Harlan Ellison
Happy Birthday
The complete text of my tribute to Harlan Ellison published in Heavy Metal Magazine.
The first comic I ever read, Chamber of Chills #1 featured “Delusion for a Dragonslayer” adapted by Gerry Conway with art by Syd Shores, from the short story by Harlan Ellison.
It was a bizarre tale of a man who died under a wrecking ball only to find himself reborn as a blond mighty-thewed barbarian who then got tossed off by a beautiful girl who preferred a monster. It utterly baffled me, but it also rocked my world. I read the cover right off the comic, tattered and torn and well-loved like comics should be.
I found Chamber of Chills #1 under the bleachers at school. I was there hiding from the other kids during an assembly, because I was the weird kid who would rather be under the bleachers reading, and I used to get beat up a lot. Which meant I was exactly the sort of kid who would one day fall in love with Harlan Ellison.
When my family moved out of the city, my parents tossed my comics, and I wouldn’t see another comic book for years. But I never forgot that weird story, the barbarian, the wrecking ball, and the monster. I used to have dreams about it. I made drawings. Fan art by little me of Harlan Ellison comics, whose name I could no longer remember as the writer of the story.
A decade later, I found a book on my school library shelf by the “l’enfant terrible of speculative fiction”.
“L’enfant terrible”? I must check out this fellow.
And there it was. That tale that had haunted me for all those years, “Delusion for a Dragonslayer”, in glorious, brutal, beautiful Ellison prose. The creepy story I did not understand now made sense: our hero, a dorky nobody who dies in a tragic accident gets the chance to live the fantasy life he always wanted. But he’s not enough man inside to wear his glorious barbarian meat suit. You need to be worthy of your dreams.
If this lesson doesn’t stick, you’re the sort of person who needs Harlan Ellison.
While still a teenager, still doing fan art and portraits of my idol, I met Harlan, and he bit my head off as Harlan does. And I bit back, which is exactly what you are supposed to do with Harlan. And Harlan was nice to me ever after, mostly, except when he picked at you, like he did. He even picked up the phone and called some guy and threatened to nail his forehead to a wall because that guy wouldn’t leave me alone. Because unlike the dude who died under a wrecking ball, Harlan was worthy.
I don’t know if I was worthy of Harlan. And I have no doubt he meant a lot more to me than I did to him.
He was worthy of my dreams. From day one. From the first comic I ever read.
I love you and I miss you, Harlan.
I remember the year he was a guest at Comic Con. When I approached him about what he planned to do, program-wise, his response was "give me a mic and get out of my way"! Naturally, I agreed to this and he held the audience in the palm of his hands for almost two hours. As he left, I had my copy of The Essential Ellison in my hand. He looked at me and said "I suppose you want me to sign this?" My response was that "Actually, I'm looking for Ray (Bradbury) to sign it. He took the book out my hands and signed it.
Harlan had long been my favorite *living* writer. When that tag no longer fit, I applied it to Alasdair Gray. And then to Paul Auster. And then I finally decided to stop having one and hopefully keep more of my favorites alive!