(no subject)
I was in 6th grade. For Christmas that year, my brother gave me one of the most amazing gifts he's ever given me. It was a doorway to a deeper understanding of literature, of imagination, of beauty and horror in the world.
It was a collection of (at that time) the short stories of Ray Bradbury.
I was reading at a fairly advanced level, of course. But Bradbury was something new. I read the short story Kaleidoscope, about a doomed man, coming to grips with his own mortality, while speaking with other doomed men. About a man who transforms into a small child's wish. And my life was changed. I devoured story after story. The woman who, terrified of the mummies in the tourist attraction, soon becomes one herself. The child who is bullied into missing the one day of summer of her entire childhood. The men trapped miles from shelter, with unending rain, slowly losing their minds. The deep, unspeakable loneliness of a sea creature older than mankind by untold millennia. An automated house enacting empty rituals for a family which is no longer there. A whole life experienced in just a few short days on a distant planetary colony. The strangeness of the Family and Uncle Einar.
When I was younger -- probably 7 or 8 at oldest -- I had seen the movie-version of the Illustrated Man on some Sunday afternoon TV show. I remember being hypnotized, yet terrified, by the parents torn apart by the holographic lions in their children's nursery. And when I read the Illustrated Man as its own collection, instead of picking my way through the amazing book Todd had given me, I recognized the tales, but Bradbury's telling in text came alive for me so much more than the movie had. The Martian Chronicles followed, required reading in my 7th grade English class. But I loved it. Fahrenheit 451 came much later -- I was already dating Michelle before I sat down to read it. But read it I did, and in a single sitting. Something Wicked This Way Comes was a different experience -- read in small bits, here and there, like sipping on tea... or dandelion wine.
Bradbury showed me what storytelling could be. Deeply personal. Beautiful and horrifying. Nostalgic and forward-thinking simultaneously. Reading Bradbury was always a warm experience... familiar and warm, even when the story could be frightening or disturbing. He wrote somewhere between prose and poetry; he did not tell stories, but painted them with a medium of words which came alive as you read them.
Whenever I read Edgar Allen Poe to students, I always finish with Usher II from the Martian Chronicles. I read it aloud to students, because Bradbury is, in my mind, more enjoyable when you hear the language, when the words flow off the page and into your ear to coil through your brain and paint the beautiful pictures there.
Late yesterday, Ray Bradbury left us. Today, the world is a little more empty. There will be no more stories which his brilliant mind puts to paper. No more Bradbury paintings in the medium of words. And that saddens me.
But his immense volume of work continues to inspire me, as a writer, as a teacher, as a human being. He opened my eyes to what is possible, and he encouraged me to look forward while never forgetting my roots. For that, he has my thanks. And any time I read his stories, I will feel that same warm comfort I have always felt through his works.
He said that it was a carnival sideshow act which inspired him to write. "Mr. Electro." Bradbury, at a young age, was the volunteer in the act, and Mr. Electro, at the height of the act, pointed to Bradbury and commanded him: "LIVE FOREVER!"
He may have been a sideshow act, but in that case, he was successful. Bradbury's works inspire and drive. If humanity reaches beyond this blue orb again, it will be in part due to his incredible vision. Through the best of humanity, Bradbury will indeed live forever.
It was a collection of (at that time) the short stories of Ray Bradbury.
I was reading at a fairly advanced level, of course. But Bradbury was something new. I read the short story Kaleidoscope, about a doomed man, coming to grips with his own mortality, while speaking with other doomed men. About a man who transforms into a small child's wish. And my life was changed. I devoured story after story. The woman who, terrified of the mummies in the tourist attraction, soon becomes one herself. The child who is bullied into missing the one day of summer of her entire childhood. The men trapped miles from shelter, with unending rain, slowly losing their minds. The deep, unspeakable loneliness of a sea creature older than mankind by untold millennia. An automated house enacting empty rituals for a family which is no longer there. A whole life experienced in just a few short days on a distant planetary colony. The strangeness of the Family and Uncle Einar.
When I was younger -- probably 7 or 8 at oldest -- I had seen the movie-version of the Illustrated Man on some Sunday afternoon TV show. I remember being hypnotized, yet terrified, by the parents torn apart by the holographic lions in their children's nursery. And when I read the Illustrated Man as its own collection, instead of picking my way through the amazing book Todd had given me, I recognized the tales, but Bradbury's telling in text came alive for me so much more than the movie had. The Martian Chronicles followed, required reading in my 7th grade English class. But I loved it. Fahrenheit 451 came much later -- I was already dating Michelle before I sat down to read it. But read it I did, and in a single sitting. Something Wicked This Way Comes was a different experience -- read in small bits, here and there, like sipping on tea... or dandelion wine.
Bradbury showed me what storytelling could be. Deeply personal. Beautiful and horrifying. Nostalgic and forward-thinking simultaneously. Reading Bradbury was always a warm experience... familiar and warm, even when the story could be frightening or disturbing. He wrote somewhere between prose and poetry; he did not tell stories, but painted them with a medium of words which came alive as you read them.
Whenever I read Edgar Allen Poe to students, I always finish with Usher II from the Martian Chronicles. I read it aloud to students, because Bradbury is, in my mind, more enjoyable when you hear the language, when the words flow off the page and into your ear to coil through your brain and paint the beautiful pictures there.
Late yesterday, Ray Bradbury left us. Today, the world is a little more empty. There will be no more stories which his brilliant mind puts to paper. No more Bradbury paintings in the medium of words. And that saddens me.
But his immense volume of work continues to inspire me, as a writer, as a teacher, as a human being. He opened my eyes to what is possible, and he encouraged me to look forward while never forgetting my roots. For that, he has my thanks. And any time I read his stories, I will feel that same warm comfort I have always felt through his works.
He said that it was a carnival sideshow act which inspired him to write. "Mr. Electro." Bradbury, at a young age, was the volunteer in the act, and Mr. Electro, at the height of the act, pointed to Bradbury and commanded him: "LIVE FOREVER!"
He may have been a sideshow act, but in that case, he was successful. Bradbury's works inspire and drive. If humanity reaches beyond this blue orb again, it will be in part due to his incredible vision. Through the best of humanity, Bradbury will indeed live forever.