Ray Bradbury was born on this day in 1920.
96 years later, he is still shaping the face of Science and Speculative Fiction.
A middle school student can find Fahrenheit 451 in their school library. A college graduate can stumble upon The Illustrated Man on a friend’s bookshelf. A senior can be given The Martian Chronicles from a local donation center.
[The journey is always different, though the result is much the same]: Bradbury lends us the ability to look far beyond our current reality and capabilities, and into a future with Infinite Possible Outcomes. Speculative Fiction–particularly under the lens of Science Fiction–allows us to bridge the gaps between past, present, and future. We can take stories written in the 1940s, before space travel was much more than a daydream, and look beyond the imagination-stretching tech to recognize the absolute relevance to our current experiences.
I’m constantly challenged to find writers who are currently producing work that feel relevant to me. The intellectual revitalization that built up through the 1930s and boiled over into the redefinition of freedom and self-expression throughout the 50s and 60s in American literature mirrors my personal development. Education leads to freedom of expression leads to pure self-actualization. It’s not a unique tale; it’s a [human] one. Perhaps it’s an [American] one. Regardless, it’s [goddamn relatable].
So here I am, standing on The Intellectual Precipice of a Million DWGs, and I’ve no clue where to jump. I have no interest in learning about their pseudo-struggles. We’re all lonely and alone, who gives a shit? Give me [more…][more…][more…] Give Me The Universe. Give me the chaos. Give me the paranoia and melancholy and endless possibility. Give me Ray Bradbury, and Kurt Vonnegut, and anyone else who can make an incredible story touchable. Give me life.