"By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes." pg 171

Ray Bradbury did an excellent job of delivering a story that embodied the sense of autumn, October, and a lead-in to Halloween. This was a supernatural terror and dark fantasy novel centered around a dark carnival. Jim and Will were two best friends growing up in a small town. But their seemingly normal lives were interrupted by the arrival of a mysterious carnival. Bradbury delivered with short and direct structuring but the syntax and metaphors enriched the story. There was lots of descriptive imagery, feelings of the end of summer and the change of season, and human emotional connection between the characters. There was a sense of good vs. evil and coming-of-age as the story progressed. I learned this made into a Disney movie in 1983 but I've never seen it.

I enjoyed this and to be honest I liked it more than Fahrenheit 451 because of the creepy October vibe. I would recommend both to anyone who enjoys a good story.

Book #6 Nephew chooses my December TBR

Sigh. I hate when this happens. I should have loved the shit out of this book. It's Bradbury, it's vintage horror, it's Stephen King recommended, it's a coming-of-age tale about young boys and a creepy carnival, and it's been on my reading list for years. This book and I should have hit it off like gangbusters. The chemistry should have been overwhelming and indisputable. But we got off to an awkward start. I kept putting it down and picking up other things. Finally, with the day off work, I took it in hand this afternoon with a desire to just dive in and -- for better or worse -- finish the damn thing. Alas, it was for the worse.

No doubt, some of the writing is charmed and gorgeous. Bradbury's descriptions of the library in particular are wonderful. But the rest for me... imagine cracking open a freezing cold can of pop and expecting that sharp, satisfying bite of carbonation at the back of your throat and instead what you swallow is flat, warm, syrupy water.

To me, no one writes children (especially boys) like King. He can catch, like lightning in a bottle every time, the way kids talk, think and act. I didn't experience that here. Jim and Will feel too archetypical of all boys rather than boys genuine to their unique story. Will is childish on one hand, and too mature on the other. And I don't know ... quite frankly I was bored. The mirror maze was sort of interesting, as was the carousel, but nothing ever felt really creepy and perilous.

Ah shizzle. I can only conclude the book didn't fail me; I failed it.

Leveling any complaints against Bradbury seems like a literary crime, but I'm afraid I didn't enjoy Something Wicked as much I feel like I should have. The plot was really interesting, and right up my alley - evil carnival comes to town and preys on the unsuspecting citizens. The execution, however, left me wanting more.

The first problem is that the prose is a bit outdated. It's like I ran into with The Haunting of Hill House, it just didn't age well over the last 40-50 years. It's not that it decreases the quality of the novel, but it makes you keenly aware that it was written during a different time, which, for me, made it difficult to really lose myself in.

The other thing that kept me from really getting into it is Bradbury's lyrical style of writing. It's definitely very poetic and pretty, but it's not the most natural way of speaking. Quite a few times, I had to reread a sentence once or twice and really focus on the words, because my brain just didn't naturally follow what was being read. The focus almost seems like it's more on the way the story is being told, rather than the actual story. It doesn't intimately bring you in close to the characters and their situation; rather, it keeps you on the outside while you watch what happens. I couldn't sink into it, which is what I prefer when reading.

Finally, the resolution is just a little too feel-good for me. Good conquers evil, I get it, but Bradbury didn't use this concept very subtly.

This review sounds more negative than I feel about the book, but these issues did drag it down. I still really enjoyed the plot and the characters from the carnival. Mr. Dark, the carnival's tattooed proprietor, is definitely a villain to remember. If you're looking to experience some of the classic American authors, I'd recommend Bradbury over almost everyone else.

'Something Wicked This Way Comes' is a glorious read, a smooth creation of poetic prose mixed together so wonderfully I was as delighted as if I had bitten into a honey-filled buttery scone. The story is also an adorable panegyric about a small-town childhood and male bonding which had me in tears at several points.

Oh, wow, why can't more fathers understand how familial sentiment is rewarding and beautiful, especially between a father and his son? Age is barely a barrier between a boy and his father, if a father remembers and encourages the explorations and thrills of discovery for a boy reaching out into the world, yet stands near enough to safely catch his eager child while he is running blindly into a future of tests and trials.

