Mr Dark and patrask:

I think it was Yeats, in one of his poems, where he describes a place like unto ...Byzantium, sounding very similiar unto Green Town...

Several years ago I came across a writer describing the beauty of growing up in a small town, and it sounded like Bradbury...but it was written in 1820.
Those similiar experiences thread thru all the calendars of history...everywhere...

Imagination is ...an unexplainable internal description of experience.... I marvel at it even today, when I catch a moment of my childhood's fondest memory in the 'today'... Personally, I understand why.
But not personal to another, makes for boring explanations...

Patrask: "Green Town is a state of the mind."
AMEN! I had such a need to PROVE this to myself, one way or the other, that as my college graduation gift I took a trip to Waukegan, Illinois, Ray's home town. The results have appeared in other threads here: I was completely impressed with the lake, which was much better than written descriptions had led me to believe, and the ravine was exactly as written. Ray didn't embellish or exaggerate, he simply captured its atmosphere and described it particularly well.
As for the rest of the town, its precise characteristics can be found in a million towns just like it all over, including my own. I was quite convinced of there being no particular magic in the place itself, at least any more so than in any number of other places. (When you compare Ray's description of Waukegan, hardly a real-life paradise, to Thomas Wolfe's description in his works of Asheville, North Carolina, which is in reality a beautiful little resort community, the contrast is actually quite striking. Eye of the beholder indeed!)
Nard, personal, yes, but Ray's genius lies in taking the personal, be it experiences or observations, and making it universal. Have you ever seen a particular time and place evoked in careful detail only to have it slapped with that dreary label of "local interest only"? (I won't go into my own bitter experience with *that*.)
The fact is: EVERY story has a setting, as far as time and place! Portraying a certain region or period of history does NOT restrict a book to "local interest only"! What Ray and other writers of real genius manage to do is turn a character's experience into a metaphor for a certain aspect of the human condition. THAT is the essence of genius and the key to evading that awful epithet, "Local interest only."
If we knew the true nature of this quality, perhaps we could understand why Laura Ingalls Wilder's books have been wildly popular in all quarters for seventy years while scores of other personal pioneer experiences languish in obscurity. Now, if someone could bottle THAT quality like Dandelion Wine and we could all have some!

Dandelion:
"...if you could only learn the true nature of this quality..."

Well, you could start by looking into the religious beliefs of a person. And, therefore, note that Laura Wilder was a 'Union Congretional Church' member and attender. They have some controversial beliefs... But surely this went a long way to create the things found in ... 'Little House on the Prairie'...for instance.

Dandelion: Excellent post. Couldn't agree more.

Another funny thing there. Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote both about attending church and observing the Sabbath. Ray Bradbury, a regular at the Baptist Sunday School until the age of 13, only wrote two stories that I can name mentioning church--one about a kid attending, the other with a kid standing outside an empty church. Plenty on religion, including the unorthodox view in "Powerhouse," and, of course, the Martian priests stories of building or attempting to establish a church, but very little on actual attendance!

Another funny omission is, in the "Dandelion Wine" introduction, written years after the book, he includes a lovely 4th of July memory, and yet that holiday, like most holidays and special occasion celebration days (excepting Halloween, of course!) is passed over in the book. This lack of formal institutional traditions is one aspect of the unorthodoxy of the Bradbury world view.

I last read Dandelion Wine in HS (a few years ago now). I remember thinking it was okay, but being pretty unimpressed, overall.

My re-reading this time around is very fun, and I realize how much I under-estimated the quality of this book. The language and imagery are unbelievable -- something I just couldn't appreciate back then. Reading it is pure pleasure.

I have three copies -- none of which have titles for the chapters (a pet peeve of mine, much as I love Bradbury). An early chapter (I'll call "The Ravine") seems to set up the themes of the book.

Early on, Douglas stops at the edge of the ravine and sees it as the edge of civilization and nature. The edge is constantly shifting -- sometimes nature intrudes, sometimes civilation intrudes. But nature is always the billion year old force, and civilization (the towns) are like boats in the ocean of nature.

As he looks at the ravine, with its many paths, the narrator says this:

"And here the paths, made or yet unmade, that told of the need of boys traveling, always traveling, to be men."

So clearly, one of the purposes of the book is Bradbury looking at a coming of age story here.

But the fact of the ravine, and the time spent discussing the nature of the ravine and the nature of civilization also means Bradbury is looking at a way of defining where human life is between these two worlds. How do these worlds impact and define man?

