| Ray Bradbury: The Life of Fiction | ||||||||
| Jonathan R. Eller and William F. Touponce | ||||||||
| Kent State University Press, 448 pages | ||||||||
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A review by David Soyka
Now, this was a group of non-English majors forced to fulfill their humanities requirement, which may have been why the assignment didn't
go over too well. Another was that my students hadn't come of age in a culture fixated on the possibility of global nuclear
holocaust. So, I wound up explaining a lot more about the story than I had originally intended, to the point where I felt the
need to say, "I don't want to ruin the story for you guys by overanalyzing it. Just try to get into the imagery and the flow of
what happens."
Well, as it happened, they didn't. But I still sometimes think stories can get ruined if they're overanalyzed, particularly when
it's in an English class.
Which brings me to Ray Bradbury: The Life of Fiction by Jonathan R. Eller and William F. Touponce, both English professors
at Indiana University. While the title implies a biography, this is rather an exhaustive -- both in terms of detail as well as
reader endurance -- scholarly examination of the Bradbury opus that seems to have collected every possible minutia that even
die-hard fans might find themselves not caring too much about. In other words, this is a work intended for an academic
audience, the type of people who actually read footnotes (of which there are 36 pages) and care to know about such things as
the line edits between an author's first drafts and subsequent revisions. Unlike, say, Jerry West's Bradbury: An
Illustrated Life, a Journey to Far Metaphor, which is more of a straightforward overview of a career that you don't
even have to read to appreciate -- it's worth having just for all the pictures of movie posters, magazine art, book jackets
and other pulp illustrations related to Bradburiana.
There are no pictures in Ray Bradbury: The Life of Fiction, though there are manuscript facsimiles, detailed graphs
and charts. Nor are there any juicy bits, if indeed there are any, about Bradbury's personal life. As the authors explain,
the title of their book:
Even casual readers of Bradbury know Ray is none too pleased about a lot of technology (I believe he doesn't own a computer),
even while embracing others (e.g., spaceflight, but for less prosaic purposes than NASA, which probably does not include uncovering
God as part of its mission statement). But the authors are, after all academicians, and, thus, it gets a little more complicated,
as in such expositions as:
Which is not to say the book isn't worthwhile for someone not well versed in literary theory. For example, those who've
read Farewell Summer (published subsequent to The Life of Fiction), might find interest in "The Carnival Blaze
of Summer" chapter, which discusses why Bradbury eventually abandoned the story that some fifty years later would become
his "latest" novel. Bradbury instead assembled Dandelion Wine, the "fix-up novel" of short stories set in Green Town,
Ray's fictionalized and idealized version of his Waukegan, Illinois Depression-era hometown featuring the semi-fabulist
adventures of youthful alter-ego, Douglas Spaulding.
One thing that might be surprising to most fans is the painstaking effort that went into these fix-up collections and how
Bradbury, whose favored oeuvre is the short form, struggled to produce something novel-length, even when restructuring already
published work. I always had the notion that Ray kind of banged these things out (if only because some his work, the later
stuff in particular, comes across as first draft kind of stuff). However, Eller and Touponce document that Bradbury put
considerable meticulous effort into restructuring his stories to fit into a thematically cohesive longer works. These were
not cut and past jobs, but carefully crafted artistry.
Bradbury has always been held at arms length by the academic establishment, Clifton Fadiman's famous introduction
to The Martian Chronicles notwithstanding (and, by the way, one of the many interesting tidbits here is that the
book was titled The Silver Locusts in the British edition, which I think rather more fitting). In part, this is
because Bradbury can appear deceptively simple (a claim the authors take pains to dismiss) and that his metaphors are
sometimes sloppy (just one example: "…a bundle of old newspapers that would stir like a pack of mice and wish you the
time of evening if you walked by." Huh?). Indeed, Eller and Touponce acknowledge that Bradbury is frequently viewed as
a mere entertainer and that their efforts to treat him seriously justify their "detours through the mirror maze of
contemporary literary theory." Bradbury is not an unwelcome subject for literary studies, as this book's extensive
bibliography illustrates, but Eller and Touponce make a comprehensive critical case for Bradbury as a major
writer of the late 20th century.
David Soyka is a former journalist and college teacher who writes the occasional short story and freelance article. He makes a living writing corporate marketing communications, which is a kind of fiction without the art. |
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