Bradbury, Now and Then
The flyleaf to fantasist and all-around American literary icon Ray Bradbury‘s new novel credits him with writing “over 100 books,” which seems like a lot more than are currently taking up residence on my shelves. Hyperbole aside, Bradbury’s output in his later years has been nothing short of phenomenal. The 83-year-old has been averaging a little more than a book a year, on top of overseeing stage and film productions of his classic works, producing essays on the craft of writing, and generally keeping his name in the forefront of American letters. Let’s All Kill Constance (William Morrow, $23.95), sequel of sorts to Death Is a Lonely Business, is only his second mystery novel, a fact that should pain both Bradbury fans and lovers of hard-boiled fiction to no end. With a screenwriter protagonist who bares a striking resemblance to the young Bradbury (who scripted John Huston’s Moby Dick, in case you forgot) and a rye-and-Lucky Strikes-styled detective in the form of cantankerous Elmo Crumley, this is classic Bradbury operating in all his beloved gumshoe glory. The Constance of the title is Rattigan, a former Hollywood starlet and free-thinker prone to nude beachcombing and general mischief, who here enlists the aid of the author’s stand-in and his ex-flatfoot pal. Suffice to say Bradbury’s at the top of his game here, recalling the teary, fog-shrouded world of a seedy 1960s Venice, Calif.
The lovingly compiled and altogether wonderful Bradbury: An Illustrated Life (William Morrow, $34.95) is more for the die-hard fans, being a collection of writerly memorabilia along the lines of movie one-sheets (Rod Steiger in The Illustrated Man), foreign edition covers, stage-play program notes, and reminiscences of all sorts from Bradbury’s massive coterie of awestruck pals, among them Forrest J. Ackerman and the gang over at the late, great E.C. Comics. Awash in glossy reproductions of the minutiae of the author’s public life, this is the sort of coffee table tome you regularly find taking up space on true believer’s breakfast tables (like, oh, say, mine). With an introduction by Bradbury himself (something that makes me wish he’d write more nonfiction now that his fame as a fictionalist is long since secured) and enough gorgeous art for art’s sake to choke a Martian, this is Bradbury overload, a nostalgic look back over one of the most remarkable artistic careers ever. All that and Ray Harryhausen’s dinosaur’s, to boot.
This article appears in December 13 • 2002.