understated greats.

I have rediscovered two understated greats in the world this week.

First, I am reading Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury. Ray Bradbury is one of my all-time FAVORITE writers in the UNIVERSE (which is actually a fitting description for the author of The Martian Chronicles). Anyway, I have many, many, many of his books. I devour his short stories like nacho cheese Doritos. But I haven't yet read Dandelion Wine. So I started it this week. By the time I read the first page, I was again reminded just why he reigns supreme in my book. There is no one--NO ONE--that paints scenes with words the way he does. No author introduces me to ordinary things in extraordinary ways like he does. Tennis shoes are not just tennis shoes--they are all the imagined freedoms of a young boy. A priest does not just meet God in the desert--he meets him in the red martian sand and the polyphonic singing of the wind. And a boy is not simply overcome by a midnight carnival ride--he is brought to age, terror and disillusionment with each turn of the carousel. Ray Bradbury's stories are music, light, shadow, elation, terror, philosophy, religion, fantastic, the divine in the mundane. And he has said everything I have ever wanted to say in writing. If you have never read him, that's tragic. Read Fahrenheit 451 (actually, in my opinion, though his most popular, not his best work). Read Dandelion Wine. Read Something Wicked This Way Comes (one of my favorite books of all time). Read The Burning Man (a short story). Read The Martian Chronicles. Just read him. I concede that perhaps--perhaps--he may be too much for some. I would disagree. But then, that's why there are different literary genres. I think there is nothing more beautiful than a short story, a page, a paragraph of Ray Bradbury.

Second, Moose Tracks ice cream! Enough said.