“īradbury’s fame, for those who have only skimmed it, is due to his dystopia (dystopia?) of Fahrenheit and to the stories -or to the disjointed novel- of Martian Chronicles. “ Martian Chronicles He has had many lives, and even more that await him, in the cinema and on television, in the world of illustrated books, in radio serials and in theaters. One forgives a writer like that for anything. But ―probably without having read them― he has something that makes him much more similar to other children’s writers like Felisberto Hernandez and Ramon Gomez de la Serna, that which is in them as a child, sometimes dazzled and sometimes saddened, of overflowing astonishment and overflowing melancholy, and that if they pull us out of the coat it is to avoid putting our foot in that fearsome hole that is the time that passes. Bradbury can be compared to American writers of the type Matheson, who find veins of still untouched reality between the gaps of everyday experience. This is usually the line that sometimes borders on and goes beyond Bradbury’s fantasy, and if I mention this weakness of his here, it is only to enhance the value of so many other works from his hand in which style and imagination are intertwined. in the novel the fair of darknessFor example, their exclamations, their gaping raptures, carried aloft by a restless state of ecstasy, stand between us and wonder at (it’s almost a sin to say this, but I can’t fool myself) sheer cloying. On other occasions, however, the opposite happens. The voice with which he tries to call us usually sounds like the lament of an abandoned child, like a lullaby, like a quiet way of crying, which suddenly turns into exalted hallucinations: and that exaltation can become very violent. His way of awakening us to the feeling of the wonderful is to tug at the corners of our coats. ![]() His science fiction, his fantasy, his pearls of horror, do not have the gritty nature that abounds in writers of his generation, let alone those of later generations. Bradbury often writes in this state of shuddering nostalgia. Readers-good readers-of Thomas Wolfe will surely have caught glimpses of this author’s voice in Bradbury’s exaltations, especially Wolfe longing for his lost brother and describing things as illuminated from behind a prism of tears. Not without reason, ray bradbury a sensory and evocative style is usually recognized, attached to the fantasies and visions of a kind of dazzled childhood, which has earned him the nickname of “Science Fiction Poet”.
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