Ray Bradbury, a true giant of science fiction, is gone at the age of 91. His work spanned more decades as I’ve been alive, and I grew up reading his libertarian visions of a dystopian future.
I especially recall The Martian Chronicles, The Illustrated Man, Something Wicked This Way Comes, and, of course, Fahrenheit 451, which gave me nightmares about the coming totalitarian police state. Wonder how he felt about those well-meaning control freaks like Mayor Mike and his attempts to wean us from our sugar-loving ways?
Bradbury was a master of fantasy, what passed for hard science fiction fifty years ago, and not least, horror. What made his works so enjoyable was that I could read them several times, and enjoy it each time.
He was a giant in a land of pygmies. RIP.