Also, Douglas observes the following:

"'I'm alive,' said Douglas. 'But what's the use? They're more alive than me. How come? How come?'
And standing alone, he knew the answer, staring down at his motionless feet."

Two things seem to come to the fore here. The first is that Bradbury wants to try and define -- throughout the story -- what it is that makes one person more alive than another. The second is that part of that is going to be answered by the fact that he knew the answer while staring down at his motionless feet. The next chapter is the one about his new tennis shoes and what they represent. At some level, they will represent the imagination.

I think for Bradbury, the imagination will be what distinguishes one person from another, in terms of how "alive" they are.

We'll see if that is how it all unfolds.

My book doesn't have chapter titles either, but I recognize a few from other books they are collected in, such as "The Sound of Summer Running," the chapter about getting the new tennis shoes. I've always loved that chapter. I have been enjoying the book too, and think it's the perfect summer book. Ray is such a gifted writer he makes even cleaning rugs sound fun. The one chapter I haven't liked, is the one about the elderly lady and the kids denying that she could ever have been young. In the end, she decides to give in to it and give up all her memories and souveniers (sp?). For some reason that chapter just struck a bad chord with me, and I'm not even sure why. I'm going to think on that one for awhile. Otherwise, I have enjoyed every single chapter so far, including the introduction. I've heard Ray's description of how he works several times before, but I loved hearing it again. I enjoy sharing stories like that with my students when they are writing stories of their own or reading some of his stories.

The passage above was one of a number of bridge-passages, written specially for "Dandelion Wine" to connect the stories. The story about the old lady is "Season of Disbelief." I never was comfortable with the ending and probably never will be. Rest assured Ray never took a page out of Helen Bentley's book. The only times he's admitted to throwing away anything was around 1929 (his Buck Rodgers comics--immediately regretted it--) and in 1947 (burned over a million words of "bad writing" just before his wedding--never regretted it.) Everything else, he's saved, which I still hold as the really best policy.

I have read several more chapters since my previous post. I seem to be fixating, for some unknown reason, on the chapters about the elderly. I've liked all of them since the one I previously mentioned. I especially liked the one with Helen Loomis and Bill Forrester, and how their friendship and even love grows, despite the difference in their ages. I enjoyed how they spent the afternoons with her describing the different cities or countries she has visited, and him imagining he was there. Although there was the element of tragedy--being born at the wrong times for each other, overall I felt a sense of happiness at the end. Another thing I'm really enjoying about this book is how Douglas is cataloging everything they do, including the annual rituals, but especially the new things, the "Discoveries and Revelations." It's great someone that young would have such an awareness and appreciation of his surroundings and actions. He's such a deep thinker for such a young guy. I think I always lived in the moment, never giving deep thought to much of anything at that age.

This is called...butting in line... My computer recrashes... and so it's headed off to the repair shop. In the meantime, I have been lost in cyberspace,.... Tomorrow I will attempt to spend some time in the library and catch up.....

Hmmmm....I was just mulling over the Mrs Bentley chapter ("Season of Disbelief") this evening. A few posts up Imskipper wrote: "The one chapter I haven't liked is the one about the elderly lady and the kids denying that she could ever have been young. In the end, she decides to give in to it and give up all her memories and souvenirs. For some reason that chapter struck a bad chord with me, and I'm not even sure why."

I'm not overly pleased with the way Mrs Bentley's story ends either, though I really can't say what sort of ending would have made me happier. The thing is, the points this story makes are entirely true, at least in my experience.

As you travel through life in many ways your younger self, the essence of your character, remains unchanged; while you still feel like the same person you have always been, others don�t see you that way. (That really struck me--with a thud!--recently when I was in town, and noticed a few fellows walking down the sidewalk. They may have been between 18-20 years old or so, and standing there I suddenly wondered if they saw me, if they noticed me at all, as just some anonymous older fellow. It�s hard to believe that you will ever be old when you�re twenty. And in my mind, I�m still the same kid I was when I graduated from high school�. But I don�t look it anymore, I�m sure! And quite unexpectedly I�m starting to feel old�)

So, how to prove that you still the same person, at heart, that you have always been? Have a look at all the bits and pieces you�ve collected over your life--all the photographs, letters, books, and thousand and one items that, if shown to a stranger, would sum up your character very precisely. I�m quite a �saver,� as Mrs Bentley was--I never throw anything away. But maybe this is an exercise in futility; on those occasions when I actually sit down and look through my desk drawers, or sort through all the things in the closet, seeing all these little bits of my past just makes me feel rather sad. I�m reminded not so much of the happy events the items represent, but rather the fact that time is passing by at an ever-increasing rate. I can almost feel all the years that have slipped by. It�s true enough; every day gone by brings you another step closer to the grave--but kind of depressing to think about it!

