All That You Touch, You Change-Octavia E. Butler

All that you touch
You Change.

All that you Change
Changes you.

The only lasting truth
Is Change.

These are the opening words to Octavia E. Butler’s novel Parable of the Sower. They were the words that pulled me into the fantastic tale of fear, hopelessness and where one girl’s ability to empathize, could lead to her own demise.

Parable of the Sower was the first book I had ever read by the writer. I found it along with all of the extra copies of books on Publishers Group West/ Seven Stories Press shelves. I loved reading and it was easy to snatch up any of the two-dozen or so extra copies of novels published and distributed in the office where I worked as a Sales Assistant.

This book is not for the weak. It is also not a book to read before turning in. In the first few chapters we meet the narrator who is a teenager in the year 2024 in a world where the price of water cost more than gasoline, people ride shotgun on bicycles in groups for safety and a drug called pyro makes gangs of growing addicts crazy enough to set everything and everyone on fire. It is a dystopia about the day when the walled community of struggling Californians is broken into by a world gone mad. The world on the outside is one that so close to the real world that I’ve taken notes from it on survival skills.

This morning I awoke to hear the news that Octava E. Butler died this weekend. The details of the cause of her death were not abundant on Democracy Now. I was shattered upon hearing that another sister, someone I admired and who’s work I enjoyed has gone on. She was a pioneer in the field of speculative fiction being one of the only Black and female writers to journey into far away places where race, gender, class and politics were the vines running through her stories. She led me to read other stories like The Handmaiden’s Tale and The Gilda Stories.

I met her once. I had taken a week off from work to attend the Yari *Yari Pamberi International Conference on Black Women Writers in 2004. She was talking with Jewelle Gomez near the stack of books I was grazing over. I stood a little ways from them not wanting to intrude and not waiting to ask for an autograph, but just giving all the body language that I wanted to talk with them. They were disguising the lack of control over the cover or their books. I heard Octavia say “It’s so hard to find a good illustrator these days.” I said hello and gave each of the ladies a booklet. “If you are looking for an illustrator the contact information is on the back.” I told them the poetry was mine, but that the illustrator was my husband. They flipped through the book. They were interested in the work. They complimented his work. I was just pleased to be invited into their warm air. We exchanged other pleasantries. Jewelle Gomez complimented me on my glasses. We exchanged other pleasantries and went our separate ways. I told myself to hang on to that air.

I called my husband later to say thanks again. I had asked him to make up some cards. Instead he made mini samples of the book we were working on. The book contained 6 illustrated poems.

I imagine our small booklet among her things. I remember the sound of her voice. Her name is well chosen. For it is the deep octave of her voice that I will hear in my ear. It encourages me to continue to do what I love.

I got a call from Cave Canem today. Cave Canem offers workshops to black poets. It is the chance to study with accomplished African American poets and teachers. The person calling wanted to know which workshop I was applying for. I was impressed that someone called to ask me a question. Maybe my work was worthy of a phone call.

I don’t want to add another photo to my alter of writers and poets and fighters, but if I have to, Octavia you're in good company.

*Yari Yari means “the future” in Kuranko language of Sierra Leone. Pamberi is “forward” in the Shona language of Zimbabwe