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 Haunted House by Charles Dickens

CHAPTER I - THE MORTALS IN THE HOUSE

     Under none of the accredited ghostly circumstances, and environed by none of the conventional ghostly surroundings, did I first make acquaintance with the house which is the subject of this Christmas piece. I saw it in the daylight, with the sun upon it. There was no wind, no rain, no lightning, no thunder, no awful or unwonted circumstance, of any kind, to heighten its effect. More than that: I had come to it direct from a railway station: it was not more than a mile distant from the railway station; and, as I stood outside the house, looking back upon the way I had come, I could see the goods train running smoothly along the embankment in the valley. I will not say that everything was utterly commonplace, because I doubt if anything can be that, except to utterly commonplace people- -and there my vanity steps in; but, I will take it on myself to say that anybody might see the house as I saw it, any fine autumn morning.

     The manner of my lighting on it was this.

     I was travelling towards London out of the North, intending to stop by the way, to look at the house. My health required a temporary residence in the country; and a friend of mine who knew that, and who had happened to drive past the house, had written to me to suggest it as a likely place. I had got into the train at midnight, and had fallen asleep, and had woke up and had sat looking out of window at the brilliant Northern Lights in the sky, and had fallen asleep again, and had woke up again to find the night gone, with the usual discontented conviction on me that I hadn't been to sleep at all; -- upon which question, in the first imbecility of that condition, I am ashamed to believe that I would have done wager by battle with the man who sat opposite me.

 

      That opposite man had had, through the night -- as that opposite man always has -- several legs too many, and all of them too long. In addition to this unreasonable conduct (which was only to be expected of him), he had had a pencil and a pocket-book, and had been perpetually listening and taking notes. It had appeared to me that these aggravating notes related to the jolts and bumps of the carriage, and I should have resigned myself to his taking them, under a general supposition that he was in the civil-engineering way of life, if he had not sat staring straight over my head whenever he listened. He was a goggle-eyed gentleman of a perplexed aspect, and his demeanour became unbearable.

 

Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always prudently shortened sail and implored the protection of Saint Nicholas, there lies a small market town which is generally known by the name of Tarry Town.

 

     This name was given by the good housewives of the adjacent country from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on market days. Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a little valley among high hills which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook murmurs through it and, with the occasional whistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker, is almost the only sound that ever breaks the uniform tranquillity.

 

     From the listless repose of the place, this sequestered glen has long been known by the name of Sleepy Hollow. Some say that the place was bewitched during the early days of the Dutch settlement; others, that an old Indian chief, the wizard of his tribe, held his powwows there before the country was discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson.

 

     Certain it is, the place still continues under the sway of some witching power that holds a spell over the minds of the descendants of the original settlers. They are given to all kinds of marvelous beliefs, are subject to trances and visions, and frequently hear music and voices in the air. The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions.