This is possibly the best book I’ve read all year. Maybe not technically brilliant, but its heart and soul more than made up for that. It’s a collection of short stories written in the ’40s and ’50s and they are all wonderful. These are the sorts of stories that remind me why I love science fiction: not only do they evoke a sense of joy and wonder at the amazing universe we live in, but Bradbury’s writing is poetic, gets under your skin and is a joy to read.
The stories are true Golden Age stuff, all food pills, bubble cars and rocket ships. Most of them invoked the rocket as a symbol of freedom, the future and hope and even in the ones where it was absent, these themes recurred. It’s not perfect, it’s a product of its time, with almost a complete absence of women, but if you can look past its origins, it’s an incredibly rewarding book.
