He had the gait of a wanderer who could go incredible distances—light years, really—without making a fuss.

Fine European beers were sipped on many afternoons of almost effortless conversation, punctuated by reflective moments of silence as we gathered our wits and reached for new words and fresh thoughts. Karen sat by him, symbiotic; doing embroidery, taking notes, planning trips to other lands for research, laughing and breaking into song at some fond memory of a convention or a filking festival; making sure that receipts were kept and novels were written to reflect the things learned on those journeys, for the tax man’s critical gaze.

Poul’s only enemy, I believe, was the tax man. But if a tax collector had dared show his face at the Anderson door in Orinda, he would have been treated with civility. He might not have been invited to stay or offered a beer, but I think he might have acknowledged having read Poul Anderson…and Poul might have thanked him and wondered what other bitter ironies the Norns had in store.

Poul was a modern skald, heir to the traditions of those who entertained weary Vikings centuries past. He could sing songs sad and happy with equal grace—crack a joke, spin out a yarn, create a wholly convincing world, with no apparent effort. He was an arch-libertarian, yet lived in the gentle and liberal climate of Orinda, near the People’s Republic of Berkeley; reveled in physics and math, yet wrote raucous limericks and rollicking comedies; was a wizard at describing strange aliens, asteroids, and spaceships, yet deft at creating entertaining and convincing human characters...

Some writers you picture sweating and swearing as they plot and compose. Poul I see grinning. This is not to say that Poul’s work is not serious, or that it came easily to him, or that he was not a master craftsman. He was just not the type to self-analyze or complain.

Poul’s first story was published in 1947. His first major fantasy novel was The Broken Sword (1954); the first major science fiction novel, Brain Wave, was published in the same year. (Daughter Astrid also arrived in 1954.) He has since earned more Nebulas, Hugos, and other awards than any mortal fireplace mantle can hold.

As with so many writers in the mid-twentieth century, Poul was mentored by John W. Campbell, Jr., editor of Astounding Science Fiction, later Analog. Poul was not averse to incorporating some of Campbell’s ideas and storytelling prejudices, but more often than not, the result was original, more illustrative of Poul’s talent than Campbell’s philosophy. Their correspondence was long and fruitful. We still have a few letters to Campbell, but unfortunately, a peculiar sense of honor kept Poul from saving Campbell’s replies.

His fiction emphasizes the trials, contradictions, and victories of the competent and thoughtful individual. The long and tortuous travels of characters in history fascinated Poul, and he earned a reputation for mastering tales of time travel and alternate realities. Both wings of Poul’s eagle-span—the fantasy and the science fiction—seem to me superior in both spirit and discipline to most of the fiction of its day.