Survived disc last night, and did a fairly decent job of it. Our field was a swamp though. Standing water, even. Tomorrow I play four games and Sunday another two.
So. I need to get everything packed up, shave my legs, do a load of laundry. Hopefully we’re all prepared and good and the trip will go off without a hitch.
It is not great literature. It’s plot concept is simple though not entirely solid. Often the reader, and the characters, are led by the nose. “Oh, if we go here, we’ll find a clue.” But this is probably the best novel I’ve read in a while. It’s Bradbury, with all the things associated with him. It’s like a really good day at the amusement park. There’s the creepy morbidity of the freak show, the exileration of the rollercoaster, the occasional odd character that you cross the midway to avoid, but can’t take your eyes off of and laugh about latter. In the grand scheme, a day at the State Fair isn’t a make you or break you (unless you’re Ray Bradbury), but it’s a fun diversion, a filler for a hot summer day.
Of course, there’s Bradbury’s balsy use of words. I don’t know anyone else that does it like Ray Bradbury. Example:
“…a very tall man with ice-blond hair and an oyster complexion glided to the front desk and disdained us as if we were discards from a steam laundry.”
Oyster complexion? Disdained us? I don’t know if the teacher of my grad class would have loved it, or hated it with a burning passion. I love it. It shows what it needs to.
I don’t know whether Constance is the same old Hollywood star that Bradbury’s fictional self dallied with in Green Shadows, White Whale, but the fictional self is the same: a writer, never named, known only as Willie to his friends, who wonders at the words and his place as a writer in it.
Okay. I should get up and be productive now.