The name to journey got here from a stranger in July 2020. It was a daily day in that plague yr. Amid the combo of labor emails got here one from an handle I didn’t know however with a topic line that instantly pulled me in: “Charles Saunders.”
Hello Jon, I’m hoping you would possibly know or know concerning the author, Charles Saunders, who lives in Dartmouth, the message opened.
Studying his title conjured up robust pictures of the towering newspaper editor I’d labored with a decade in the past. Constructed like a heavyweight boxer, however he moved like a cat. A genius with phrases and a wealth of writing knowledge, Charles was the senior editor on the Halifax Day by day Information and had written an iconic column on Black points. The Day by day Information was a scrappy newspaper that broke a couple of noses in our metropolis. Politicians feared us and common people cheered us.
I’d began working there as a night-shift copy editor in 2006. One colleague mentioned engaged on the information rim was like doing all your homework with associates late at night time. We’d fall right into a studious silence as we cleaned up the writing, checked the information, and crafted the headlines, then burst into laughter when somebody—sometimes Charles—made a pun too impolite to publish however too pleasant to not share.
Usually, because the laughter pale, one in all us would look over to the centre of the rim, the place Charles sat together with his again to us, going through the harbour window, to ask him if we’d by chance cut up an infinitive, solely to seek out his empty chair spinning. He’d disappeared as soon as extra.
Individuals would work with Charles for years earlier than listening to a hearsay that he hadn’t at all times been a Canadian.
However Charles at all times popped up once more to separate the lips of the fats cats who ran the town with a blistering editorial that put their foolishness in plain English. He beloved Canada, beloved writing—and was effectively beloved by his adopted residence. Individuals would work with Charles for years earlier than listening to a hearsay that he hadn’t at all times been a Canadian, that he’d began life elsewhere—in America, if you happen to might consider it—however had moved north a long time in the past.
Charles had been a legend however, like all of us on the Day by day, took a knock-out blow on February 11, 2008, when the fats cats bought the final snigger. The world Charles and I shared blew aside that day, and it ended our work friendship. Our newspaper had been purchased by a media chain, then bought, then bought once more. We tried to disregard the most recent new homeowners and their plans to “flip this ship round.” We journalists dreaded to assume what they meant by that. We have been already crusing on open waters. Did they see an iceberg they wished to hit?
Normally, the latest homeowners quickly forgot about their little east coast tabloid. We preferred it that manner. However the individuals who purchased us that final time didn’t neglect about us. They saved sending in smiling professionals in effective fits who talked concerning the future and the way higher days have been forward for our newspaper. We saved quiet. Our higher days would start as quickly as they left.
However they didn’t go away. As an alternative, a couple of months into the large turnaround, they ordered employees to assemble on a Monday morning. We fashioned a scrum across the slick big-city go well with they’d flown in from Montreal to show us methods to do our jobs. He’d promised us sunlit uplands however now stood earlier than us with a frozen face. You may’t BS a room filled with journalists, so we stared at him coldly. He advised us it was over. The most recent new homeowners had pulled the plug. We have been all fired. The newspaper was useless.
It was about then that we observed the grey-suited sympathetic smilers lurking within the corners of the newsroom. They advised us layoffs have been onerous, however they might educate us about our severance packages. After which they might escort us off the property.
A pointless rage constructed up within the disbanded information corps. We have been tempted to burn the place down. As an alternative, we gathered our notebooks and household images and have been escorted out. Someway reporters from our rival newspaper, the stately Chronicle Herald, discovered what was taking place, and their photographers shot a few us as we got here down the entrance steps of our constructing one final time. It was humiliating—we couldn’t even break the information of our personal demise.
Within the drunken bacchanalia that adopted, lots of our reporters, photographers, and editors left Halifax for jobs out west or within the States. We partied to have a good time their leaving. Others gave us a shiver up the backbone once they took jobs on the Darkish Facet—working in public relations. We roasted them, bought drunk, and hoped we wouldn’t be subsequent. Most of us moved on. A smaller group stayed alive as freelance journalists or bought informal work in different newsrooms.
