Judith Merril's legagy

an essay by emily pohl-weary
to introduce Homecalling, an omnibus collection of Merril's short fiction

Judith Merril, my grandmother, seemed to have a love-hate relationship with science fiction. As a young mother living in the late forties, it lured her with the possibility of change, and then swept her right off her feet. She found camaraderie in the community of brilliant young minds questioning the future and the politics of the day. Their rebellious populism felt like home.

For a time, Judy was a bright star on the S.F. literary horizon, content to develop a reputation and learn the ropes of the publishing industry. She worked odd jobs while caring for her young daughter, editing and writing for pulp magazines, before attempting to write her first novel.

Then came the fifties, a strange time in U.S. history, with the post-WWII backlash against working women. Very few women found the support they needed to work their way around social pressures and achieve success in male-dominated professions. Judy, however, seemed to think all doors were made for breaking down.

Within the pool of talent working in New York at the time, her style and energy were unmistakable. Her stories were as powerfully and carefully crafted as any man’s. Where she differed from them was in the subjects she broached: recurring themes like motherhood, trust, sexuality, and gender relations.

Despite professing that for many years, she was the “only smart woman” she knew, Judy took women and girls seriously, at least in her fiction. They were every bit as interesting and determined as the men. This was an anomaly in the overwhelmingly male genre that was mostly content to ignore women or sideline them to supporting roles. Her female characters weren’t helpless or weak

The science fiction community was a haven to Judy for fifteen years, until she became uncomfortably famous. Then she left it behind for good rather suddenly, when she packed up after witnessing the police violence in response to protests at the 1968 Chicago Democratic Convention. She headed north with my mother (Ann Pohl, then 18) to join the draft dodgers and dissenters in “free” Canada.

The Vietnam War fundamentally changed her. Prior to that, science fiction had been a means to an end. She was content to use it to explore real-life events because she had no other alternative. She imagined the future to criticize the atrocities and injustices of the current day. Considering the right-wing fervour of McCarthyism, fiction was the only safe way for her to voice her opinions.

Upon arrival in Toronto, she decided she was living in a free country, and no longer had to couch her political views in fiction. It was a relief to leave the position of power behind, to start fresh in a new city and reinvent herself. Rather than science fiction, I suppose it would be more accurate to say Judy had a love-hate relationship with fame. It made her uncomfortable.

On the one hand, she was always the most impressive personality in a room. She was intense, sensual, wild and whip-smart. She dominated any crowd. On the other hand, her leftist upbringing meant she shied away from positions of power. She didn’t want her word to be considered gospel. She was uncomfortable with the status allotted to people who become icons. She didn’t want to be placed in a box, even if the box was as wide and forgiving as the one called “science fiction writer.”

Unfortunately, she was the kind of woman who inspired people everywhere she went. To this day, when people find out I’m her grandmother, they invariably tell me some incredible story about how they met her once on the street and she said something that changed their lives.

Well, I can relate. She was incredibly charismatic. She inspired me, too, to consider writing a full-time job, take myself seriously, scrutinize my own work with the attentiveness I gave to translated texts (my academic pursuit at the time). She had a way of synthesizing a person’s life and solving deep dilemmas, of pinpointing and reducing them to their most basic elements. And then she would proceed to tell you exactly how to fix them.

Perhaps, through her fiction, she was offering solutions to larger, societal problems. At the very least, her writing -- a great legacy -- displays the same warmth, courage, and brutal precision as she did in person. Enjoy.

When I think of Judy, I see stars. I see a person so singular, and possessed of such strength of spirit that she burned brightly. Of course, those who knew her will remember that she never wore outfits with less than five contrasting colors, that her silver-white hair was left ghost-wild, that she swore freely and yelled and made mischief - just for the hell of it.
--Quote from Pohl-Weary’s introduction to Better to Have Loved: The Life of Judith Merril, by Judith Merril and Pohl-Weary.