"Over uncounted eons the mortal substance strives, outreaches. Death-driven, it flees ever more swiftly before its Enemy until it runs, leaps, soars, into flashing light. But it cannot outrace the fire in its flesh, for the limbs that bear it are Death, and Death is the wing it flies on. In the agony of its myriad members, victorious and dying, Life drives upon the indifferent air . . ." (from She Waits For All Men Born)
Brilliant language, imagination, ideas, nothing slighted. Each story as complete and satisfying as a novel, and a world unto itself. In the hands of a lesser talent perhaps overwrought, but Tiptree is a master of this craft in the tradition of Le Guin and Bradbury, with darker depths but as radiantly visionary and ultimately, as I read her, hopeful. And yes, James is a she. I'm wondering if she chose a male name knowing that women are seldom taken as seriously as men in this genre, and I hope to read her biography to find out.