En 1953, Ray Bradbury fue contratado para escribir el guion de nada mas y nada menos que Moby Dick la gran y monstruosa novela americana, y el director no era otro que el gigante e insufrible genio del cine John Huston. Fue un desafío tan grande para Ray y le dejo una impronta tan profunda, que años después y con muchos de los involucrados ya muertos, escribió esta novela de mezcla ficción/realidad sobre esa experiencia.
Dos cosas evidentemente le impactaron, una fue conocer Irlanda, la isla esmeralda, y la idiosincrasia de los Irlandeses, sus costumbres, sus paisajes. Lo describe sin ser condescendiente, mostrando lo bueno y lo malo, pero denotando gran cariño.
Y lo segundo fue la personalidad de John Huston, que se ve que era imponente porque no solo inspiro este libro, sino también el de Peter Viertel, Cazador Blanco Corazón Negro.
Lo rescatable del libro es que no cuenta toda su aventura de modo realista, sino que lo hace creando una atmosfera fantasmagórica, siempre hay tabernas, todo es oscuro, lluvioso y melancólico, el alcohol esta irremediablemente presente. Ray Bradbury intercala historias fantásticas en el medio, algunas incluso paranormales como ya lo había hecho en El Vino del Estío. Intenta meter mano en los mitos y leyendas irlandesas.
Es un hibrido, una novela mezcla de la autobiografía, libro de cuentos, crónica.
De lo que menos habla es de Moby Dick.

Read paperback and listened to audiobook. Loved it!

There's magic in these pages... But one must be willing, and able, to see it.
This book moved me to tears. Having met and spend quality time with Ray... I can see the effect that both Huston and Ireland had on him... Would make a great film. (As he dashes to call his agent... )

Divertido raconto de los días de Bradbury en Irlanda cuando estaba escribiendo el guión de Moby Dick para la película de John Huston que interpretó Gregory Peck.
50% ficción, 50% realidad, 100% Bradbury.

Since reading the Bradbury biography first, I was already clued into the absolute shit storm the author endured while writing his adaption of the Melville classic. The director was a nut job and a complete psychopath who only found solace in the discomfort of those around him.

Green Shadows, White Whale seems to be the older college aged sibling my recently read Dandelion Wine.

The book is again a sort of novel told through interconnecting short stories. Here, they are the fictitious retelling of stories from Bradbury's trip to Ireland to write the screenplay for John Huston of Moby Dick.

I came in not expecting much after Dandelion Wine and with the bizarre subject matter, it seemed destined to be a forgettable read. However, from the first story of his arrival, trip to a pub, and aftermath of a "driving accident", I was hooked.

Better put, I was highly intrigued. However, the wit and comedy quickly did hook me as a hungered to devour the stories. The wit and comedy persist throughout, however, the book is no lightweight. It delves numerous times into the poor and beggars on the street. Even more powerful are the confrontations with John Huston. They are sometimes positive, but often turbulent if not ferocious.

Huston here comes across like Orson Welles in Citizen Kane as he does what he pleases when he pleases and beware any who should cross him.

I highly recommend this read to a large group of people as I think that most will be able to find something here to connect to or just enjoy the read for the fun of it.

In my opinion, this is right up there with the best of the Bradbury I have read so far. Give is a try, and enjoy.

Vaguely, this is a narrative about Bradbury in Ireland working on the screenplay for Moby Dick with and for John Huston. Beyond that, it’s hard to describe. It has no real plot or even structure but is a grand sort of memoir about the people and stories of Ireland. Bradbury’s prose is a wildly enjoyable ride, even when there’s no map and no road! Great!

It is a testament to the genius of Ray Bradbury that, this being my least favorite of the 11 books by him that I've read thus far, I still award it three out of five stars. So, why the "low" marks?

To begin with, despite being described as a novel, this work is more of a fictionalized memoir of Bradbury's tenure in Ireland while writing the script for John Huston's 1956 film adaptation of Herman Melville's "Moby-Dick." As such, it lacks the kind of drive and pointed structure which characterize most novels. The loose plot revolves around Bradbury's parallel searches for the identity of the White Whale, and the identity of the Irish. In addition, "Green Shadows, White Whale" is stitched together by joining a series of previously-published short stories by means of linking sinews and a few new chunks of viscera. These are hardly fatal flaws, however: the same could be said of Bradbury's undisputed classic, "The Martian Chronicles."

No, what irked me most about this book was John Huston, a subject about whom I would never have chosen to read under any other circumstances. In short, the man was a grade-A jackass, exactly the kind of egotistical, bullying, brutish boor one would expect to thrive in Hollywood. His choice of "Moby-Dick" as source material for a film was, in the first place, asinine. But Bradbury's reputation gets stained along the way, not only for being a willing participant in such an ill-conceived debacle (have you seen that movie!?), but for acting as a Huston apologist, even while half-heartedly condemning the famed director's wanton immorality and undiluted cruelty.

In addition, while posing himself as aloof from their pretensions, decadence, and conceits, Bradbury's portrayal of the lifestyles of the rich and famous (so to speak) is hardly a condemnation. Perhaps I had expected more from an author who seemed to revel, so frequently, in the simple pleasures of life. But a story such as "The Haunting of the New" (which forms a chapter in the novel) reveals, in its portrayal of the poor little rich girl, that Bradbury could also be seduced by opulence and hollow "sophistication." Which came as a disillusioning disappointment to this reader.

