"The Wind" is a horror story which utilizes the everyday things familiar to everyone. Here the commonplace wind is personified as a sinister kind of monster who tracks its victims to the ends of the earth and sucks away their lives.
Ray Douglas Bradbury was an American author and screenwriter. One of the most celebrated 20th-century American writers, he worked in a variety of genres, including fantasy, science fiction, horror, mystery, and realistic fiction.
Bradbury is best known for his novel Fahrenheit 451 (1953) and his short-story collections The Martian Chronicles (1950), The Illustrated Man (1951), and The October Country (1955). Other notable works include the coming of age novel Dandelion Wine (1957), the dark fantasy Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962) and the fictionalized memoir Green Shadows, White Whale (1992). He also wrote and consulted on screenplays and television scripts, including Moby Dick and It Came from Outer Space. Many of his works were adapted into television and film productions as well as comic books. Bradbury also wrote poetry which has been published in several collections, such as They Have Not Seen the Stars (2001).
The New York Times called Bradbury "An author whose fanciful imagination, poetic prose, and mature understanding of human character have won him an international reputation" and "the writer most responsible for bringing modern science fiction into the literary mainstream".
I was listening to OTR (old time radio) this morning and heard Ray Bradbury's short story "The Wind" on Radio City Playhouse- October 30, 1949. I decided to give it a read, having just finished hearing the program. First of all the director played it fairly close to Bradbury's story with several alterations but when reading it seemed more horrific from the description that the man distressed by the wind and all alone, calling his friend some 30 miles away. In the story the man was more stoic in dealing with The Wind by himself and not begging his friend to come over to be part of the disaster. In explaining the winds from all four corners of the world and with all his escapes from natural disasters with the wind was interesting. When thinking about winds and how they blow, it goes everywhere and all are touched in a way by the same winds that others far away have had it blown their faces. It seems to bring all humanity to a center of being one in mankind which was the initially God's focus until man dispersed their different ways but still the wind comes to us all.
In the OTR version which is enjoyable and terrifyingly in a sense, the men are war veterans and the friend seems to be more anxious than the story. Not to say he was calm but trying to escape and understand. I think this is more an horror of the mind than physical kind.
I also wanted to mention another story that I read about The Wind which is worth commenting here because both Bradbury and Dorothy Scarborough bring out the horrors of listening and how The Wind effects one's mind. Even though the stories are quite different, yet they are quite similar in what I mentioned above.
I read a collection of his 100 works, see my "Ray Bradbury" shelf for highlights if interested.
Es un cuento corto, pero es increíble; la manera de escribir de Ray Bradbury es increíble, te ayuda a entender correctamente los sentimientos de los personajes y sus temores. A veces, algo tan sencillo como el viento nos genera terror y este cuento prácticamente nos cuenta que el viento puede matar y convertirte en parte de él.
I think this was the first Ray Bradbury story I read, as a kid - it was in an Alfred Hitchcock anthology. It freaked the bejeezus out of me at the time, and I still find it a little disconcerting. I've always loved Bradbury's work from the 1940s, and this is a fine example of a horror story stripped right down to the bones, showing little of the wordiness that developed later in his career.
Note; the original 1942 version, "Is That You, Bert?" was published in 2003 as "Is That You, Herb?"; a version which grabs you instantly due to the absence of the short introductory paragraph that can be found here in "The Wind". A rather boring point, I know - but it just might interest someone.
Creepy read! Classic Bradbury, who doesn't always write horror but does a great job here. Something as ordinary as a windy day is used to creep us out. Basically in this story, the wind can kill and you may or may not become a part of the wind, destined to travel around the world for all eternity! Check it out for one of Bradbury's early works.
THE WINDS is one of Bradbury's short stories that didn't grab me immediately, like most of his writings. The genre was difficult to decipher...science fiction or fiction. I'm going to try to reread it again and determine if I perhaps missed something that revealed something major.
It really doesn’t take a week to read. I forgot to mark as finished. The version I just read is from Weird Tales, that you can find since it’s in the public domain. An excellent version with the main character flipped from the usually found versions.
Not sure I got the ending but the rest of it was damn interesting. Ray Bradbury has to be one of the greatest science fiction writers of our time. I was listening to the radio adaptation which is excellently produced.
Не люблю рассказы. Мне вечно чего-то в них не хватает, как в обломках потерпевшего кораблекрушения парусника отчетливо не хватает самого корабля. Но встречаются авторы, редко, но все же, которые обладают просто фантастической способностью писать рассказы-парусники, рассказы-романы, в которых так много всего - ветер странствий, карты тысяч пройденных мест, истории душ (и тел) множества человеческих (или нечеловеческих) существ, дыхание чуда и реальность песка на зубах, и еще много всего, чему не сразу и название подберешь. Брэдбери как раз такой автор, его сборник "Холодный ветер, теплый ветер" просто восхитителен, черт возьми!
В них в земляничное окошко смотрит зеленое марсианское утро, в котором, если повезет, если хорошо искать, найдешь синюю бутылку, исполняющую желания, а может, превратишься в новое существо, которое как две капли воды ты, но только обладает способностью лететь сразу, с пыльной земной дороги, к далеким звездам; здесь бурлит апрельское колдовство и любимые люди никогда не умрут, здесь вкус и запах детства и солнечного прошлого на чердаке, где пахнет сарсапарелью, здесь - больше чем целый мир или миры, здесь Вселенная. И она - твоя.