Shadow Show: All-New Stories in Celebration of Ray Bradbury

Book: Shadow Show

Author: A collection of short stories by many authors, including Neil Gaiman, Audrey Niffenegger, Dave Eggers, Sam Weller, Mort Castle, and Alice Hoffman.

 

Why I Read It: It's a collection of short stories in celebration of Ray Bradbury, who I love. Also, I was traveling at the time and a book of short stories travels easier than one long novel sometimes.

First Line: Hmmm, doesn't really apply because there are 26 first lines.
 

First Impression: Oh my. So very very dark. And creative.

Last Impression: This was truly an homage to Bradbury; emotional, unique, unexpected and human.

 

Ratings

Overall – 5 Heart Racing As it usually is with a collection of shorter works by different authors, this book provided a mixed hat of tales. Some truly struck a chord with me and some I trudged through to get onto the next story. However, the overwhelming feeling was one of deep satisfaction.

Characters – 3 With short works such as these, it is the story that pulls the reader forward, rater than the characters, so many times they were forgettable.

Story – 5 Unabashedly brilliant. Though most of the 26 tales were a delight, a few stood out as exceptional: The Girl in the Funeral Parlor by Sam Weller, The Companions by David Morrell, Little America by Dan Chaon, Young Pilgrims by Joe Meno, and The Tattoo by Bonnie Jo Campbell stand out as truly memorable.

Narration – 4 Again, varied by work, but these artists are all experienced and each story is masterfully crafted.

Read Again? Absolutely. And again. And again.

Tell Others to Read? I recommended this book as I was still traveling through its pages. It is a very specific readership however, and is best enjoyed by true Bradbury fans (those who have read beyond Fahrenheit 451).

Excerpt from the Introduction:

      In Shadow Show, this celebration of Ray Bradbury, artists who have been profoundly influenced by him pen their own short stories in homage, stories that through image, theme, or concept are either ever so obviously or ever so subtle "Bradbury-informed." From the lyrical magic of Dandelion Wine, to the shifting sands of Mars, to the rolling mist of The October Country, Bradbury's literary achievements in all their scope are honored by a host of today's top writers. Shadow Show presents our most exciting authors, who, like the honoree, are not contained or constricted by category or locale, as they touch the Bradbury base for inspiration to explore their own singular, wildest imaginings.

     The stories in this volume are neither sequels nor pastiches but rather distinctive fictive visions by writers inspired by a single common touchstone: the enduring works of Ray Bradbury.

 

 

Content property of HarperCollins.

The Veldt by Ray Bradbury

     "George, I wish you'd look at the nursery."

     "What's wrong with it?"

     "I don't know."

     "Well, then."

     "I just want you to look at it, is all, or call a psychologist in to look at it."

     "What would a psychologist want with a nursery?"

     "You know very well what he'd want." His wife paused in the middle of the kitchen and watched the stove busy humming to itself, making supper for four.

"It's just that the nursery is different now than it was."

     "All right, let's have a look."

     They walked down the hall of their soundproofed Happylife Home, which had cost them thirty thousand dollars installed, this house which clothed and fed and rocked them to sleep and played and sang and was good to them.

     Their approach sensitized a switch somewhere and the nursery light flicked on when they came within ten feet of it. Similarly, behind them, in the halls, lights went on and off as they left them behind, with a soft automaticity.

     "Well," said George Hadley.

     They stood on the thatched floor of the nursery. It was forty feet across by forty feet long and thirty feet high; it had cost half again as much as the rest of the house. "But nothing's too good for our children," George had said.

     The nursery was silent. It was empty as a jungle glade at hot high noon. The walls were blank and two dimensional. Now, as George and Lydia Hadley stood in the center of the room, the walls began to purr and recede into crystalline distance, it seemed, and presently an African veldt appeared, in three dimensions, on all sides, in color reproduced to the final pebble and bit of straw. The ceiling above them became a deep sky with a hot yellow sun.

     George Hadley felt the perspiration start on his brow.

     "Let's get out of this sun," he said. "This is a little too real. But I don't see anything wrong."

     "Wait a moment, you'll see," said his wife.

     Now the hidden odorophonics were beginning to blow a wind of odor at the two people in the middle of the baked veldtland. The hot straw smell of lion grass, the cool green smell of the hidden water hole, the great rusty smell of animals, the smell of dust like a red paprika in the hot air. And now the sounds: the thump of distant antelope feet on grassy sod, the papery rustling of vultures. A shadow passed through the sky. The shadow flickered on George Hadley's upturned, sweating face.

     "Filthy creatures," he heard his wife say.

     "The vultures."

     "You see, there are the lions, far over, that way. Now they're on their way to the water hole. They've just been eating," said Lydia. "I don't know what."

     "Some animal." George Hadley put his hand up to shield off the burning light from his squinted eyes. "A zebra or a baby giraffe, maybe."

    "Are you sure?" His wife sounded peculiarly tense.

     "No, it's a little late to be sure," be said, amused. "Nothing over there I can see but cleaned bone, and the vultures dropping for what's left."

     "Did you hear that scream?" she asked.