I have to take a moment here, gentle reader.

Ok. My eyes are again clear. :' )

The novel is actually a 1962 tale of Halloween horror about a traveling carnival which sets up tents and rides in early October next to a little town where 13-year-old William Halloway and James Nightshade live next door to each other. Born one minute apart, one on the night before Halloween and the other on Halloween, the two boys have spent every spare minute of their lives together, exploring the mysteries hidden in every natural cranny and wild space around town. They will be fourteen in days. Will is enjoying every moment of his life but thinks about things carefully, while Jim chaffs at needing to wait to grow up, impulsive, barely able to wait for his adventures to begin.

A whiff of cotton candy foretells the arrival of Cooger & Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show, a circus and carnival in one!

The boys run, eager to see the show arrive by train! But things are very odd right at the start. For one thing, the circus arrives in the dead of night and as they watch, the tents seem to set themselves up almost without human agency! There are men moving about, but in total silence. An eery wind blows a creepy balloon about as well as the tents - and then the wind disappears, along with the men and the balloon. Things are very weird about this circus, but after meeting the peculiar people in the carnival in the following days, the kids soon know it is evil. After they notice some of their neighbors have disappeared or seem to have been transformed into creatures, several of the circus' folk come after them, apparently meaning to do them harm.

Who can they tell? Who will believe them? Frantic, they finally explain things to Will's father, Charles Halloway. He is the library's janitor and a very good man, wise to the ways of boys. Well-read, he believes them. But can the three of them rescue the missing townspeople and save themselves? As the scary threats become obvious attacks, the trio search books about ancient magic and black witchcraft. Will any of it help them?

Examples of Bradbury's miraculous wordplay:

"Why are some people all grasshopper fiddlings, scrapings, all antennae shivering, one big ganglion eternally knotting, slip-knotting, square-knotting themselves? They stoke a furnace all of their lives, sweat their lips, shine their eyes and start it all in the crib."


"Yet this train's whistle!

The wails of a lifetime were gathered in it from other nights in other slumbering years; the howl of moon-drenched dogs, the seep of river-cold winds through January porch screens which stopped the blood, a thousand fire sirens weeping, or worse! The outgone shreds of breath, the protests of a billion people dead or dying, not wanting to be dead, their groans, their sighs, burst over the earth!"


"In front of the United Cigar Store on this before-noon Sunday with the bells of all churches ringing across here, colliding with each other there, showering sound from the sky now that the rain was spent, in front of the cigar store the Cherokee wooden Indian stood, his carved plumes pearled with water, oblivious to Catholic or Baptist bells, oblivious to the steadily approaching sun-bright cymbols, the thumping pagan heart of the carnival band. The flourished drums, the old-womanish shriek of calliope, the shadow drift of creatures far stranger than he, did not witch the Indian's yellow hawk-fierce gaze. Still, the drums did tilt churches and plummet forth mobs of boys curious and eager for any change mild or wild, so, as the church bells stopped up their silver and iron rain, pew-stiffened crowds became relaxed parade crowds as the carnival, a promotion of brass, a flush of velvet, all lion-pacing, mammoth-shuffling, flag-fluttered by."

Such exquisite writing! Imho.

Jim Nightshade and Will Holloway are neighbors born hours apart, the best of friends, inseparable. A life of mischief and adventure shared. One leans towards the shadows, the other, the light. They balance each other out, in a push-pull through the years. Their corner of the world is a playground, well-trodden and explored.

Until... SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES.



The Carnival arrives and with it an unsettling change. Late in the year, it seems more than a little unusual. But it calls, calls to the boys... and the townspeople.

Evil lurks.

Bradbury's prose is laden with fantastical descriptions that are rich, evocative, and have a tangible quality. It's been awhile since I've read his work so I forgot the power of his words, their ability to completely illustrate the scene. I recommend this as a fall selection read.

Resilience and being tested, tempted, is life. Two boys on the cusp of being teenagers, this is a book where childhood falls aside and the mantle of adulthood is donned. I loved the story of their friendship and the newly forged understanding between a father and son, for in such a dark book it lights the way out. I found the devotion in both relationships emotionally touching and hopeful. For as horrible as it all can get, there are a few things you should be able to look to and count on.

