So I was all set to write a silly little post about my CT scan and playing Sorry! while drinking with friends, when I log into Twitter and it’s blowing up about Ray Bradbury. I don’t have details yet, but he appears to have died last night or this morning.
Most of my reading of Bradbury’s work was done when I was just starting high school. For me, his work was one of the first that felt truly poetic. The imagery was strong but not overwrought, and he told fantasies and fairy tales and morality plays that drew pictures in my mind that are still there today. I remember reading “The Veldt” and getting shivers. “Something Wicked This Way Comes” still has a place on my pared-down bookshelves, and I pull it out every time I want to bathe in that golden light of a child’s summer. “The Martian Chronicles”, “Dandelion Wine” – the list seems endless. I remember “The Small Assassin” as the first story that really gave me honest chills, especially since he claimed in the forward that he remembered things from when he was just days old, lending veracity to the story.
The man was a mountain in the SF/F community, deeply hued and populated with children and adults fair and foul, dark and light. The man’s legacy is astounding and humbling.
Time to pull out that slim tattered paperback and dive into summer.