Journalism is a loopy profession that appears principally to wish to go away you broke and disillusioned, however we most well-liked that to the life-draining success of a daily job. Getting paid seemed loads like promoting out.
I assumed again to these chaotic after days. I’m positive Charles was invited to all of the farewell events, however I by no means noticed him flip up, besides as soon as. It was a small, sober gathering of the remainders of the information rim. These of us who had sat like associates doing their homework at night time. It was the very best honour for our departing colleague to have Charles have a good time him in flesh and blood. We didn’t ask Charles what was subsequent for him; we didn’t ask that of ourselves in these days.
I’d stayed within the metropolis, stayed in journalism, hanging on by my fingernails. Charles . . . what had occurred to Charles? I might recall seeing him no less than as soon as within the decade since our newspaper shut—or possibly twice. I’d heard folks point out his title extra usually, particularly on the annual February Deathiversary we threw for our fallen newspaper. What was the very last thing I’d heard about him?
And, come to consider it, why was this particular person writing to me about Charles? I couldn’t think about how somebody I didn’t know would know I knew Charles. I learn on.
The final time I used to be in Halifax (a couple of years in the past now), Charles marched me right into a bookshop and insisted I purchase The Hermit of Africville. I used to be glad he did and I’m glad you wrote it. Thanks for doing that.
I used to be absurdly happy to obtain Charles’s reward second-hand. And I remembered that was one of many occasions I’d seen him after the newspaper closed—in Africville, in 2010, for the launch of my biography of the legendary civil rights protester Eddie Carvery.
I turned again to the message.
A longtime pal, I haven’t heard from Charles since early March, nor has one other longtime pal who takes care of his web site. We’d very very similar to to have assurance he’s OK, the author continued.
He’s although a really non-public particular person and we search to be very discreet in any inquiry, actually not have consideration drawn to him in any manner. Do you by likelihood see or hear something of Charles lately? And if perchance you’re in contact with him, might you let him know we’d be glad to listen to from him when it’s handy? Thanks.
I’m sorry to hassle you however these are unusual occasions when associates all over the place are searching for one another. Thanks, Jon. We’d be very grateful for something you would possibly be capable to inform us.
Due to the pandemic, even wholesome younger extroverts have been spending twenty-four hours a day inside and alone in the event that they lived alone. Charles had at all times lived alone, so long as I had identified him, and didn’t look like the type of man to submit upbeat messages on social media, as he was locked down on the within too. I suspected he had mountains of books to maintain him firm, together with a couple of he’d written himself. In reality, I used to be glad for the chance to barge into his life.
He was our Gandalf, pulling himself out of distant realms and returning to our mundane earth to affix us for a drink.
Each time we gathered for the Deathiversary, my eyes saved monitoring to the pub door, hoping to see it push open to disclose large Charles, his dignified face surrounded by a lion’s mane of hair and beard that appeared of 1 material. He was our Gandalf, pulling himself out of distant realms and returning to our mundane earth to affix us for a drink and to deal with us to his firm. And, like Gandalf, simply once you thought he was gone perpetually this time, he’d flip up—within the flesh or on paper. He hadn’t appeared in my life for much too lengthy. I made a decision on the spot I would seem in his.
Thanks for writing, I typed. I’ve lengthy admired Charles as an individual and a author and am honoured to listen to he beneficial my e book to you. We labored collectively on a newspaper and I realized loads from him.
I’ve not heard something from him just lately. His Fb web page appears energetic, however I don’t see any feedback from Charles. I’m quietly asking round. I agree with you that he’s a really non-public man and I’ll strive to not barge into his life, if he’s merely wishing to be out of contact now. I’ll replace you after I know extra.
I signed off, despatched it, and went again on-line.