Remember: the wolf is always at the door.

Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury is a 1998 Avon publication- originally published in 1962.

I can’t believe it is already October, but at the same time, I’m glad it’s here. October is one of my favorite months of the year! One reason for that is that I get to pull out a spooky or scary book and create fun blog posts for Halloween.

The downside is that there are so many books to choose from, and so little time to get them read. Usually, I only manage to get one horror novel read, out of the dozen or so I planned to read.

This year, however, deadlines be damned, I’m going to cram in as many horror stories in as possible.

Because I am such an avid reader, it is terribly embarrassing to admit there are so many ‘classic’ horror stories I haven’t read. I’ve seen movie versions, but never got around to reading the book. This book falls into that category.

It’s been many years since I watched the movie version, starring Jason Robards, but I do still remember parts of it. Still, I had forgotten more than I remembered, so reading this book felt like a fresh experience. However, this book may have shaken by enthusiasm for October and the beginning of autumn…

“For some, autumn comes early, stays late through life, where October follows September and November touches October and then instead of December and Christ’s birth, there is no Bethlehem Star, no rejoicing, but September comes again and old October and so on down the years, with no winter, spring, or reviving summer. For these beings, fall is the ever normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond. Where do they come from? The dust. Where do they go? The grave. Does blood stir their veins? No: The night wind. What ticks in their head? The worm. What speaks from their mouth? The toad. What sees from their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars. They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. They frenzy forth. In gusts they beetle-scurry, creep, thread, filter, motion, make all moons sullen, and surely cloud all clear-run waters. The spider-web hears them, trembles- breaks. Such are the autumn people. Beware of them.”

Jim Nightshade and Will Halloway are very best friends. But, when a late season carnival arrives in Green Town, their friendship, and maybe even their very lives are in jeopardy.

This short book, is packed with so much imagery, imagination, and intense suspense, it is hard to put it down. For me, the writing was a little hard to adjust to, with chopped sentences, separated by commas. It did force me to slow down and read more carefully, but didn’t really affect the suspense, once I got into the groove.

Horror stories and movies can be taken strictly at face value, a lot of the time. There may not be much depth or symbolism to them- it is what it is. But, quite often there's an underlying theme, a moral to the story that gets overlooked if you aren’t looking beneath the surface, or with a more critical eye. In this case, I think time is a central theme, and the book is chock full of clocks and references to them.

Charles Halloway, Will’s father, is quite concerned about his age, having become a father later in life. Clocks are referenced metaphorically, and the town clock is a prominent prop.

There are other noteworthy allegorical symbols sprinkled throughout, all of which I will leave for you to decipher.

For me, though, the story has a more basic appeal. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the library and how often books are referenced. But, this isn't a book about books- I just happened to enjoy seeing two boys enjoy reading books.

But, more importantly- how do the boys and Charles beat Dark and his minions? I think they come through to the other side of their ordeal armed with familial love and trust and the ultimate power of friendship.

While Bradbury has written books that speak of true horrors, cautionary and powerful, this one may not hit that plateau, but it is the perfect fireside tale of good versus evil.
4 stars

Бредбъри винаги е невероятно лиричен и сладкодумен, дори когато разказва мрачни истории! В „Нещо зло се задава“ той споделя много житейски мъдрости, докато междувременно захвърля читателите към страховити и опасни приключения.

Книгата съдържа много готина Хелоуинска атмосфера, подобна на тази от друга от любимите ми негови книги - „Дървото на Вси светии“. Това е също така силна история за магията на детството и силата на приятелството между две момчета! Уил и Джим попадат на загадъчен и зловещ панаир, който неочаквано е пристигнал в тяхното градче...



„Дълбините на библиотеката ги очакваха.
Във външния свят не се случваше кой знае какво. Но тук, в необикновената нощ, в държавата със стени от хартия и кожа, можеше да се случи всичко — и винаги се случваше.“

October spooky read #5!

Creepy and nostalgic, huh? Well, doesn’t that sound just perfect! I mean, I’ve loved every Ray Bradbury book I ever got my hands on, so I was quite confident that “Something Wicked This Way Comes” would be a lovely autumnal delight: I had been saving it for crisper days, for thick scarf weather, to be enjoyed with a piece of apple pie or a nice, smoky whiskey (or both!).

