One More for the Road

One More for the Road

3.6 6
by Ray Bradbury
     
 

View All Available Formats & Editions

America has no finer teller of tales than Ray Bradbury. For more than fifty years he has regaled us with wonders, enchanted us with memories, and startled us with simple truths, enabling us to view from fresh perspectives the world we inhabit, and see others we never dreamed existed. Now the master treats us to another round -- eighteen brand-new stories and seven… See more details below

Overview

America has no finer teller of tales than Ray Bradbury. For more than fifty years he has regaled us with wonders, enchanted us with memories, and startled us with simple truths, enabling us to view from fresh perspectives the world we inhabit, and see others we never dreamed existed. Now the master treats us to another round -- eighteen brand-new stories and seven previously published but never before collected -- proof positive that his magic is as potent as ever. Here is a rich elixir distilled from the pungent fruit of experience and imagination, expertly prepared by a superior mixologist whose hand is sure and whose eyes and ears have long taken in the shouting, weeping, carping, reveling life all around him.

Sip the sweet innocence of youth, and the wisdom -- and folly -- of age. Taste the warm mysteries of summer and the bitterness of betrayed loves and abandoned places. This glass overflows with a heady brew that will set your mind spinning and carry you to remarkable locales: a house where time has no boundaries; a movie theater where deconstructed schlock is drunkenly reassembled into art; a faraway planet plagued by an epidemic of sorrow; a wheat field that hides a strangely welcome enemy. The comforts of arguments eternal; the addictive terror of a predawn phone call; the ghosts of dear friends, of errant sons and lost fathers, and of lovers both joyously remembered and never-to-be, are but a few of the ingredients that have gone into Bradbury's savory cocktail. And every satisfying swallow brings new surprises and revelations. One More for the Road is superb refreshment served with wit, heart, and flair by the incomparable Bradbury. This one's on Ray. Drink up!

Read More

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
"You do not build a Time Machine unless you know where you are going.... But I built my Time Machine, all unknowingly, with no destination in mind," explains a bemused time traveler in Bradbury's latest collection. Bradbury, who has taken readers on so many marvelous trips, has a similar approach to navigation. In this new volume of stories (17 of the 24 have never been published before), he maintains his unflinching dedication to the magic of everyday life. Relaxing into his favorite themes memory, loneliness, childhood, love and time he is not afraid to wax sentimental, but the sharp edge of his prose keeps the tales from cloying. Haunted settings are common: the ghost town in "Where All Is Emptiness There Is Room to Move"; the Parisian cemetery P re Lachaise in "Diane de For t"; and the L.A. streets of 1939 in "Tangerine," in which Bradbury tells the story of a tragically cool man who'd rather be dead than 30. The writer is at his best when he chronicles the child self he has never lost touch with. In "Autumn Afternoon," Miss Elizabeth Simmons cleans out her attic and discovers calendars she kept as a girl, checking off dates that were once important but are now mysterious. Bradbury, on the other hand, seems to remember everything because at 81, he is still 18 at heart. In "With Smiles as Wide as Summer," a virtual prose poem about being a boy on perpetual vacation, he notes, "Circling, they knocked the echoes with their voices, plunged, rolled over, spun, jigged, shook themselves, raced off, hurtled back, leapt high, mad with summerlight and heat, unable to stop just being alive." The pure joy of earthly existence is something Bradbury has never forgotten. Southern California regional author tour; Harper Audio. (Apr. 2) Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
Library Journal
A collection of 25 new stories and catch the afterword by the author. Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Science fiction grandmaster Bradbury gathers together 25 stories, some half-baked, most unpublished. Calling the collection a "downpour of images from photos, films, cartoons, encounters that have tracked through life without an umbrella," Bradbury congratulates himself on his long, happy, productive life. Some stories, like "Diane de Foret," about a man's mawkish communion with the spirit of a dead French girl "of timeless mythic beauty," or like the predictable revelation ("One Woman Show") that a good actress is merely that might have gone back for more cooking. Most, though, bubble over with the manic exuberance of a writer who feels himself so blessed that he travels back in time to save the lives of doomed ones ("The F. Scott/Tolstoy/Ahab Accumulator") or to change another's past so he won't become a drunken wreck ("Quid Pro Quo"). Bad tidings-an unexploded WWII bomb in a wheat field ("The Enemy in Wheat"); the McCarthy-era bugging of a Hollywood producer's home ("Cricket on the Hearth")-can be gifts that change lives, while wishes that come true can bring bittersweet results ("Heart Transplant"). Many characters speak in Bradburyese, like the B-movie production assistant in "The Dragon Danced at Midnight" ("Willis Hornbeck drunk was . . . a wildman who blind-wrestled creativity in a snake pit, who fought an inspired alligator in a crystal tank for all to see") or the technologically reconstituted Oliver Hardy describing his resurrection in "The Laurel and Hardy Alpha Centauri Farewell Tour" ("We were rushed to completion, flesh on flesh, nerve ends to neurons, ganglia to ganglia"). The title story describes a publisher who, overwhelmed by the manic word-spray from an untriedwriter, agrees to publish the longest road novel ever, only to watch his author literally and metaphorically run out of gas. Slight, affecting, voluble, exuberant-by a writer who feels life's even better than he can imagine.
Fort Myers (Fla.) News-Press
"Twenty-one terrific short stories."

