Meyer Memory Book
Amanda Meyer - Memory Book
If you would like to contribute memories or condolences to the family of Amanda Meyer, use the Memory Book Submission form, or email Nancy Wilson at nancywilson@txstate.edu.
Amanda was my advisee, when she wrote her MA thesis that explored the philosophical connections between Eastern and Western science fiction traditions (2013). She was also a student in three of my graduate classes, and then a colleague. I can say a lot about her: about her dedication towards learning, about her sharp intellect, about her unique background and interest in Indian philosophy, about her hard work as a colleague, about her excitement when she met Vandana Singh (about whom she wrote in her thesis) at a conference, about the beautiful chess set she gave me, with which Jon Marc and I tried conducting a long running game, and Amanda’s amusement at hearing about our futile effort. But the thing that I cherish the most about Amanda is her gentleness. I never heard her speak a single unkind word about another person. She is one of the gentlest and sweetest persons I have ever met. Although we haven’t had an extended conversation in the recent months, that possibility always lurked as I saw her smiling face around the corners of Flowers Hall every week. Until today.
Suparno
This is an excerpt from Dr. Robert T. Tally Jr.'s letter recommending Amanda Meyer for Outstanding Graduate Student in English Award, which she won.
"In Spring 2012, Amanda took my course on the novels of Kurt Vonnegut. In that class, we read 13 novels, one per week, covering nearly the entirety of Vonnegut’s career (omitting just one novel). Amanda gave a detailed presentation on Vonnegut’s 1963 novel, Cat’s Cradle, focusing especially on Vonnegut’s invented folk-religion, Bokononism, and its relations to Hinduism and other Eastern philosophies. For her final paper, Amanda wrote on The Sirens of Titan, which is perhaps Vonnegut’s most overtly science fictional work, with interplanetary space travel, alien robots, a Martian invasion, and another made-up religion, the “Church of God the Utterly Indifferent.” Yet, as Amanda argued, despite the sci-fi trappings, Sirens becomes one of Vonnegut’s more straightforwardly hopeful and healthy stories, discarding his cynicism or pessimism for a simple message of love and understanding. In this, Amanda has participated in the recent re-evaluation of the 1959 novel among Vonnegut scholars.
I have also had the opportunity to work with Amanda as a member of her M.A. thesis committee. Her thesis examines key works of twentieth-century science fiction, read in connection with religious thought (particularly with respect to Eastern traditions, including Taoism and Hinduism). Amanda argues that several ostensibly dystopian works of science fiction—particularly Le Guin’s The Lathe of Heaven, Dick’s The Man in the High Castle, and The Matrix trilogy of films—disclose a new sort of “advaitan utopia,” akin to an ideal state envisioned in the non-dualistic thinking of Eastern philosophies.
On a more personal level, I have had occasion to meet with Amanda informally to discuss literature, literary theory, film and cultural studies, and graduate school more generally. Amanda has tremendous levels of intellectual curiosity. She is already interfering with my own work by recalling from the library books I had checked out, but this is a most welcome inconvenience; I am excited to have a graduate student whose interests and energies impel her toward often difficult material by leading scholars in her field."
I told Amanda once that she had a direct pipeline to heaven. I guess that was just my fancy way of saying she was the kindest, most warm-hearted and awesome person I knew – a genuine angel disguised as a human being.
I am so incredibly lucky that Amanda trusted me and blessed me with her friendship over these past years. I loved her spirituality, her honesty, her open heart. I loved everything about her – who she was and what she stood for. Amanda wasn’t overly guarded and consumed with hiding what she perceived as her challenges or problems in the way that pretty much everyone else is. She was too pure-hearted for that.
Towards the end of last semester we met up for coffee just to talk about work and life, just to catch up as friends. It was such a fun, wonderful time. While sitting in the coffee shop with her, I remember thinking how it felt like we’d been friends for decades and decades. I remember thinking how happy that made me, and I remember thinking this is truly a friend for life. That day, when I dropped her off at her house, we spoke for a few minutes in my car before saying good-bye. I remember telling Amanda to give herself the same amount of amazing kindness she bestows on all others. I held out my hand and we gave each other a kind of half high-five, half handshake (which we actually pulled off in a very cool, non-dorky way, if I may say so myself). It was a gesture of pure friendship. Then we said good-bye, and Amanda went inside her house. That was the last time I saw her.
When I spoke to her on the phone several weeks ago (right before social distancing went into effect) we made plans to meet up during Spring Break. She sounded incredibly bright and cheerful, full of enthusiasm for life. She sounded happy. She sounded like the Amanda Meyer I’ve always known. During that conversation she expressed appreciation for being able to confide in me about certain personal things and I expressed my awe at her fearlessness, which she so delightfully and modestly brushed aside, as was her way.
I could go on, but, at this time at least, I don’t think my heart could take it. These are just a couple of my recent memories. In thinking about them, though, what’s clear to me is that every moment I shared with Amanda was a memorable moment, a precious moment, because it was a moment with her.
Amanda will always be connected to all things that are good and true and beautiful. And I know, just as surely, that while she was here on earth she brought the heaven of true loving-kindness with her wherever she went. I will never forget her friendship. I love her and miss her more than I can ever say.
- Richard Robertson
It is painful to learn that my colleague and former classmate Amanda Meyer died yesterday evening. She was a good friend and an honest person. Easily one of the most positive and luminous people I have met. Amanda was also the first to sing the praises of a professor who would later become one of my mentors. I cannot count how many times a former student of hers told me how great she was in the classroom.
She was friendly and generous but also challenging, in the best possible sense. (She would call me out, is what I’m saying, and I’m grateful for that.) I can remember a few of our conversations quite clearly. Amanda left a mark on me and that’s not something I needed her death to teach me. I could have said that yesterday.
