Bradbury, Old Student in a New School
Ray Bradbury is 85 years old today.
Certain authors are so masterful at what they do, calling them "masters" is almost insulting; they simply produce work that no one else (including other masters) could possibly turn in. Ray Bradbury is one of those.
He's the one, from the earliest days of Golden Age science fiction, who not only demonstrated the poetry of science and the science of poetry, he also showed better than anyone else that a writer of science fiction could also handle fantasy and some of the grisliest horror that ever haunted our sleep; in short, that imaginative writing was all of a piece. He's the one who insisted that science without poetry will get us to the stars, but will cripple us in the process.
He's also the one, beyond any other science fiction pioneer, who proved that science fiction could do for the 20th Century what Dickens and those guys did for the 19th; draw a bead on our world and preserve it in living words. As Harlan Ellison, another master, once said (and I'm paraphrasing), you take someone who doesn't like science fiction into a bookstore to give them something to defend your love of the stuff and you might find no Asimov, no Bester, no deCamp, but by God you always found The Martian Chronicles.
And speaking quite personally, I had the pleasure of meeting Ray Bradbury when I was in high school (back when he could still walk, alas). The drama department was presenting readings of his "Kaleidoscope" and "Dandelion Wine", and he came to see what we were up to.
When I found out he was coming, I was probably the second or third most excited I've ever been in my life. I had always loved his stories and I had no idea what he would even look like, let alone be like.
Well, his face is pretty well known now. He was a round guy with a big funny nose, a helmet of dark gray hair, and black horn-rimmed glasses. It's a cliche to talk about how disappointingly ordinary one's heroes look in person, but it's a cliche because it's true.
I wasn't disappointed, really, just a little shocked, and I was a young smartass, so I said something like "Wow, I didn't know science fiction authors looked like regular people!"
He must have heard that a million times, but he didn't get the least bit annoyed. He just said "You have to wait until it gets dark; that's when the horns grow out of our heads."
For that kindness and everything he's ever done, I'm an eternal fan.
Benshlomo says, Happy birthday and endless thanks to Master Ray.
Certain authors are so masterful at what they do, calling them "masters" is almost insulting; they simply produce work that no one else (including other masters) could possibly turn in. Ray Bradbury is one of those.
He's the one, from the earliest days of Golden Age science fiction, who not only demonstrated the poetry of science and the science of poetry, he also showed better than anyone else that a writer of science fiction could also handle fantasy and some of the grisliest horror that ever haunted our sleep; in short, that imaginative writing was all of a piece. He's the one who insisted that science without poetry will get us to the stars, but will cripple us in the process.
He's also the one, beyond any other science fiction pioneer, who proved that science fiction could do for the 20th Century what Dickens and those guys did for the 19th; draw a bead on our world and preserve it in living words. As Harlan Ellison, another master, once said (and I'm paraphrasing), you take someone who doesn't like science fiction into a bookstore to give them something to defend your love of the stuff and you might find no Asimov, no Bester, no deCamp, but by God you always found The Martian Chronicles.
And speaking quite personally, I had the pleasure of meeting Ray Bradbury when I was in high school (back when he could still walk, alas). The drama department was presenting readings of his "Kaleidoscope" and "Dandelion Wine", and he came to see what we were up to.
When I found out he was coming, I was probably the second or third most excited I've ever been in my life. I had always loved his stories and I had no idea what he would even look like, let alone be like.
Well, his face is pretty well known now. He was a round guy with a big funny nose, a helmet of dark gray hair, and black horn-rimmed glasses. It's a cliche to talk about how disappointingly ordinary one's heroes look in person, but it's a cliche because it's true.
I wasn't disappointed, really, just a little shocked, and I was a young smartass, so I said something like "Wow, I didn't know science fiction authors looked like regular people!"
He must have heard that a million times, but he didn't get the least bit annoyed. He just said "You have to wait until it gets dark; that's when the horns grow out of our heads."
For that kindness and everything he's ever done, I'm an eternal fan.
Benshlomo says, Happy birthday and endless thanks to Master Ray.
posted by benshlomo at 3:00 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home