I’m saddened, this morning, to learn of the passing of one of my favorite authors. Ray Bradbury, a giant in the world of not just science fiction but literature in general, has passed away. He was 91.
Farenheit 451 was the first book I ever read that had a political message, and influenced my position on issues of censorship. Something Wicked This Way Comes has always been a favorite of mine, but I thought Bradbury was at his best when writing short stories.
The Veldt terrified me when I was a child, and I suspect given the story’s themes about technological obsession, it continues to terrify in this Facebook/Twitter/gadget obsessed society.
The night stand next to my bed in my parent’s home always had a Bradbury book on it, I think. If not one of his novels a collection of his short stories.
Perhaps it’s selfish to write of his death in terms of myself, but his passing makes me feel old. I came into adulthood with, in the back of my mind, an expectation that Mr. Bradbury was always working on something new for me to read. That’s not true any more.