the wider subgenres of horror, fantasy and slipstream.

So I think one reviewer did indeed endeavour to get his facts right. Did the other?

However, these remarks are tangential to the book itself. Those of us who have met Lucius are aware of his towering presence and his command of centre stage. While he may not be above a little personal embellishment, this makes for a mastery of fiction. A man who lives so close to the edge of personal mythologizing (or past it) can bring great gusto to the art of the novel.

I recall my pleasure in my late twenties of discovering Life During Wartime, the story of a strong, vigorous youth rescuing a sexually traumatised woman by sexual expertise. Or "Beast of the Heartland," the story of a strong young boxer teaching a prostitute to love with his sexual expertise. Or "The Last Time," the story of a strong, violent man, coming to a nasty end during bouts of dramatic sex with a sexually traumatised woman. To paraphrase EL Doctorow, he is nothing, Lucius Shepard, if not a writer who knew a good formula when he found one.

Lucius has been one of the most popular science fiction writers of his era, and he is still popular today. Though it is also fair to say that he sits at the genre's table below the salt while the more sophisticated voices of modernist and post modernist irony (Silverberg, Gibson, Le Guin) conduct the conversation.

As always, Lucius remains a big man with a big voice, fearlessly shouting down boundaries, critics, genre distinctions and even those around him who would caution patience and control. While Valentine does not show the command and breadth of emotion that he has has had, the reactions below indicate that he can still create dialogue and polarise opinion.

Shepard has never been just an SF writer -- dark fantasy, horror, fantasy, magic realism, mainstream and some sf thrown in for good measure, sure, but not just SF.

Also, the idea that Shepard might have been in retirement is plain laughable. But, as the reviewer only appears to be familiar with Life During Wartime and The Golden, I reckon he missed the fifteen years of short fiction by Shepard across magazines and anthologies and in Shepard's own collections. Read a little more.

Shepard is also not in his 60s -- author birthdates are easy to find on the web. Math is harder, I admit, but check your arithmetic.

As for the book, I thought it was stunning. As usual Shepard's prose is poetic and evocative. I can't think of too many other writers working today who have his insight into, and his ability to illumine, basic human emotions. The book isn't sentimental or maudlin as its story might have been in the hands of a lesser writer, instead, it's painful emotional content is earned.

Now, it is true that there are no spaceships (well, maybe not), no ray guns, no cool weapons, no exploding heads. What there is is the story of a man and a woman and a set of circumstances they can't overcome however deeply they love one another. That's enough for me.

While this is depicted as a story about love, it could easily be seen as a repetition of his horror fiction, only sanitised for a more main stream audience (Mr Shepard wouldn't be the first SF writer trying to break into another audience in the winter of his career).

I found it strange to return to Shepard's work after the more prolific early 90s. And it resonates, but in a peculiar fashion, as he is now in his 60s.

This book does show promise and hopefully the next one will be longer, more developed and less slavish to his simplistic depictions of men and women.

I look forward to better things to come.