Upon hearing of Ray Bradbury's death last night, I've shed more than a few tears at my office desk. For those who haven't read Fahrenheit 451 or The Martian Chronicles, you are missing out on some absolutely mind-blowing mid-20th century literature. Bradbury ushered in an age of writing where science fiction (451) seemed entirely plausible (unlike Jules Verne's works), and fantasy (Chronicles) wasn't just about fairies and vampires.
What truly endears him to me was his love of public libraries, the space where he wrote many of his short stories, and his deep understanding of childhood fears and what makes us human. His works more often than not dealt with topics pertinent to people at any time, in any dimension, on any planet: isolation and solitude, progress and personal connections, family and fitting in. Pick up a copy of one of his novels, or re-read "The Homecoming" today. A great writer like him should be honored.
(Read more about him on his NYT obit.)
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