The natural sequel to “Dandelion Wine” (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...), this is the story of a mysterious carnival that rolls into peaceful Green Town, Illinois, just as the leaves start changing colours. Will Halloway and Jim Nightshade are best friends, and in some ways, two sides of the same coin. One is impatient and reckless, the other more quiet and thoughtful. They are at that precarious age where you are neither a child nor a teenager just yet. They witness the carnival's arrival in town over night, and even though they immediately know that this is no ordinary circus, they are delighted. They will soon come to see that Cooger & Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show has some unsettling powers

Will’s father Charles is what one might call an older man: he married a woman who was much younger than him, had a child late in life and often feels as if there was an unnatural gap of time between himself and his son. The carnival that snuck into town overnight has a very different meaning for him than it has for the boys; Charles has read enough books to know that when something sounds too good to be true, the hidden price tag is often much steeper than anticipated.

As I have come to expect - and look forward to - with a Bradbury book, I was treated to a delicious dose of nostalgia for a time that might have never really been. But I do love this enchanted memory lane, even if it only ever existed in Bradbury’s wistful mind. And I simply can’t resist the appeal of a carnival: had I been born in a different time and place, I would have totally been that kid who runs off to join the circus (too bad you can’t make a living being a tattooed lady anymore!). And if I had read this book when I was younger, I just might have: Bradbury conjures the smells and noises of this strange carnival so vividly that you’ll look up from the book and wonder where the candied apple vendors have vanished to.

But mostly, he paints a vivid picture of the feelings one experiences not simply growing up, but growing old. While this book sometimes has a certain vibe of being written for younger readers, the character of Charles changes everything precisely because he is a man who, as he puts it himself, settled and started late in life. Fifty-four years old is not old by today's standards, but in the 1930s, it was - and Charles feels unable to connect with anyone, but especially Will, because of his age. However, being older and having experienced things the boys haven't is key to this story, and to defeating the darker impulses that seek to seduce them. He is the perfect illustration that age is greatly tempered by one's attitude towards it. When a maze of fucked up mirrors show you something you don't like, its tempting to hop on the enchanted carousel that will shave a few years off, but Charles that would be losing sight of the good things that come with getting on in years.

“Dandelion Wine” was about the end of childhood and the loss of a certain innocence; “Something Wicked This Way Comes” is about the discovery of the dark side of human nature, of the temptations that come with growing up and of the importance of keeping a part of your mind young. 4 and a half stars!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZG38V...

I had an incredibly hard time reading this book, especially considering it's a 300-page linear story about an evil circus coming to a small town. I think it's because -- unlike Fahrenheit 451 -- Bradbury overwrote this book to the point of it being dense poetry rather than prose. The dialogue is sparse and stilted, and the descriptions are never-ending, and hard to follow.

Reading the opening chapter, the language excited me. I falsely assumed it was just being used to set the mood and would taper off in due course, but it never ended. I wanted to scream at the book: "I get it -- the story is dark, macabre, spooky, and ethereal. Enough! Let the story through!"

An example:

It was indeed a time between, one second their thoughts all brambled airedale, the next all silken slumbering cat. It was a time to go to bed, yet still they lingered reluctant as boys to give over and wander in wide circles to pillow and night thoughts. It was a time to say much but not all. It was a time after first discoveries but not last ones. It was wanting to know everything and wanting to know nothing. It was the new sweetness of men starting to talk as they must talk. It was the possible bitterness of revelation.

And another example, this one during an action sequence:

Then the arrow, a long hour it seemed in flight, razored a small vent in the balloon. Rapidly the shaft sank as if cutting a vast green cheese. The surface slit itself further in a wide ripping smile across the entire surface of the gigantic pear, as the blind Witch gabbled, moaned, blistered her lips, shrieked in protest, and Will hung fast, hands gripped to wicker, kicking legs, as the balloon wailed whiffled, guzzled, mourned its own swift gaseous death, as dungeon air raved out, as dragon breath gushed forth and the bag, thus driven, retreated up.

