Before I became a photographer, I was a writer, and I dreamed of writing for a living. Sci-fi and fantasy novels were a staple of my childhood, and I devoured books, often burning through two or three in a week. Fahrenheit 451 was assigned reading in school. Intrigued, I sought out more Bradbury stories. I discovered the Martian Chronicles and the Illustrated Man, then delved into the dark twists of Something Wicked this Way Comes. Before long I had read the whole library selection. Like many of my childhood favorites, I revisited his novels every few years and came away with a deeper understanding of his works.
There is a beautiful and timely essay by Ray Bradbury in this week’s issue of the New Yorker. I hope you’ll take the time to read it. Here is one of my favorite excerpts from the Martian Chronicles:
“One minute it was Ohio winter, with doors closed, windows locked, the panes blind with frost, icicles fringing every roof, children skiing on slopes, housewives lumbering like great black bears in their furs along the icy streets.
And then a long wave of warmth crossed the small town. A flooding sea of hot air; it seemed as if someone had left a bakery door open. The heat pulsed among the cottages and bushes and children. The icicles dropped, shattering, to melt. The doors flew open. The windows flew up. The children worked off their wool clothes. The housewives shed their bear disguises. The snow dissolved and showed last summer’s ancient green lawns.
Rocket summer. The words passed among the people in the open, airing houses. Rocket summer. The warm desert air changing the frost patterns on the windows, erasing the art work. The skis and sleds suddenly useless. The snow, falling from the cold sky upon the town, turned to a hot rain before it touched the ground.
Rocket summer. People leaned from their dripping porches and watched the reddening sky.
The rocket lay on the launching field, blowing out pink clouds of fire and oven heat. The rocket stood in the cold winter morning, making summer with every breath of its mighty exhausts. The rocket made climates, and summer lay for a brief moment upon the land….”
― Ray Bradbury, The Martian Chronicles
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