I wrote Charles a pair of messages by e mail and social media. I attempted as many mutual associates as I might consider—principally journalists from our days on the Day by day Information. The solutions all sounded the identical, like some coded message: No, I haven’t heard from Charles shortly, however I’m not apprehensive as a result of he usually drops out for weeks or months. My outdated colleague had changed into fairly a recluse, I spotted. Everybody thought it was simply them. All of us cherished Charles. He could solely have lived throughout the harbour from most of us, however he might flip that water into an unlimited ocean, and even emails, travelling close to the pace of sunshine, might take months to achieve him.
Charles didn’t write again to me. I thought-about heading over to his home and knocking on his door. As quickly as I assumed that, “11 Primrose Road, Dartmouth” popped into my head. That was bizarre. Why did I do know the place Charles lived? I’d by no means been to his home. In reality, I’d by no means heard of anybody going to his home. Possibly I’d pushed him residence one night time after work? We edited the newspaper till midnight on days with late-breaking information—again once you really needed to cease the presses to get the drunk-driving politician on the entrance web page—and typically the final bus had already gone. Possibly that was it. I had a sporty Toyota Yaris in these days. I smiled, attempting to examine Charles squeezing into the little hatchback, however couldn’t discover the reminiscence file.
His three-storey residence constructing sat simply off a significant highway that related my residence to his residence and each of us to downtown Dartmouth, so I drove by it. No signal of him. No signal of anybody, actually. Nova Scotia was below a state of emergency, and we had been ordered to “keep the blazes residence,” as our premier put it. Police had been handing out massive fines to folks caught strolling in a park or in an residence constructing that wasn’t their residence. I practically satisfied myself to interrupt all of the COVID-19 guidelines and knock on his door. However turning up on Charles like that, unannounced and nosy within the quiet of quarantine? That appeared incorrect.
So far as I knew, Charles was related to the surface world on-line and by cellphone and was selecting not to answer me or others. And I suppose I apprehensive that if I did barge in on Charles, he would possibly vanish from my life altogether. I’d moderately have him as an expensive outdated pal I by no means noticed than a former pal I ran into. I drove residence.
When all of the Halifax connections turned up nothing, I went to work as a journalist. Looking his title took me to CharlesSaundersWriter.com, which redirected me to DifferentDrumming.com. The touchdown web page proclaimed it to be the house of Charles R. Saunders, creator of sword and soul. The web page confirmed a portray of a pensive man with an historical look about him, balancing a spear on his shoulders as daylight drifts into his cave.
I used to be instantly struck by the message that accompanied it. “Welcome to my new Web site and Weblog, each of which I’m calling Issues Fall Collectively. This designation is a tribute to the title of the Nigerian creator Chinua Achebe’s basic novel, Issues Fall Aside. And, certainly, issues usually do collapse and shatter, as a have a look at any day’s newspaper headlines will inform you. However typically, issues fall collectively and join, or maybe interlock. I’m hoping that on this website, there can be some interlocking, at the same time as issues are sure to fall the place they’ll.”
Huh.
Charles wrote that his outdated web site targeted on the fantasy style, which he’d been writing because the Seventies. That stunned me, however then I remembered a second from my stint on the Day by day Information. I used to be engaged on my first novel, and sooner or later, Charles gave me a signed copy of Imaro. I might nonetheless image the quilt: a Black warrior wielding a blood-dipped sword, roaring triumphant over a mountain of males and lions. After I learn it, I beloved it, though I didn’t totally know what to make of it, and I might later be taught my white mind had missed half the story.
He warned his web site would include “shameless self-promotion . . . is there actually every other form?” And he promised his new platform would host critiques and essays about fantasy writing, plus his ideas about present affairs and “(gulp)” politics. “One of the gratifying facets of my earlier website was the interplay and suggestions generated within the discussion board part. I would really like that alternate of ideas and opinions to proceed,” he wrote. “So please be happy to touch upon what you learn on this website. And let’s hope that because the world progresses, issues fall collectively and never aside.”