By the final third of the book, I was skimming entire paragraphs just to get through the book. Sadly, an interesting premise is lost somewhere in this mess. I am looking forward to reading the graphic novel adaptation, to see if a medium shift can cure the problem created by the bloated prose.

Twisted and poetic.

n  n

The Dark carnival is coming to town.
Two boys and a father are the towns only hope.
If only out of fear you stay home and not go down to the fair ground tonight for the dark man awaits.

Two buddies, boys, they live next to each other and can see each others bedroom window when needed. Friends born two minutes apart, one 1min before midnight October 30th, and the other 1min after midnight, October 31st, Halloween.
I loved the father son relationship in this story between Will and his father Charles Halloway. His father has a level of understanding boys and there needs, he acknowledges his sons growing up testing the waters of limitations in his obedience.

A darkly poetic story with an elegant prose style, Page-turning and evoking great sense place and nostalgia.
When you visit a maze or hall of mirrors again after reading this you will be reflecting back to this dark carnival that you have paid visit to by way of Ray Bradbury.
A timeless story that is high up many readers lists of all time reads and that holds significant inspiration in writers pursuit in writing a story for the masses.
As I finished re-reading it I can't help thinking I be paying a visit again to this treasure trove of weirdness, mystery and darkness involving weird characters of the carnival, two youthful buddies and a father. The illustrated Man a really interesting character and probably in my next stop after reading this i will be paying a visit to his novel 'The Illustrated Man,' a collection of stories involving a tattooed man similar to that of the Illustrated Man/The Dark Man in this tale.
This one keeps you turning the pages with the fate of two friends in mind.

Ray Bradbury says in his afterword...
"Disney created Disneyland as a bright antidote. He made a new world. I finished a novel, with Mr. Electro at its centre, changed from a kind Christian mystic into an unfailing evil Cooger and Cooger an Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show."

If you ever happen to notice a carousel at a funfair rotating backwards and music being played backwards steer well clear of the ride. For that backward ride, a carousel, of a carnival is driven probably by dark feelings, fear and anger.

Excerpts that I had to take note of...

n  "A carnival should be all growls, roars like timberlands stacked, bundled, rolled and crashed, great explosions of lion dust, men ablaze with working anger, pop bottles jangling, horse buckles shivering, engines and elephants in full stampede through rains of sweat while zebras neighed and trembled like cage trapped in cage.
But this was like old movies, the silent theatre haunted with black-and-white ghosts, silvery mouths opening to let moonlight smoke out, gestures made in silence so hushed you could hear the wind fizz the hair on your cheeks."

"In the meadow, the tents, the carnival waited. Waited for someone, anyone to wade along the grassy surf. The great tents filled like bellows. They softly issued forth exhalations of air that smelled like ancient yellow beasts.
But only the moon looked in at the hollow dark, the deep caverns. Outside, night beasts hung in midgallop on a carousel. Beyond lay fathoms of Mirror Maze which house a multifold series of empty vanities one wave on another, still, serene, silvered with age, white with time. Any shadow, at the entrance, might stir reverberations the Olof of fright, unravel deep-buried moons.
If a man stood there would he see himself unfolded away a billion times to eternity? Would a billion images look back, each face and the face after and the face after that old, older, oldest? Would he find himself lost in a fine dust away off deep down there, not fifty but sixty, not sixty but seventy, not seventy but eighty, ninety, ninety-nine years old?
The maze did not ask.
The maze did not tell.
It simply stood and waited like a great arctic floe."


" 'Three....'
Three in the morning, thought Charles Halloway, seated on the edge of his bed. Why did the train come at that hour?
For, he thought, it's a special hour. Women never wake then, do they?
They sleep the sleep of babes and children. But men in middle age?
They know that hour well. Oh God, midnights not bad, you wake and go back to sleep, one or two's not bad, you toss but sleep again. Five or six in the morning, there's hope, for dawns just under the horizon. But three, now, Christ, three A.M.! Doctors say the body's at low tide then. The soul is out. The blood moves slow. You're the nearest to dead you'll ever be save dying. Sleep is a patch of death, but three in the morn, full wide-eyed staring, is living death! You dream with your eyes open. God, if you had strength to rouse up, you'd slaughter your half-dreams with buckshot! But no, you lie pinned to a deep well-bottom that's burned dry. The moon rolls by to look at you down there, with it's idiot face. It's a long way back to sunset, a far way on to dawn, so you summon all the fool things of your life, the stupid lovely things done with people known so very well who are now so very dead-And wasn't it true, had he read it somewhere, more people in hospitals die at 3 A.M than at any other time...?"

