A few days ago (on Tuesday, June 27th), I lost afriend—Alvin Burstein, who most people called “Al.” By the time I met Al, he wasalready retired from a long career as a clinical psychologist and educator. Imet him in a different capacity when I joined a small, newly begun writinggroup on the Northshore of Lake Pontchartrain, across the lake from NewOrleans. Al and his wife Sandra were early members of that group, whichunderwent quite a few changes before a hardcore cadre of stalwartscoalesced. Al, who was very much a man of literature, suggested we call ourgroup Louisiana Inklings, after a much more famous group of writers, mostnotably including C. S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. Inklings met for many years, initially at a local library oroccasionally a restaurant, and finally at Al and Sandra’s elegant home on theNorthshore. (It continued in somewhat truncated form even after Covid hit.)

Al was a fan of sushi as well as literature, and he and I and Sandra metsometimes outside the group for raw fish, rice, and conversation. Al hadwritten many academic and scholarly articles in his career (here is a link tohis vita), but at this time in his life he’d stoked his fire for fiction. Andhe was a talented and precise wordsmith, but often a playful one, as witnessedby a story of his that I republished in an anthology I edited of the Inklingcrew’s work—“The Crawfish Boil.”

Al was also astute at the critique work of the group.Although his often-blunt commentary occasionally left some hard feelings earlyon, his intent was never to cut but to clarify. His deeply analytical andprobing mind, having been honed by years working as a clinical psychologist, slicedthrough the BS and centered on the heart of the matter—what was the storytrying to say and was it successful at it.

Although Al and my writing styles could scarcely have beenmore different, we both appreciated and respected the other’s work. Alunderstood what I was trying to accomplish and why my characters were describedas they were, and he often made inciteful comments that helped me clarify mythoughts. (He was also great at catching typos.)

Al had quite a long life. His energy seldom faltered; his commitmentto quality in his own work and in that of others never did. Al was also a Francophile and the picture above, taken by Sandra, shows him at the Academie Francaise in Paris. Perhaps the best sample of his literary style can be found in "The Owl," which was published in 2012. A delightful novella.  

Al Burstein was afine man, a fine writer, and a wonderful friend. I’ll miss him.