His web site and social media led to an internet of associates, collaborators, and followers throughout Canada and the US. I tracked them down, and one after the other, the replies returned to me: No, I haven’t heard from Charles shortly, however that’s no trigger for concern. He does drop out.
These of us in Canada didn’t find out about his American fantasy publications, and I found that individuals in America knew little of his Canadian journalism. I saved digging. I pictured myself sitting down with Charles post-pandemic and telling him all I’d realized about him. I had so many questions. Why did dozens of individuals assume they have been his solely pal on the planet? As July changed into August, and the virus turned day by day into Covid the nineteenth, I bought again to that authentic message that had began my journey into the extraordinary internal world of Charles R. Saunders.
I answered the decision to journey with a no. No, I hadn’t been capable of attain Charles straight, however no, he wasn’t in bother. Everybody appeared to assume he was effective, enduring the lockdown in his personal manner. One particular person had spoken to him in March, and all had been effectively with him then. So, we assumed all was effectively with him now. The author thanked me, and we promised to remain in contact.
A few weeks handed earlier than I heard from her once more. She carried devastating information: Charles was useless. He’d been useless the entire time I used to be in search of him. He’d died alone.
The grim tidings have been drummed throughout North America, Europe, and past, proclaiming the information: He’s useless. All of us have been already caught within the pandemic’s cobweb of grief, and the brutal lack of our pal ripped hearts open. I spoke to a number of of his associates and readers and ready to jot down an obituary for the CBC, Canada’s nationwide information group and my employer. I spotted a really unusual factor: few of the People had ever met Charles in particular person. Most had by no means heard his voice nor seen him in movement. Only some pixelated images, letters, and, later, emails.
Practically everybody thought they have been the one particular person Charles saved in contact with.
I knew he’d left America sooner or later, however I hadn’t realized he’d stayed up north with us for the remainder of his life. It appeared he’d solely returned to America as soon as in his fifty-year exile—for the funeral of his mom. I might later be taught I used to be incorrect about that too.
I spoke to Milton Davis, Charles’s writer in later years, and to Taaq Kirksey, a younger man decided to carry Imaro, the hero of Nyumbani and the king of Charles’s writing coronary heart, to the display. Mates from the Halifax Day by day Information shared reminiscences of Charles—and uncommon images. I had the uncanny sense that I’d been drawn into the centre of an internet that Charles had been fastidiously weaving for many years.
Individuals emailed me to inform me they’d gone to Lincoln College with Charles within the Nineteen Sixties and have been saddened to listen to about his lonely dying. I heard from individuals who knew him effectively in Ontario, when he’d first moved to Canada, and who had saved in contact with him through the years. And I heard from his followers all over the world who questioned what we might do for his legacy. Practically everybody thought they have been the one particular person Charles saved in contact with, and plenty of felt that burden closely and did their greatest to regulate Charles, usually from a distance.
After studying about his dying, folks wrote a couple of semi-mythical man who had created a fantasy world that freed them in actuality. Nyumbani, his different Africa, had turn out to be their residence. All of us swim on our internal oceans, finding out the horizons for somebody who sees us and craving to be seen. Charles noticed folks and, by his writing, they noticed themselves.
Charles R. Saunders was a pioneer of Black speculative fiction, whose work continues to encourage and amaze. His groundbreaking tales and insightful essays have left an everlasting legacy, shaping the panorama of the style, and paving the way in which for future generations of writers. —Sheree Renée Thomas, creator
Excerpted from To Go away a Warrior Behind: The Life and Tales of Charles R. Saunders, the Man Who Rewrote Fantasy by Jon Tattrie. Copyright © 2026 Jon Tattrie. Revealed by McClelland & Stewart, a division of Penguin Random Home Canada Restricted. Reproduced by association with the writer. All rights reserved.
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