InHerHeartofHeartsShe's
AbsolutelyEverything(InTheMediaMaw'sEye)Ville
I mean, seriously, how long will it be before our (not) Premier starts babbling on about how the only thing standing between us and socialism and/or late night latte sipping on the Karl-Marx Strasse are Ray Bradbury's firefighters from Farenheit 451?
Or some such crazy mixed-up thing.
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Meanwhile, would someone please tell the CluffMaster Flash, who made a big deal about knowing all about his work and impact on the public-at-large this morning, that Mr. Bradbury and Gene Roddenberry were not the same guy.
Now, if you want to read something insightful from a reader who really new Bradbury's work....Well, checkout the words of Mr. Electrico.
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Wokehammer?
1 hour ago
2 comments:
Very nice piece by Mr. Electrico. I discovered Ray Bradbury around the same time - Grade 4 or 5. I liked to read already, but his stories were the first ones that suggested the power of the written word, the ability to take you places and into the lives of people and make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up with wonder.
I think Brian Moore, and The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne, was the next discovery, the first novel I read that revealed a life so different with such devastating clarity.
Early John Irving and Hunter Thompson, John Rechy's best books - there is a string of writers I seemed to find at just the right time in my life.
But, much as I liked Scrubs on Skates, Boy on Defence and all those Black Stallion books, I think, for me, it started with Ray Bradbury.
Paul--
I'm not sure that you just 'find' those authors at the right time of your life, I think you actually choose them.
Or, maybe to be more specific you choose to really read them. I remember reading Garp and then going looking for Irving's earlier stuff like it was buried treasure.
Did the same thing with Thompson because I'm just young enough to have missed his preVegas stuff completely. That was incredibly fun, both inside and outside the anthologies...Heckfire! finding that original Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs piece in a mouldering, bound old volume of The Nation, circa 1965 was like hitting the Motherlode.
Cripes.
Now that I think of it, I did the same thing with the original versions of the Salinger stories in the fiction magazines in the '40's. A bunch of those were on microfiche though.
Might explained why I'm so hooked on all the truly world widelieness the web has to offer.
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