Despite these faults, however, there was enough colorful depiction of the Irish middle- and working-classes (as well as their dispossessed poor) to maintain a certain charm. Thus, my rating is based more on my own personal proclivities, and I have no doubt that others would give this work a fourth star, if not a fifth as well.

Измежду смълчаните от мрак стаи, в привидно пустия апартамент, все пак се долови светлина в една от тях. Озарената от изкуственото слънце стая обаче подкрепяше тихия хор на събратята си потънали в мрак. Защо свет�� в тази стая, а е тихо? Кой в днешно време не се къпе в море от звуци, когато е сам - дали акомпаниран от своя верен събеседник ТВ-то, известен със своите монолози, дали от глъчта изсипващата се от тик-тоци, инстаграми и всякакви подобни приложения...дори и музика не се чуваше, която да обгърне тишината и да направи едно усещане за уют и дом.
Насред тези размишления изведнъж тишината се удави в мощен и див рев, което трябваше да наподобява смях, но по-скоро наистина беше серия от истерично и неовладяно кикотене/викане на праисторически човек. Постепенно смехът прерасна в кашляне и задавяне, което неименуемо се превърна в хъхрещи звуци на умиращ човек, борещ се за въздух и живот.
И така мили хора и нечовеци, може да се обрисува с няколко изречения литературното ми съвкупление с произведението на Рей Бредбъри "Зелени Сенки, Бял Кит". Не би било етично да казвам кой е Бредбъри, а още по-неетично е припомняне, че е авторът на "451 градуса по Фаренхайт"...за който не знае - бързо в ъгъла с изправени ръце, засрамете се!
Няма да е лъжа, че докато четох романа, без да искам леко се порязах, приготвяйки се да си намажа филията с хайвер от есетра и гарнирана с ролца от омар...та покрай това скромно пиршество на лукса, способно да изхрани циганско семейство от 9 члена за седмица, далтонистът в мен беше шокиран да види кръвта ми синя!
И така, истината е, че след този роман аз вече съм един от тях - ИЗБРАНИТЕ, АРИСТОКРАТИТЕ! Спокойно вече мога да се къпя в океана на мъдростта и интелекта, гледайки снизходително към всички елементарни романчета минали през фините ми пръсти.
Осъзнавам, че не казах нищо за самата книга, но полетът ми е все още във висотите от удоволствието, което ми предостави Бредбъри, този невероятен майстор на перото, толкова изящен в писането си, че се чудя дали вместо да съзерцавам гола красива жена, не бих предпочел да чета негови произведения...
Завършвам с това: любим автор, любим роман! Описание за съдържанието можете и сами да видите.

Green Shadows, White Whale' is a fictionalized-memoir published in 1992 by Ray Bradbury. The plot chronicles the adventures of a promising young author being brought to Ireland to write the screenplay to a Moby Dick adaptation in the early 1950s.⁣
⁣
With a lyrical prose that places emphasis on the physical poetry of the setting, Bradbury's experiences are told through the romantic eyes of a welcomed invader to a mystical land. Contrasting local myths with local realities through a series of vignettes that deal with drunken nights, possible vandalism, run-ins with the IRA, exploratory sexual encounters; all while Herman Melville's ghostly presence is metaphorically waiting over the shoulder to whisper his approval or criticism.⁣
⁣
Possessing a Fitzgerald level of alertness, Bradbury is able to deconstruct idyllic expectations to reveal tiring truths. Many of the picturesque moments are followed by depictions of a man lost in his work while trying to infiltrate a culture he has developed a fondness for. With each passing page, the unnamed narrator, clearly a stand-in for Bradbury himself, feels as if he is a scientist on the brink of discovery as each Irish escapade leads to a deeper level of understanding. ⁣
⁣
As doomed as The Pequod's voyage into the great blue beyond, the tackling of the greatest of literary beasts, Moby Dick, proves to be a daunting task with its exhausting tone looming within the footnotes of all the interconnecting stories. While being the driving force of the story, the Moby Dick script doesn't dominate the narrative and is used more of a plot-device to tell tall-tales of communal events and the abrasiveness of legendary film-director John Huston, which may be ultimately disappointing for some readers. ⁣
⁣
'Green Shadows, White Whale' reads more like an aged version of Bradbury's 1957 novel 'Dandelion Wine.' Beautifully written with a whimsical flare, Bradbury chases the beast with a typewriter instead of harpoon. With the fury of Ahab at his back and the logic of Starbuck between his ears, Bradbury crafts a lovely tale.

This felt like an experiment in style more than anything else.

I read Green Shadows, White Whale two lifetimes ago in high school, not long after it was published. I have fond memories of reading it, though I could remember little of it save that there was a banshee story in the middle. I carried my little paperback of it from my parents' house where I first read it to Chicago and then all the way to Slovakia. In all of those places it sat on the shelf, waiting thirty years to be reread. For some reason, I thought now was the time.

I did not love it as much as I recalled loving it. It's loaded with gorgeous, clever writing, but little of it feels true. The parts with bullying John Huston, those rang true, but the misfit Irishmen at the pub, trading quips and tales—it was all just a tad too cute sometimes.

But it was still a beautiful collection of words. Maybe I'll revisit them in another thirty years. I'll be 78. The book will wait. Books are very patient.

I can’t say I was much excited to try this as I’ve recently read a few diary styled books that proved long and aimless. But I’m glad I did, for while it may not be a traditional diary, it’s very much Bradbury. It’s his prose, his fantasy. It also helped, I believe, having heard it as an audiobook narrated by Andrews Macleod. Brings the Irish to life that much more.
I didn’t need another reason to want to return to Ireland but it certainly has made the yearning stronger.