... that country were it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilight linger, and midnights stay. The country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain ...
The introduction suggests this one's a good choice for a Halloween read, and indeed the stories selected for the present collection may not all happen in October, but they do share a melancholic mood that often morphs into full blown fright. I am thinking of adding as a subtitle High Anxiety for the whole set and then play a game of 'Name That Fear' for each episode:
The Dwarf is a great opening gambit, probably one of the earliest shorts written by the author, illustrating his fascination with carnivals and with the grotesque. A short man visits every night the hall of mirrors in the amusement park, always heading straight for the one distorting silverbacked glass that makes him appear as tall as regular people. The ticket vendor makes fun of him with the callous indifference of bullies everywhere. The anxiety here would be the loneliness of the person rejected from society for being different in appearance. I liked how the dwarf is presented as a succesful pulp writer, how inside his head he's just as good, if not better, than his tormentors:
This little guy's got a soul as big as all outdoors; he's got everything in his head!
The Next In Line highlights the fear of the cemeteries, of the dark, damp and smelly place undergound where the dead are buried. A young couple on a tourist visit to Mexcio comes across a town where the air is so dry that bodies do not rot in the ground and are instead mummified. Because a lot of the local people are too poor to pay for the burial place, these mummies are exhumated and stored in a long underground chamber and then shown to the tourists for a small fee. I have saved a quote from this story, where the young man chides his wife for being superstitious, but I have a hunch that the author sides with her on the issue, as sometimes the fear is too strong for the rational brain:
The minute you get a religion you stop thinking. Believe in one thing too much and you have no room for new ideas.
The Watchful Poker Chip of H. Matisse doesn't seem too scary at first glance - it is the story of a man so dull and uninteresting that he becomes an attraction for a crowd of fashionable artists. Enjoying their attention, the man now tries to remain in the spotlight by artificial means, like wearing an unusual eye-piece painted by the famous French Impressionist. My vote would be again for fear of loneliness, of rejection by social conformists.
Skeleton is fear of illness, of your own body. It is the tale of a hypochondriac who goes to a dubious doctor and becomes aware that he has been walking around all his life carrying a skeleton inside him. Delightfully macabre.
The Jar is a second story that starts with a carnival and its gallery of freaks. It is a variant of the fear of the unknown, and a story about the way our imagination can create monsters out of unexplained physical or biological objects. Here, a farmer becomes fascinated with one of those pale and wobbly things floating in chloroform in big transparent bottles. Ignorance and superstition also play a role, as the man's neighbors from a poor swamp village gather around the jar to speculate on the thing's origins.
The Lake is about fear of death by drowning, but more than this it is about the passing of childhood, about lost friends and the power of love to keep the memories alive. One of the most lyrical and sad shorts in the whole collection.
The Emissary is another variant of the fear of death. In this short story, a boy is immobilized in bed by illness, and his trusty dog is his only contact with the outside world, by bringing in the twigs and burrs and the smells of the places it visits. But what happens when this dog starts visiting a cemetery too often?
Touched With Fire is more difficult to pin down. Two mysterious strangers try to prevent a woman from getting murdered. Are they prescient or simply better observers of human nature than usual? I would class the story as fear of predestination, of the loss of free will, but a more accurate message may be that we cannot force people to act against their nature.
The Small Assassin is a creepy example of a woman with post-natal depression, who believes her child tried to kill her during a difficult birth, and is continuing to attack her after they return home from hospital. It's a clever piece, but not one of my favorites: it fels contrived, even if I accept the supernatural elements.
The Crowd is an illustration of a fear I was spared from until recently. I got my driver's license only a couple of years ago, and my first car only months ago. Since then, I have started to consider more seriously what would happen if I got into a road accident. Bradbury doesn't help me much as he tries to prove that there is a reason you always see a crowd of thrill seekers around the sites of such crashes, and that these people are not there to help you.
Jack-In-The-Box is about a boy who is afraid the whole world outside his house is gone. He is locked in with his mother and a mysterious teacher inside a huge house with many locked doors and secret passages. He would like to escape, yet is afraid of what would happen if he breaks out of his safe daily routine.
The Scythe is a good candidate for a 'Best of ...' anthology of Bradbury short stories. It's major anxiety is the fear of a father that he cannot provide sustenance and safety for his family during the Great Depression, most of all that he cannot protect them from the death that must come to us all, sooner or later. Great writing!
Uncle Einar is one of the few happy interludes in an otherwise sad and scary collection. It is a sketch from a bigger story the author was developing about a family of monsters ( The Elliots are similar in many aspects to the more famous Adams Family). Einar is a sort of human bat, six feet tall with big leathery green wings. He flies mostly at night to avoid being spotted by regular people, but after a drunken party, he crashes into a power line and loses his sonar-like abilities. But, like somebody sung about in the Alps, whenever a door closes, a window opens, and by losing his fly-in-the-dark talents, Einar gains the love of a woman and settles down for married life and for playing with his children. My favorite quote here is about how we may be homely in our outside appearance, but there is a world of wonder and imagination inside each of us:
We're in our cocoons, all of us. See how ugly I am? But one day I'll break out, spread wings as fine and handsome as you.
The Wind is another candidate for 'best of' anthologies, very short but also very effective in the idea that destructive winds somehow achieve intelligence by absorbing the minds of their victims. The fear category in my game could be the anxiety over the unleashed forces of nature.
The Man Upstairs is a variant of the fear of the stranger, about supernatural predators living amonst us, disguised as ordinary people. What makes the story special is the young age of the narrator, a young boy whose curiosity and inventivity solves the mystery. Word of the day from his grandfather:
Fear nothing, ever in your life.
There Was an Old Woman is another of the rare stories with a touch of humour, with a colourful elderly lady as a heroine who refuses to accept the inevitability of Death, and is ready to fight to the last breath and beyond for the right to stay in this world as much as it pleases her.
The Cistern is a sort of twisted romance spiced by the fear of drowning. A woman gazes out a window at a rainy city landscape and imagines the water draining into subterranean tunnels, filing them up a carrying along the bodies of strangers.
Homecoming is almost worth the price of admission all on its own. It marks a return to the follies of the Elliott family, as they gather from all over the world to celebrate Halloween together. Uncle Einar also returns to lift up the spirits of a boy without supernatural talents, adopted into the family and slightly envious of his 'monster' relatives. The story has a lot of potential, and I understand Bradbury added more material until it became a novel. Anxiety in this case is the result of feeling estranged from your peers.
The Wonderful Death of Dudley Stone ends the book not with another scare but with an affirmation of life, an invitation to get our noses out of books and run around in the sun. Dudley Moore was a very promising young writer who decided decades ago to renounce his literary career and fade into oblivion. In the present time, he invites a reporter to tell him all about that past decision and the reason for his seclusion:
I had been writing about living. Now I wanted to live. Do things instead of tell about things. [...] We've lived every way there is to live, with our eyes and noses and mouths, with our ears and hands.
Taken as a whole I found the collection uneven in quality. Some stories feel unpolished, some just simple sketches, but then quite a few are truly memorable, and even the lesser ones display the magical way Bradbury has of creating a mood, an emotion, an intriguing new way to look at the ordinary things around us and see either their beauty or their mystery. Beside the theme of autumn and anxiety, the stories collected here share an interest in childhood, in the ties of family and in the need for friendship and sharing. I am glad I still have so many of his stories and novels still to read. I am sure they will be as enjoyable and well written as this one.