What Mrs Bentley does makes sense. She decides to quit living in the past, and focus on what is happening in the present. She gives away all those things she�s saved over the years. Far better, after all, to give her things to people she knows will enjoy them, rather than waiting until after she�s dead for some anonymous stranger to cart all her belongings away. But still�.. I don�t think I could ever do anything like that myself. To get rid of all my past would make me feel very disconnected and rootless; I don�t think I�d like that at all. So, I�m not happy with the end of the story, though as I said, I don�t know how I would change it���

Seems like an interesting topic. I guess I'd better read dandelion wine. I never have, but now that it's DW month, I'm outta excuses. I'll go get a copy right now, seeing as I'm in the library. Later!

I could have lived with it if it were merely a matter of giving away items, such as the comb, picture, and ring. What I didn't like was that so much was burned which could have been of interest to historians, antiquarians, or just kids interested in learning about the "olden days." I hold with my grandmother's saying of, "I never threw anything away but what I wanted it again."

I think, when it comes down to it, I just didn't like the kids in this story, and I didn't like what they did to her spirit. I know in a way she seemed happier in the end, but I can't imagine destroying all those memories. I always loved hearing stories of when my parents and grandparents were little kids, and I loved looking at their pictures.

�Season of Disbelief� and� The Time Machine�

The Mrs. Bentley story (Season of Disbelief) is pretty interesting. As lmskipper and octobercountry suggest, this habit of collecting things from the past is not unusual. I�m quite a packrat myself. Sometimes I hate that about myself, but sometimes I really like that I have these momentos of the past. I think the saying, �Past is Prologue� is true on both a personal and societal level; and that understanding our past is a part of understanding who we are today.

On the other hand, living in the present means that we learn to take the past AS PAST and live fully in the moment.

For Mrs. Bentley the �things� are too important. She lives for them, and when the kids first take some of her items (because they don�t believe they were Mrs. Bentley�s in the first place, since she could never have been a little girl), she wails that she is ��empty, empty; it�s part of my life.� The trinkets shouldn�t be her life, they should only provide impetus to her memories of her past life.

In this story I liked the observations about life. As she matures over this issue, Mrs. Bentley begins to become more wise: �Does it really belong to me? Or was it the elaborate trick of an old lady convincing herself that she had a past? After all, once a time was over it was done. You were always in the present. She may have been a girl once, but was not now. Her childhood was gone and nothing could fetch it back.

I enjoyed her imagined/remembered discussions with her deceased husband, also, where he basically argues that the �things� don�t matter. He reminds here that she is alive now � not in the past.

The observation octobercountry mentions � that we seem never to change � is also true. I remember back in high school, having a discussion with my mom once. She said that when she looks in the mirror, she knows she�s changed, but she still sees herself as she was in high school. Same personality dispositions, same things made her laugh and happy, same things made her sad, etc. I have found the same thing as I�ve gotten older. There is a certain core to who we are. That core has a certain stability to it.

Also, kids, looking at us, find it difficult to imagine us as youth, their own age. This IS somewhat overcome in photographs. Kids enjoy seeing pictures of their parents when they were young. It is something they can�t imagine, so they have to see it first. (In this stories, the young girls are not able to interact with Mrs. Bentley well at all. They are unable to accept her past, and show some level of disrespect as a result.)

I think that if she is getting rid of stuff as a way of running away from a past she can�t handle, it is bad; if she begins to give things away so she can live more in the moment, and let others get a vision of the past that once was, then I see this �unloading� of her �stuff� as a good thing. (Something I need to do myself!)

One thing I find interesting is that in this story there is a real focus on that fact that the past is not a good thing (It is compared to wearing an outdated corset � the past just doesn�t fit in with the present), but in the next story (�The Time Machine� is what I call it), two boys go to the house of Colonel Freeleigh, an older guy in the neighborhood. The two boys (one from the beginning, the other as the story progresses) see how valuable Colonel Freeleigh�s knowledge of the past is, and enjoy getting as much out of it as they can.

Student; Your papers: �What is the difference between Bradbury�s ideas on the past between the two stories? Why is one sympathetically portrayed, and the other compared to an outdated and ill-fitting corset?