Everyone knows by now that MacArthur genius, Octavia Butler, is dead. I should write an enormous post here about how much her work meant to me. About how seamlessly she wove race, gender and power politics into flat-out brilliant science fiction novels. About how she gave the other a voice in a genre that for all its futuristic, utopian vision is painfully white, male, and straight.

I could say all of that in more, but it really boils down to this: I’m really, really angry that I won’t get to read any new Octavia Butler stories. To say I’m very fucking pissed off would be an understatement. She was too young and too damn good to die. Stupid universe.