The Illustrated Man
By: Ray Bradbury / Narrated By: Paul Michael Garcia
Length: 9 hrs and 27 mins
This narration is hard to find, but oooh is it sooo worth it!
I know, I know, I know: Scott Brick has legions of fans out there, but I, alas, am not one of them. Eeeeeons ago, I had the opportunity to get a couple of versions of The Illustrated Man cheap via Kindle and Whispersync, so I did indeed get the Scott Brick version, but I also got Paul Michael Garcia’s narration (Loved him doing Dandelion Wine!), so when My Next Listen was voted in here? Yessss! ‘Twas Paul Michael Garcia I offered, ‘tis Paul Michael Garcia I listened to!
From the get-go, I was thrilled that this collection of short stories wasn’t going to sound ANYthing like Michael Prichard’s The Golden Apples of the Sun—his take on Bradbury; what a relief! Here, Paul Michael Garcia delivers everything author Bradbury could’ve wished. From the Prologue where Bradbury tells a Dancin’ Waiter that he himself writes in the wee hours (As opposed to dances), all in a grand show of Life, not sleeping cuz sleeping is to be Dead, all the way to his depictions of the downtrodden, or the larger than life, or the soaring wonder, or the creeping horror—Garcia manages it all with glorious style and warmth. I couldn’t have been more thrilled to have dodged The Scott Brick Over-Acting/Ennui-Ridden Bullet. Bravo, Mr. Garcia!
Now let’s get to the stories…
Oh my goodness…!
Bradbury always wrote stories of wonder like there was no tomorrow (Hmmm, well maybe many tomorrows stretching into vast glimpses of the future…?), but here I felt less wonder and, truly, far more dread. The opening is of the Illustrated Man, a tattooed man looking for a place that’ll have him, always, however, thrown out and on his way by people who’re frightened and sickened by him. Our narrator offers the man a night of hospitality, and as the man sleeps, our narrator is taken by the tattooed stories, the illustrations of happenings, that cover the man’s body. Each of these we hear as the stories start to flow.
And, once again, oh my goodness. No stories of wonder; mostly I felt sickening sensations of dread and horror as I listened to these tales crafted, dazzled by Bradbury’s wordsmithing, yes, but most of them causing a tightening of the muscles, a drop of the stomach, the clenching of fists. Because things always start off very Tra La La La LA, but soon we see that the development is veering us towards horror shows and those Unhappy Endings that are enough to have a tattooed man shunned and thrown out of town. Bradbury can write stories that delight, sure, but here? Nope, we’re just feeling how things that start benignly enough can end with oh such horrific endings.
Whether it’s spacemen exploded out into space, keenly aware of their lonely and ultimate deaths, or of the “Colored” (Written in 1949) immigrants on Mars soon to “welcome” the first White people with guns and nooses, or of a couple escaping war by traveling and staying back in time, hunted, hunted, hunted—Pretty much every story here is sure to have your toes curling in creeped-out alarm.
There are a couple of stories here that are in The Golden Apples of the Sun: The bitter “Rocket Man” and the lovely (EsPECially considering the other stories) “The Rocket”, but for the most part, I hadn’t run across these stories before. True, I’m unable to call myself a Bradbury Scholar and such, given my limited exposure to his works, but I’m fairly certain I shan’t be running into these little fear-inspiring tidbits elsewhere… at least I THINK not… could be mistaken—Will discover as I keep on keeping on with the writer.
Because I most certainly will indeed be hitting more of the man’s work. Sure, I expected dazzling writing (It’s here) and to be filled with joy and awe and, yup, I wound up listening to a truly shuddersome gathering of stories, but I must say that delighted me. I’ve prior to this thought of Bradbury as a shrewd observer, an ultra-fine crafter of wonderful sentences. But now?
Oh my dear Accomplice: NOW I know his ability to inspire emotions means he can inspire the vast array of them. Never again shall I think the man capable of only mere delights; now I know he can create bite-sized terrors, sinking sensations…
Yes, he might be writing, writing, writing, all to avoid sleep’s mini-death; but those words he’s putting on paper? Well, obviously, he has no problem with deaths large and small, with the veritable end of the world…
Paul Michael Garcia narration found only on CDs.
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