
Robert Jordan, author of the Wheel Of Time series, is dead.
I woke up to a text message from my good friend Nana (who works as a news reader in 99.5 Hit FM) relaying the sad news of his demise. It happened a few hours ago in his home state of South Carolina.


It was the first time I read a fantasy book and the first time I read a book that had more than 300 pages. Up until then, I only read paperbacks. Particularly, the Hardy Boys Casefiles, which I started reading after a former neighbor of ours gave me volume 27 of its 90s incarnation for my birthday. This was back in 1991 or 1992, I think, when I was in grade 7.
I don't remember being exceptionally fond of those neighbors of ours, but I do thank them for introducing me to reading. I instantly embraced it as my new hobby and regretted not starting earlier. As a child, I was the kind who was more addicted to drawing and coloring and doing activity books. It wasn't even until after college that I got to read C.S. Lewis.

Jayson, my other high school best friend, used to say that among his favorite things in the world is the smell of new books. Now that I think about it, the earthy, woody smell of books' pages has come to remind me of those days when time was entirely my own, when there was joy to be had in the simple act of walking down bookstore aisles, and I could lose myself to a 100-page book without the guilt that I was trading my time off in favor something more important. Nowadays, there are times when reading becomes a chore, and even bookstore visits have to be rushed.



Robert Jordan's books represent my adolescence in more ways than one. It must be because we were introduced while I was in puberty, when my identity was being molded and I was just starting to focus on myself. Jordan's world became an escape from high school insecurities. It was also the first time that I thought of myself as a serious reader. His books influenced my vocabulary and writing style. They expanded my imagination and threshold for books. When I went to college, his books were among the things with which new friends came to associate me. It was also one of the tokens from high school I was able to carry on to college, and beyond. It is always an engaging conversation piece with friends who share the same passion, and I always feel an affinity to new acquaintances when I find out that they, too, follow the Wheel Of Time.
I'm not versed enough in the fantasy genre to say that Robert Jordan is the best there was (heck, I have yet to read Tolkien's Lord of The Rings!). But he is a favorite. After all, I have been engrossed by his books and characters the longest (my first web-based email address, which I got when I was in first year college, was Raz_alThor@yahoo.com, in honor of Rand, his books' hero). I think it's the epic proportions of Jordan's novels that keeps me devoted. Rowling's Potter books, much as I looove them, sometimes come off too simple, patently contrived, and at times amateurish compared to the rich texture of Jordan's world. It helped that Jordan was very detailed. Some loathe that in books, but I've come to enjoy them. The span of the story, wealth of characters, intricacy of its world, the history and parallelism to real life politics; the way his characters leap out of the pages as if they're real people, leading real lives, albeit in an alternate, fantastical world. There were even times when I deliberately kept myself from reading his books, afraid there'd be no more left to peruse after the final page. And now, that time has come.
I always feared the day when death would get the best of Jordan and leave us, his readers, in perpetual anticipation of how his epic story would end. (I couldn't help it. He has pictures at the back of his books and he really looked old). Today, that fear has materialized. I can only hope someone as competent would pick up the threads and keep alive the brand of literature we have come to expect from this extraordinary man.
Cheers to Robert Jordan. Let the Dragon ride again on the winds of time.
