A Few Rays of Sunshine
A disappointing collection. So disappointing that I did the math: out of twenty-three stories in this 1988 collection (trumpeted as his first collection of short stories since 1980's career-defining Stories of Ray Bradbury) I rated only five worth my time and attention as fan of Martians, mummies and the macabre.
So, approximately 22 percent of the stories here are decent vintage, good stuffs.
These five stories are (listed in order of appearance): "On the Orient, North", "West of October" (which, in my opinion, should have been the title of the book -- as "The Toynbee Convector" is just awful - both an awful story and a clunky title), "The Love Affair", "At Midnight, in the Month of June" and "Colonel Stonesteel's Genuine Home-Made Truly Egyptian Mummy".
All together, these five stories are 70 pages out of a 275 page book, a little over 25 percent of the book.
"On the Orient, North" and "West of October" were later cannibalized for the much superior From the Dust Returned, Bradbury's delightful Addams Family fanfiction. "The Love Affair" is a lost chronicle of Mars, "At Midnight, in the Month of June" is a creepy tale of a serial killer's obsession with the game of hide-and-seek and "Colonel Stonesteel's Genuine Home-Made Truly Egyptian Mummy" is as fun as the title suggests, a triumphant return to Bradbury's beloved Green Town.
The rest of the stories in the book were not my cup of tea: bawdy semi-autobiographical tales of Bradbury's adventures in and observations of Ireland (pubs and priests), and depressing domestic vignettes (i.e. failed romances, the fallout of affairs, and, good gosh, the division of property in divorces) which, I guess, were Bradbury's attempts at writing in the manner of Updike or Cheever.
Or, maybe, those were real-life demons he was exorcising which...good for him, I suppose. But for the reader, the math just doesn't work out.
In conclusion, the only way I could get myself to finish this book was to bring it along to the hospital waiting room where I knew that the only other reading material available would be golf journals and medical pamphlets and yesterday's newspaper that you just know somebody brought in after first reading it during their morning bathroom trip. Y'know: the type of printed paper stuffs that's good for crumpling up and stuffing the tarred leather head of a home-made truly Egyptian mummy but not cobwebbing your mind and ink-staining your hands, dear friend.