Ray Bradbury, 1920-2012: A Personal Tribute
Yesterday morning, I woke up to the news that Ray Bradbury had died.
Since then tributes have flowed in, from President Obama to Margaret Atwood, Stephen Spielberg to Mia Farrow and Neil Gaiman. The range of tributes and people making them reflects Ray Bradbury’s contribution to literature and the world of ideas: Fahrenheit 451 is arguably his most well known work in this respect.
But I, like many others, have my own small, personal tribute to make, one that relates to my first encounter, in my mid-teens, with Ray Bradbury—in my case through a battered, secondhand copy, not of Fahrenheit 451 (although I read that in due course) but of a collection of short stories titled The Golden Apples of the Sun. I can’t recall now how it came into my hands, whether I picked it up myself on spec, or whether someone gave it to me. I do remember that it came to me unrecommended though, but that I was favourably influenced by the title and the jacket (featured), while having no idea who Ray Bradbury was.
I recall, too, that reading it ‘blew my mind.’
I don’t think there was one story in there that I did not get something out of, sometimes in terms of language and character, but mostly in terms of ideas. Every story encapsulated an idea that fascinated, or intrigued, or made me think: “Yes, yes, wow!” They made me want to write similar stories—tales that sparked a sense of wonder and imagination and resonated with readers so that they, too, thought: “Ah, yes.”
I lost that original battered, shabby collection somewhere on my travels, but never my recollection of the stories. So when I found another copy a few years back I snapped it up instantly. I have other works by Ray Bradbury, most in better condition and more elegantly presented, but this small, well-worn volume of The Golden Apples of the Sun will always be the one I prize the most—because it was one of the defining works that cemented my love of science ficton.
A small tribute perhaps, but reflecting a profound influence for me as an individual. And to be honest, I cannot think of any writer currently who is putting out anything encompassing the same depth and breadth of ideas—and so feel doubly diminished by his passing.
Here in NZ it may be something of a truism, when someone well known dies, to say:
“E hinganga o te Totara haemata o te waotapunui a Tane: A mighty tree has fallen in the forest of Tane.”
But in this case, I think that it is really true.
A mighty tree indeed. He certainly was always one of the authors that opened doors within my mind – that led to interesting places.
I think his writing stacks up, however you look at it.
Something the world seems to be agreeing on…:)
Helen, your small tribute is lovely. Glad I stopped by tonight to find your Tuesday Poem and arrived here first…
Glad you got to read it, Michelle. Interestingly, I was thinking only yesterday how the title story, “The Golden Apples of the Sun” ends with the protagonists focusing on the word “North”:
“They waited. They waited as the ship moved swiftly into cold darkness away from the light. “North,” murmured the captain. “North” …”
And how the stories have stayed with me all these years, and a few years ago I wrote my poem titled “North”—which has absolutely nothing to do with the Bradbury story, “The Golden Apples of the Sun”, but still makes me wonder just how deep the roots of influence go in all art.
I think you have captured the essence of Ray Bradbury perfectly. I too came across his short stories in the same way that you did — though in my case it was “The Silver Locusts” (also published as “The Martian Chronicles”) and what a truly mind blowing experience that was.
Unlike the works of so many of his contemporaries, Bradbury’s work has not dated and does not show its age. It’s just as relevant now as ever it was; just as moving, just as poetic, just as true. And that’s because he wasn’t describing reality, of course. He always spoke in metaphors and similes and images (he was a very visual writer), and even though he really was writing about the real world, he never addressed it directly. He said so much and he said it so well.
And he said it briefly! Many of today’s bloated authors really need to relearn that skill…
I’m far too emotionally attached to Bradbury’s stories to view him dispassionately. Thank you for the things you said — you said them beautifully.
—
-Alan
Hi Alan, am glad my few words “spoke” to you; I certainly wrote and mean them from the heart. ‘The Captains and the Kings” as the poem says, depart (noting in this respect that Barry Unsworth also left us this past week): we lesser mortals are left to continue on as we may. But there have been so many greats pass in the past year or so, I am definitely feeling the ‘ache.’