"The music, thought Will, what was it? And how do I know it's backside first? He hugged the limb, tried to catch the tune, then hum it forward in his head. But the brass bells, the drums, hammered his chest, revved his heart so he felt his pulse reverse, his blood turn back in perverse thrusts through all his flesh, so he was nearly shaken free to fall, so all he did was clutch, hang pale, and drink the sight of the backward-turning machine and Mr Dark, alert at the controls, on the sidelines.
It was Jim who first noticed the new thing happening, for he kicked Will, once, Will looked over, and Jim nodded frantically at the man in the machine as he came around the next time.
Mr Cooger's face was melting like pink wax.
His hands were becoming dolls hands.
His bones sank away beneath his clothes; his clothes then shrank down to fit his dwindling frame.
His face flickered going, and each time around he melted more.
Will saw Jim's head shift, circling,
The carousel wheeled, a great back-drifting lunar dream, the horse thrusting, the music in-grasped after, while Mr Coogar, as simple as shadows, as simple as light, as simple as time, got younger. And younger. And younger."

" 'An old religious tract. Pastor Newgate Philips, I think. Read it as a boy. How does it go again?'
He tried to remember. He liked his lips. He did remember
'For some, autumn comes early, stays late through life where October follows September and November touches October and then instead of December and Christ's birth, there is no Bethlehem Star, no rejoicing, but September comes again and old October and son on down the years, with no winter, spring, or revivifying summer. For these beings, fall is the ever normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond. Where do they come from? The grave. Does blood stir their veins? No: the night wind. What ticks in their head? The worm. What speaks from their mouth? The toad. What sees from their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars. They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. They frenzy forth. In guts they beetle-scurry, creep, thread, filter, motion, make all moons sullen, and surely cloud all clear-run waters. The spider-web hears them, trembles- breaks. Such as the autumn people. Beware of them.' "

" 'Riding that merry-go round they shave off a year or two, any time they want, right?'
'Why, then--' The abyss opened at Wills feet -'they could live forever!'
'And hurt people.' Jim turned it over, again and again.'But why, why all the hurt?'
'Because,' said Mr Halloway.'You need fuel, gas, something to run a carnival on, don't you? Women live off gossip, and what's gossip but swap of headaches, sour spit, arthritic bones, ruptured and mended flesh, indiscretions, storms of madness, calms after the storms? If some people didn't have something juicy to chew on, their choppers would prolapse, theirs souls with them. Multiply their pleasure at funerals, their chuckling through breakfast obituaries, add all the cat-fight marriages where folks spend careers ripping skin off each other and patching it back upside around, add quack doctors slicing persons to read their guts like tea leaves, square the whole dynamite factory by ten quadrillion, and you got the black candlepower of this one carnival.
'All the meannesses we harbour, they borrow in redoubled spades. They're a billion times itchier for pain, sorrow, and sickness than the average man. We salt our lives with other peoples sins. Our flesh to us tastes sweet. But the carnival doesn't care if it stinks by moonlight instead of sun, so long as it gorges on fear and pain. That's the fuel, the vapor that spins the carousel, the raw stuffs of terror, the excruciating agony of guilt, the scream from real or imagined wounds. The carnival sucks that gas, ignites it, and chugs along its way.' "

"Somewhere in the recumbent solitudes, the motionless but teeming millions of books, lost in two dozen turns right, three dozen turns left, down aisles, through corridors, toward dead ends, locked doors, half-empty shelves, somewhere in the literary soot of Dickens's London, or Dostoevsky's Moscow or the steppes beyond, somewhere in the vellumed dust of atlas or Geographic, sneezes pent but set like traps, the boys crouched, stood, lay sweating a cool and constant brine.
Somewhere hidden, Jim thought: He's coming!
Somewhere hidden, Will thought: He's near!
'Boys....?' "n

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Review also found @ http://more2read.com/review/something-wicked-way-comes-ray-bradbury/