Tag Archives: Literature

The Martian Chronicles – Ray Bradbury – [Book Review]

I’m a big fan of Ray Bradbury. The man was an expert storyteller, but also a visual and rhythmic genius to boot. His colourful imagery blooms with bright vocabulary and flowing sentences that drift upon a stream of ideas unbound by the norms of grammar and syntax. His prose is poetry, in a word. I even chose a passage from Something Wicked This Way Comes to be read at my wedding, despite the fact it’s a horror.

Why love the woman who is your wife? Her nose breathes the air of a world that I know; therefore I love that nose. Her ears hear music I might sing half the night through; therefore I love her ears. Her eyes delight in seasons of the land; and so I love those eyes. Her tongue knows quince, peach, chokeberry, mint and lime; I love to hear it speaking. Because her flesh knows heat, cold, affliction, I know fire, snow, and pain. Shared and once again shared experience. Billions of prickling textures. Cut one sense away, cut part of life away. Cut two senses; life halves itself on the instant. We love what we know, we love what we are. Common cause, common cause, common cause of mouth, eye, ear, tongue, hand, nose, flesh, heart, and soul.

That’s a father trying to imagine how to describe love to two pre-teen boys, so that they can understand it. It’s lovely.

However, I’d not heard of The Martian Chronicles until it came up in conversation on Twitter with my pal Jon. It was excuse enough to impulsively order it, and I can’t say I’ve been disappointed.

Continue reading The Martian Chronicles – Ray Bradbury – [Book Review]

Station Eleven – Emily St John Mandel – [Book Review]

I’m the first to admit, some of my book reviews can be somewhat scathing (my treatment of Rogue Forces by Dale Brown and The Hook by Donald E Westlake come to mind). I think that’s because it’s often more fun to find fault than it is to fathom finesse, if you’ll excuse the alliteration. It’s certainly easier to pick holes.

That’s why this review of Station Eleven by Canadian author Emily St John Mandel is so difficult. If there’s one word I can use to describe it, it’s “effortless”.

Effortless in the sense that I was never obstructed by some forced narrative technique, or distracted by a clumsy phrase or metaphor. I was taken by the hand around this fictional world, the events of interest pointed out but never laboured over, and never was my hand squeezed too tight or my head shoved to examine something uninteresting. It was effortless storytelling.

That makes it difficult to analyse. It kind of washed over me, leaving an evocation of regret in its wake – for that seems to me the central theme.

Continue reading Station Eleven – Emily St John Mandel – [Book Review]