This is a story you can hear told through all the stations over there by the Drift and just beyond, and if you put a gun to my head I would not swear to you one way or another whether it is a true story, but it is true enough. It will do.

Joanna Russ died a week ago as I write this. Or, to be more accurate: Joanna Russ died a week ago as I struggle to write this. I thought I might collect some of her sentences and frame them with my own as a memorial, but once I started rereading her works, I got stuck. It'll be easy , I told myself. Just find some good passages and proclaim their wonders and note what we've lost in losing Russ and — And easier thought than done.

And still we crossed it in the dark: / Like ships, like mail, like the blind—