Introduction to Relativity

Rob Sawyer hit the ground running. One day he hadn’t published a word of science fiction, and (it seemed) the next day he was atop the field, turning out one award-caliber novel after another. I was present at Long Beach when he won his first Best Novel Nebula, and I was applauding him at Toronto when he pulled off the unprecedented double of winning the Hugo for one novel and the Seiun (the Japanese Hugo) for a different one.

But you know all that, or you probably wouldn’t have picked up the book you now hold in your hands. Anyone can tell you about Rob Sawyer the Superstar Writer; I’d like to tell you about the Rob Sawyer I know—the Superstar Fan and Friend.

If Rob has ever refused a request for anything—an autograph, a word of encouragement or advice, a speech, a non-paying fanzine article, a few moments of his increasingly-valuable time to someone he barely knows—it’s not only escaped my notice, but just about everyone else’s. I’ve often said that Robert Bloch is my role model, not as a writer, but as a professional—and especially as a professional who interacts with fans. Rob is simply the Canadian version.

An exceptionally gracious man, when he won his Nebula he thanked me for my help and encouragement—neither of which had anything to do with his success—in his acceptance speech. I still remember turning to Carol with an excrement-eating grin on my face after hearing that and bragging, “I got to hold the hero’s horse!”

And a hero he is. He remains to this day the only winner of the Best Novel Hugo to remember to thank not only his editor and publisher, but his American and Canadian distributors. I mean, hell, we’d all be starving to death without our book distributors, but only Rob ever thought to thank them publicly.

I don’t remember quite when we first met in person—we already knew each other through the internet—but it must have been at a convention in the 1980s or early 1990s, and we’ve been friends ever since. It’s pretty hard not to be Rob’s friend; once you get past being dazzled by his talent, you find yourself equally dazzled by his quick intellect, his wide-ranging knowledge, his humor, and his always good-natured personality.

And I like to think that I had a little something to do with one other bit of dazzling Rob does on occasion—the short story. It’s an unhappy fact that if you want to make a living writing short stories in this field and your name isn’t Ray or Harlan, you’re going to wind up in the poorhouse. So if you have any skill as a novelist, you go where the money is, and if you’re as skilled as Rob, you are contracted many books and many years in advance.

But along with novels, I happen to like writing and editing short stories, and I also happen to know that Rob has an incredibly difficult, almost impossible, time saying No to his friends. So over the years I have frequently asked him to contribute stories to anthologies I was editing, and, being Rob, he has yet to turn me down. Or hand in a story that was anything less than stellar in quality. One of them won an award; others were nominated. When Rob says Yes, it’s never a half-hearted Yes; he gives it his best.

And some of his best are right here in this volume. I’m proud to say I was responsible for a pair of them—”Immortality” and “Relativity.” But there are some other gems that I had nothing to do with (except, like you, to enjoy as a reader), gems like “Come All Ye Faithful” and “On the Surface.” And to show his versatility, Rob has also included a dozen how-to-write columns that he’s done for On Spec—the Canadian equivalent of my “Ask Bwana” columns for Speculations (or maybe my stuff is the American equivalent of Rob’s)—plus a pair of speeches, and a touching tribute to Judy Merril.

I read somewhere that Rob recently made his 200th television appearance, which must be close to a record for anyone not named Isaac; and I know he’s been very active promoting science fiction on radio, too. And when I say promoting, I don’t mean just his own work; he always goes out of his way to find competitors and newcomers to praise and promote. As they say, you can’t pay back (although I wouldn’t mind if he’d loan me $67,084.22 until payday), so you pay forward—and Rob pays those dues about as well and generously as anyone.

And now that I’ve told you a little about Rob Sawyer and a little about what awaits you in the pages up ahead, let me simply point out that this book can be considered Essence of Sawyer: fiction, non-fiction, how-to pieces, tributes, speeches. If you buy it—and why would you be reading this if you weren’t going to buy it?—and Rob is anywhere around, hunt him up and ask him to sign it. I guarantee he’ll be happy to. And if he’s not around, take it with you to the next convention he’ll be attending; you’ll not only get a signature, but you’ll get a chance to meet a real mensch as well.

A mensch? You don’t know?

Well, it means a lot of things. In the Fandango dialect of western Botswana, it means a tuskless elephant with three testicles and a bad attitude. In Barsoomian, it means The Foul Perpetrator of a Fate Worse Than Death. In ancient Egyptian, it means He Who Does Vile Things To Mummies Under Cover of Night.

But where I come from, it means a man’s man and a writer’s writer—in other words, Robert J. Sawyer.