Many years ago when times were hard for many of us here in UK I would borrow many books a week from the local library. On one such ocassion a hardback copy of the collected short-stories of Ray Bradbury was taken home among a clutch of others to be read that week. I hadn't heard of Bradbury, let alone read him. When I did read that first time I was smitten and bewitched. I'm afraid that the copy I had borrowed never made it back to the library.

So this was Sci Fi/Fantasy. At least I thought it was. My reading adventures took me off down that road on the strength of reading Bradbury. But I am not, it turns out, a Sci Fi fan, nor a Fantasy fan. It was Bradbury's unique genuis that set him apart and not the genre. There are a few who can begin to measure but not many.

For all these years Bradbury had set a standard that became a subconscious benchmark of quality and presence that I have been measuring every other writer against. Even those considered the highest of writers. There are few who can match his elegant, lyrical prose, the poetry of his narrative, the power of his delivery, and the subtlety of that power. Above all of this is the honesty of heart and soul which can never be manufactured. As such a benchmark he has never failed.

Part II - sorry folks, hitch

Just to finish off. That original book of short-stories lives permanently beside my bed. It's where I turn when the real world becomes a bit overwhelming and gives me whatever it is I need to go back out and face that world. It's also one of the very few things I would save in the event of fire!

feyweaver: Curious? What was the title of the s.s. collection that "sent you mad!"

feyweaver: Glad to hear of it. I cannot remember how exactly I started to read Ray Bradbury. Faintly I recall starting F451 and putting it down because the style was unorthodox. I picked up Something Wicked This Way Comes and was hitching for the Bradbury wagon. And once I got used to Bradbury's cadence I began F451 and thought it was tremendous.

quote:

Originally posted by fjpalumbo:
feyweaver: Curious? What was the title of the s.s. collection that "sent you mad!"

Hi fjpalumbo, the book was a hardback edition simply titled *The Stories of Ray Bradbury* published in 1981 by Granada. It has most of the classics in it from Martian Chronicles thro to - well almost everything.

"Feyweaver" - Yes, 100 of his earlier works. I too currently have a copy close by for some late night reading. So many terrific tales!

Have you a copy of the recently released Bradbury Stories, another 100 RB classics!

SEE: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/006054242...909?v=glance&s=books

[This message has been edited by fjpalumbo (edited 11-13-2003).]

[QUOTE]Originally posted by fjpalumbo:
[B]"Feyweaver" - Yes, 100 of his earlier works. I too currently have a copy close by for some late night reading. So many terrific tales!

Have you a copy of the recently released Bradbury Stories, another 100 RB classics!

fjpalumbo - No I haven't but thanks to you I soon will have. Bless your good heart. Am currently trying to track down the few remaining outstanding novels still to buy. Live in a small provential British town so it's not as easy as you'd think sometimes. Thank goodness for the web. By the way, am trying to re-educate about Bradbury on the BBC Big Read boards. Gently, mind, because they can be a skittish lot, but his name is appearing more and more in a positive light. We're still dealing with the SciFi stigma (it isn't 'classic' literature apparently) and still lumping Bradbury into a much-too-tight pigeon hole. So people are generally afraid to admit they read him. But oceans are made up of small drops of rain so I'll keep going. (For any scientist types about to hit the reply button - it's just a metaphore.)

Ought Not

Oh yes, Something Wicked - - - isn't it just the most deliciously, goosepimply read. I recently re-read it after a long gap and, unlike other books re-read, it had lost none of it's magic. For all that I knew exactly how it was going to end I still couldn't put it down until I'd finished it. And I thought I was much too old and cynical to be knuckle-biting but the dire old witch in the balloon did it to me again. Blooming marvelous.