I just heard. Bram Stoker Award-winning horror author Charlee Jacob has passed away. I haven’t been able to find out much information, but those closest to her have confirmed it’s true. The ews seems to be making its way around the genre fiction community very slowly for some reason, which distresses me. People should know. We’ve lost a true great
As Brian Keene noted in a memorial post on Facebook, Jacob was a pioneer of what we now know as extreme horror and bizarro fiction. Some people look down their noses at such genres, viewing them as nothing but mindless gore or just “weird for the sake of being weird,” but those charges could never be leveled at Jacob. She was a poet as much as anything else, and she brought that sensibility into her prose. There was a lyricism and emotion to her fiction even when it was at its most grotesque. And, no doubt, it often got very grotesque.
It wasn’t just her writing talents that made Jacob special, though, but also her determination to use them despite the not-inconsiderable obstacles in her path. Jacob suffered from Parkinson’s disease, fibromyalgia, and osteoarthritis (which I suspect might have played a role in reducing her prominence in the public eye in recent years). Despite her illnesses, she released somewhere around two dozen books over the course of her career, from novels to short story collections to books of poetry to collaborations with other authors. That’s more than many of us will ever accomplish. What’s more, she was by all accounts a woman of razor wit and unflagging good humor. The stories I’ve heard from those who knew her personally inspire as much laughter as they do tears.
In the coming days, as news gets around, I hope to see many more tributes penned to her, and ones far better than this. She deserves as much.