I am writing this post as a memorial to my friend Chris Cornell, who passed away in June. We had arranged for him to write an article about his research for his novel PCH Roadkill. Like Christopher Moore’s fiction, Chris Cornell’s book was a California story written by a Californian for Californians. It was easily my favorite of Chris’ work, even though I am not a Californian, and I regret that none of you will be able to read it, as Chris never had it published. It was a near miss, but it remains a tome in the world’s best secret library.
What is the plot? An alien is marooned in California while struggling to avert a cosmic disaster, and he crosses paths with a California slacker. Together the two of them forge a bond and save the world. It’s a brilliant, gentle buddy novel which shines as it examines the nature of true friendship.
The duo in the novel drive State Highway 1, or the Pacific Coast Highway, which is 659 miles from just under the northern border with Oregon to San Diego. It is a beautiful drive. Gapyear suggests 13 beautiful places along the way. Of note is Hearst Castle, an amazing place. One of Chris’ most recent road trips was to Hearst Castle, and he sent us beautiful pictures of the pools and the architecture. On this road trip you could stop in San Jose and see the Winchester House, see the magnificent scenery of Big Sur, and experience the dynamism of Los Angeles and San Diego. All along the way the ocean will make it hard for you to keep your eyes on the road.
I’ve never experienced the entirely of this trip. I’ve been to San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego. I’ve taken a train from Los Angeles to San Diego and marveled at the beach. California is beautiful country.
PCH Highway is a book that reminds me of all the best pieces of my friend. Although the Fantastic History blog tries to place information historically, I realize this summer has been the end of a part of my own history. Since November of 2015, Chris, George Galuschak, Chia Evers and I have been podcasting steadily at Unreliable Narrators. With Chris’ death, that phase of our life is over. We couldn’t bring ourselves to do it without him, and so we mourn the loss of it, as well as him. I have thought about golden times in my life before, pieces of time I remember very fondly. Unreliable Narrators was an effort of love for us, a chance to put something positive out in the world, especially in the world of the creative, where often rejection is the coin of the realm.
Now that Chris is gone, I feel adrift creatively. Certainly, I have other friends, and new opportunities will open up. But this time, these friends, this project, the way it was, this will never come again. Eventually the podcasts and the site will go away. Already, Chris’ website is gone. At World Con this week, his name will go by on the friends we’ve lost screen. People will gather and drink in his honor. The world moves on, and my life continues. You know you loved someone, truly, when the gap in your life left by them is unstitchable, uncloseable. I will often wonder, for the rest of my days, what Chris would think or do or say in situations. He was a traveling companion, a creative sounding board, a good friend. And more of this longing for his companionable, excellent company, which I can never hold again, this is what the future holds, because now I can only find that companionship in the past.
I miss you, man. I wish you were alive to write this column. I wish I could make jokes with you about the crappiest summer of my life, about the worst time line. But I have your writing and your memory, and I will make that last for my lifetime. I have to let you pass into history, but I’m not going to forget.