There are many obituaries for Tom Disch now appearing around the world, several of them in mainstream newspapers. The one that I have been waiting for is in The Independent. As an encyclopedist, John Clute is often called upon to write obituaries, but seldom are they quite as personal as this one. The various dramas that affected Tom’s life, and which eventually led him to end it, were partly known to me because, on my various visits to their house, John and Judith would occasionally talk about how worried they were about Tom. They had, of course, known him for many years, and John’s obituary elegantly illuminates both Tom’s life and his reasons for leaving us. It also gives a rare insight into a man who is known as a friend, not just as a writer:

During these years, he grew into himself physically, both in mass, as he became heavy, but also in gravitas, as his presence became formidable. Tall and bald, he would bear down, colossus-like, upon his visitor, and though his voice was flute-high, he spoke in passages of such pith and wry sapience that a seminar seemed in the offing. But almost always this would change into hilarity. To him everything that humans did about things that mattered – from God to sex, from the Pope to the sestina – was ultimately silly. The heart of Tom Disch in person, gossiping profoundly about the world and its makings, was glee.

It can’t be easy – writing an obituary for a friend. I guess I’ll have to do one sometime soon. I hope I can at least manage half as good a job as Clute has done for Tom.