I love the way William Maxwell wrote. Even now that past tense form, 'wrote,' pains me, ten years after Maxwell's death at 91. I never had the good fortune to meet the man, or even write to him, but I miss him all the same. Anyone who has ever read THEY CAME LIKE SWALLOWS or THE FOLDED LEAF must, I think, feel the same way. In a recent email exchange with a writer friend of mine who was lucky enough to once meet William Maxwell, my friend described him as 'a sweet man.' And there is certainly a sweetness about Maxwell's writing. Other writers who contributed to this tribute note a 'steel' in the man. Sweetness and steel? Yes, probably - and everything that might lie in between too. Read his books and you will see what I mean.

I applaud the editors of this collection of essays: Baxter, Collier and Hirsch. I enjoyed most of them, but some I liked better - the more personal ones, by Richard Bausch, Benjamin Cheever and Alec Wilkinson, and perhaps Shirley Hazzard. I like them precisely because they are more personal in nature. My least favorite essay here is probably the one by Ellen Bryant Voigt - too long, too egg-headed and scholarly. In fact, I think there is, in one of the other essays, a quote from Maxwell: "I hate scholars." Me too. I also especially enjoyed Hirsch's "Portrait of the Artist as an Old Man," particularly the 'some things he said' section. But perhaps my favorite line here came from Richard Bausch when he tried to describe the kind of 'exhilaration' he felt in Maxwell's company, in experiencing the much older man's 'humanity.' He said, "I wish I could explain this better. I simply can't." Richard, you explained it just fine. I so envy you your close association with William Maxwell. He was one of a kind, the like of which may never be seen on this earth again. ( )