Wednesday, June 06, 2012
Sometimes you have the perfect reading experience. You come to a book at just the right time and you read it in the perfect setting. Reading Something Wicked This Way Comes during the crackle and electric orange of this past October will always be one of my favorite examples. The words seemed to influence the weather, and the deceptively warm colors of the dying leaves and odd, cool winds of the night seemed to heighten the prose of two boys coming of age in a town that could be any town, but could also only exist in the pages of Bradbury.
Big changes were coming at the end of that fall, some I had no idea of. But that is the gift of literature, that it can give voice to and comfort fears you can't articulate or aren't even aware of yet.That through the terror there is always a reason to press on, and always people worth fighting for. I'll let Mr. Bradbury finish it out...
"Could he say that love was, above all, common cause, shared experience? That was the vital cement wasn't it? Could he say how he felt about their all being here tonight on this wild world running around a big sun which fell through a bigger space falling through yet vaster immensities of space, maybe toward and maybe away from Something? Could he say: we share this billion-mile-an-hour ride. We have common cause against the night"