This picture is one I took of Amanda at the old Texas State Writing Center, where we worked together. Camera filters were new then and I was experimenting with a new app and she happily volunteered to pose for a few pictures, even though we didn’t know each other very well at that point.
From Ben Reed
“Agreed. It’s surreal, girl!”
These were the last words Amanda texted me two days before her death. She was responding to my text about the effect of Covid-19 on all of our lives. When I received the news that Amanda left this world, I kept thinking the same thing she wrote in that text—it’s surreal.
Since then, I have spent a lot of time reliving memories I have with Amanda. I first met her in the summer of 2011 when I helped interview her to work at the University Writing Center. She was clearly smart, but even more importantly for a potential writing consultant, it was evident that she was caring.
From the start, I felt as though I had somehow always known her. Excuse the woo, but Amanda and I were members of the same soul tribe. We had a sort of instant shorthand, and she was like a little sister to me. Even though there was a large gap between our ages and we had lived very different lives, we had a lot in common. We bonded over discussions about literature, alternative medicine, food, spirituality, and romantic relationships. Amanda was always deeply concerned about doing the right thing in every professional and personal role in her life, and over the years, I was happy to be her sounding board. And she did the same for me.
Indeed, Amanda was incredibly generous. She was there for me emotionally and practically through some dark times. Just one of the many ways she did this was by bringing so much laughter into my life. She had a great sense of humor, but I think what I loved about her the most was her honesty, which was often so beautifully blunt that I just had to laugh.
Amanda once asked me, “Why do you wear so much black?” I told her that I thought I looked good in it. She said, “Well, you don’t!” Then we both erupted into laughter, the kind that brings tears and lasts so long that it hurts in such a good way. That memory will bring me joy for the rest of my life. As I shared with Amanda once, because of her, I wear so much less black, and I mean that in every way possible. -Keri Fitzgerald
Amanda and I became friends in grad school and later ended up sharing an office in Flowers Hall for a few years. It was located down at the end of the mezzanine floor, not the easiest spot to find, but in spite of this awkward placement, Amanda’s students consistently went the extra mile to visit her during her office hours. It was a joy to watch her interact with them. Whether they were coming by to address a writing difficulty or just to say hello—which they often did—Amanda’s kind and easygoing rapport always left her visitors recharged and better equipped as students and as human beings. That was the Amanda effect - she had a way of imparting positivity and light to everyone she crossed paths with. I'm grateful that I got to work closely alongside such a generous person and will miss her immeasurably. -Graeme Mullen
During my 16 years as English Graduate Director, I was fortunate to have several fine program assistants, but I was never luckier than I was when Amanda took that position in 2012. She was not only completely efficient and professional, but she brought extraordinary levels of enthusiasm and empathy to the position. She brightened the day of every one of the many graduate students who passed through her office, as well as my day. I could not have asked for a better colleague. Amanda was as full of life as anyone I have ever known, so I can’t believe she’s gone. I’ll never forget her.
Dr. Paul Cohen
Many in the department might know Amanda for her kindness and dedication to teaching, but I also know her as one of the few people who influenced my decision to go to grad school, apply to the IA and TA positions, and become a lecturer. In 2012, I was in a world literature class in which Amanda was an IA. As the point of contact for the students, she was always so supportive of me as a non-traditional, reformed “bad student.” I was both overzealous and apprehensive about my work having not been in a college classroom in over 10 years. Amanda always put me at easy and made me feel like I was meant to be there. It was during this class that I started to consider going to grad school, and Amanda’s thoughtfulness and encouragement made me think it was something I could accomplish.
Of course, as time went on, she became a lecturer and I got busy in the grad program and assisting in and teaching classes. I didn’t see much of her because of our busy schedules and being buried in grading. When I became a lecturer in 2016, however, I distinctly remember running into her in the hallway and being proud to be counted in the same company as she. Over the past few years, when walking to my office, I would see Amanda through the window of her office chatting with a student or working, and every time I did it would make me smile. Her kind and bright spirit was infectious. It’s no wonder I wanted to be like her.
The void that her absence will leave will be palpable for all of us in the department as well as for all of her students. For me, the days will be a little bit darker. But I’ll imagine her in her office and smile in remembrance at the light that she embodied and the influence her spirit had on me and so many others. -Shannon Shaw
Although I did not know Amanda well, I knew her for many years through her various roles in the department. From our occasional conversations and hallway meetings, I remember her as a dedicated, centered person who had come to terms with her illness and was happy to do whatever she could for her students. Like all colleagues and staff in the department, I will miss her warm greetings and smile, and as department chair during most of her time as a faculty member, I know her students past and present will keep her in their memory as a kind and generous teacher. -Dan Lochman
I met Amanda in 2011. We were both in our first year of graduate school at Texas State. Immediately, she struck me as a "good one." Coming into a graduate program, you're looking for friends and there are times you encounter a lot of ego and not the most positive of attitudes. Amanda radiated positivity and warmth. We shared an IA office briefly, and I was always so happy when I walked in and she was there. The day suddenly seemed lighter. I was always happy to be around her.
I remember in the first summer we had as graduate students, I guess we were on campus the same days of the week because we started a little ritual. Amanda, myself, and Jeremy Garrett would meet up once a week to play pool and go on little local adventures. We had such simple, fun times, and I always looked forward to them. One time, we went to the river together. I was swimming in the water, and I looked up to see Amanda, standing and balancing perfectly on a tree limb hanging out over the water, like it was nothing. She looked perfectly comfortable, and perfectly at peace. It still makes me smile to think of it. I will miss her terribly. -Sean Rose