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New rating: 4.5 stars, rounded up.
So poetic. Especially for a novel about a creepy carnival run by an Illustrated Man. No one writes quite like Bradbury.
___________________________________
That was the entirety of my review when I first read this little book in 2015. And you know what? I think that might be enough.
Or, it should be. But you know me. I always have opinions to share.
I have this deep but slightly conflicted love for Ray Bradbury. It started when I was in high school, when I first read Fahrenheit 451 and one of his short stories, “A Sound of Thunder,” nearly back to back. I was entranced by both stories, but something about the actual writing itself stumped me. While I really enjoyed the cadence of it, and found it often beautiful, there were some stylistic choices and outdated colloquialisms that threw me. I think this is a common complaint when reading backlist books, particular those written more than 40 years ago. And, judging from personal reading experience, the issue of outdated slang tends to be more of a complaint with less formal works, such as Bradbury’s stories. But while digging through the prose can be a bit of a struggle, it’s one that is not only immensely rewarding, but one that becomes easier the more often you do it.
That’s the case for me with this book in particular. I appreciated it when I first read it. However, revisiting it was a radically different experience. Because I knew where the story was going this time, I didn’t feel the need to sift through the prose; I could just enjoy it for what it was. Which made the story even more enjoyable, and powerful, than it was for me the first time I read it.
On the surface, this is the story of Will Halloway and Jim Nightshade, next-door neighbors and best friends, who were born two minutes apart. This is the story of the October they were thirteen, when an ominous carnival came to town. This is the story of the carnival threatening to tear them apart as it offered to fulfill dark dreams, and how they fought to stay together. But that’s not what this story is to me. No, for me, this is the story of Charles Halloway, Will’s father. This is the story of experiences deferred and how the fear of losing your life can keep you from ever truly living it. It’s the story of facing your demons in the mirror and finding reasons to laugh and keep on living anyway. It’s the story of accepting yourself, faults and all, and enjoying the life you have instead of wasting it trying to recapture what you’ve lost. If there’s a hero to this story, it is definitely Charles Halloway.
Bradbury broached some incredibly deep topics here, but in ways that never, in my opinion, detracted in any way from the plot. The many forms temptation takes, and how it dresses itself up differently to appeal to each person, was one of my favorite themes. Others included how good triumphs over evil not by might, but by purity of heart; how difficult transitional ages can be, whether from boy to man or middle-aged to elder; the power of belief and joy in the face of darkness; and the importance of connection, regardless of age. There’s so much food for thought in this little book.
Aside from the outdated colloquialisms that I mentioned above, and how certain writing choices threw me out of the plot on occasion, I really only have one complaint about this book: the pacing. There were certain scenes that felt rushed, while others would have been a good deal stronger if shortened by a few pages. But the atmosphere here was second-to-none, and I don’t know that I can think of any other book that so perfectly encapsulates an entire season to me. Something Wicked This Way Comes is nostalgia in book form, autumn contained in less than 300 pages.
Another reason I love Something Wicked This Way Comes is because I can so clearly see how it, and the rest of Bradbury’s catalogue, influenced other authors I love. As I was reading, I found shades of King and Koontz and Gaiman, and I loved reading something that I know they, not only read, but were changed by in some way. Some of the most powerful, important books in my life are the ones I know help inspired other stories I adore.
There’s something so special about Bradbury’s work in general, and this book in particular. The way a 60 year-old book can make me feel nostalgic for a time I’ve never personally known is more than a little magical. And there’s just something about a creepy carnival that captures the imagination. If you’ve never read Something Wicked This Way Comes, I highly recommend it. In my opinion, it’s the perfect October read. And if you’ve read it in the past but it’s been a while, I encourage you to revisit it; I’m very glad that I did.
So poetic. Especially for a novel about a creepy carnival run by an Illustrated Man. No one writes quite like Bradbury.
___________________________________
That was the entirety of my review when I first read this little book in 2015. And you know what? I think that might be enough.
Or, it should be. But you know me. I always have opinions to share.
I have this deep but slightly conflicted love for Ray Bradbury. It started when I was in high school, when I first read Fahrenheit 451 and one of his short stories, “A Sound of Thunder,” nearly back to back. I was entranced by both stories, but something about the actual writing itself stumped me. While I really enjoyed the cadence of it, and found it often beautiful, there were some stylistic choices and outdated colloquialisms that threw me. I think this is a common complaint when reading backlist books, particular those written more than 40 years ago. And, judging from personal reading experience, the issue of outdated slang tends to be more of a complaint with less formal works, such as Bradbury’s stories. But while digging through the prose can be a bit of a struggle, it’s one that is not only immensely rewarding, but one that becomes easier the more often you do it.
That’s the case for me with this book in particular. I appreciated it when I first read it. However, revisiting it was a radically different experience. Because I knew where the story was going this time, I didn’t feel the need to sift through the prose; I could just enjoy it for what it was. Which made the story even more enjoyable, and powerful, than it was for me the first time I read it.
On the surface, this is the story of Will Halloway and Jim Nightshade, next-door neighbors and best friends, who were born two minutes apart. This is the story of the October they were thirteen, when an ominous carnival came to town. This is the story of the carnival threatening to tear them apart as it offered to fulfill dark dreams, and how they fought to stay together. But that’s not what this story is to me. No, for me, this is the story of Charles Halloway, Will’s father. This is the story of experiences deferred and how the fear of losing your life can keep you from ever truly living it. It’s the story of facing your demons in the mirror and finding reasons to laugh and keep on living anyway. It’s the story of accepting yourself, faults and all, and enjoying the life you have instead of wasting it trying to recapture what you’ve lost. If there’s a hero to this story, it is definitely Charles Halloway.
Bradbury broached some incredibly deep topics here, but in ways that never, in my opinion, detracted in any way from the plot. The many forms temptation takes, and how it dresses itself up differently to appeal to each person, was one of my favorite themes. Others included how good triumphs over evil not by might, but by purity of heart; how difficult transitional ages can be, whether from boy to man or middle-aged to elder; the power of belief and joy in the face of darkness; and the importance of connection, regardless of age. There’s so much food for thought in this little book.
Aside from the outdated colloquialisms that I mentioned above, and how certain writing choices threw me out of the plot on occasion, I really only have one complaint about this book: the pacing. There were certain scenes that felt rushed, while others would have been a good deal stronger if shortened by a few pages. But the atmosphere here was second-to-none, and I don’t know that I can think of any other book that so perfectly encapsulates an entire season to me. Something Wicked This Way Comes is nostalgia in book form, autumn contained in less than 300 pages.
Another reason I love Something Wicked This Way Comes is because I can so clearly see how it, and the rest of Bradbury’s catalogue, influenced other authors I love. As I was reading, I found shades of King and Koontz and Gaiman, and I loved reading something that I know they, not only read, but were changed by in some way. Some of the most powerful, important books in my life are the ones I know help inspired other stories I adore.
There’s something so special about Bradbury’s work in general, and this book in particular. The way a 60 year-old book can make me feel nostalgic for a time I’ve never personally known is more than a little magical. And there’s just something about a creepy carnival that captures the imagination. If you’ve never read Something Wicked This Way Comes, I highly recommend it. In my opinion, it’s the perfect October read. And if you’ve read it in the past but it’s been a while, I encourage you to revisit it; I’m very glad that I did.