Read More

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780066211060
Publisher:
HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date:
04/01/1902
Edition description:
1 ED
Pages:
304
Product dimensions:
5.50(w) x 8.25(h) x 1.01(d)

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

First Day

It was while he was eating breakfast that Charles Douglas glanced at his newspaper and saw the date. He took another bite of toast and looked again and put the paper down.

"Oh, my God," he said.

Alice, his wife, startled, looked up. "What?"

"The date. Look at it! September fourteenth."

"So?" Alice said.

"The first day of school!"

"Say that again," she said.

"The first day of school, you know, summer vacation's over, everyone back, the old faces, the old pals."

Alice studied him carefully, for he was beginning to rise. "Explain that."

"It is the first day, isn't it," he said.

"What's that got to do with us?" she said. "We don't have family, we don't know any teachers, we don't even have friends anywhere near with kids."

"Yeah, but..." Charlie said, picking up the newspaper again, his voice gone strange. "I promised."

"Promised? Who?"

"The old gang," he said. "Years ago. What time is it?"

"Seven-thirty."

"We'd better hurry then," he said, "or we'll miss it."

"I'll get you more coffee. Take it easy. My God, you look terrible."

"But I just remembered." He watched her pour his cup full. "I promised. Ross Simpson, Jack Smith, Gordon Haines. We took almost a blood oath. Said we'd meet again, the first day of school, fifty years after graduation."

His wife sat back and let go of the coffeepot.

"This all has to do with the first day of school, 1938?"

"Yeah, '38."

"And you stood around with Ross and Jack and what's his—"

"Gordon! And we didn't just stand around. We knew we were going out in the world and might not meet again for years, or never, but we took a solemn oath, no matter what, we'd all remember and come back, across the world if we had to, to meet out in front of the school by the flagpole, 1988."

"You all promised that?"

"Solemn promise, yeah. And here I am sitting here talking when I should be getting the hell out the door."

"Charlie," Alice said, "you realize that your old school is forty miles away."

"Thirty."

"Thirty. And you're going to drive over there and—"

"Get there before noon, sure."

"Do you know how this sounds, Charlie?"

"Nuts," he said, slowly. "Go ahead, say it."

"And what if you get there and nobody else shows?"

"What do you mean?" he said, his voice rising.

"I mean what if you're the only damn fool who's crazy enough to believe—"

He cut in. "They promised!"

"But that was a lifetime ago!"

"They promised!"

"What if in the meantime they changed their minds, or justforgot?"

"They wouldn't forget."

"Why not?"

"Because they were my best pals, best friends forever, no one ever had friends like that."

"Ohmigod," she said. "You're so sad, so naive."

"Is that what I am? Look, if I remember, why not them?"

"Because you're a special loony case!"

"Thanks a lot."

"Well, it's true, isn't it? Look at your office upstairs, all those Lionel trains, Mr. Machines, stuffed toys, movie posters."

"And?"

"Look at your files, full of letters from 1960, 1950, 1940, you can't throw away."

"They're special."

"To you, yes. But do you really think those friends, or strangers, have saved your letters, the way you've saved theirs?"

"I write great letters."

"Darn right. But call up some of those correspondents, ask for some of your old letters back. How many do you think will return?"

He was silent.

"Zilch," she said.

"No use using language like that," he said.

"Is 'zilch' a swear-word?"

"The way you say it, yes."

"Charlie!"

"Don't 'Charlie' me!"

"How about the thirtieth anniversary of your drama club group where you ran hoping to see some bubblehead Sally or something or other, and she didn't remember, didn't know who you were?"

"Keep it up, keep it up," he said.

"Oh, God," she said. "I don't mean to rain on your picnic, I justdon't want you to get hurt."

"I've got a thick skin."

"Yes? You talk bull elephants and go hunt dragonflies."

He was on his feet. With each of her comments he got taller.

"Here goes the great hunter," he said.

"Yes," she exhaled, exhausted. "There you go, Charlie."

"I'm at the door," he said.

She stared at him.

"I'm gone."

And the door shut.

My God, he thought, this is like New Year's Eve.

He hit the gas hard, then released it, and hit it again, and let it slow, depending on the beehive filling his head.

Or it's like Halloween, late, the fun over, and everyone going home, he thought. Which?

So he moved along at an even pace, constantly glancing at his watch. There was enough time, sure, plenty of time, but he had to be there by noon.

But what in hell is this? he wondered. Was Alice right? A chase for the wild goose, a trip to nowhere for nothing? Why was it so damned important? After all, who were those pals, now unknown, and what had they been up to? No letters, no phone calls, no face-to-face collisions by pure accident, no obituaries. That last, scratch that! Hit the accelerator, lighten up! Lord, he thought, I can hardly wait. He laughed out loud. When was the last time you said that? When you were a kid, could hardly wait, had a list of hard-to-wait-for things. Christmas, my God, was always a billion miles off. Easter? Half a million. Halloween? Dear sweet Halloween, pumpkins, running, yelling, rapping windows, ringing doorbells, and the mask, cardboard smelling hot with breath over your face. All Hallows! The best. But a lifetime away. And July Fourth with great expectations, trying to be first out of bed, first half-dressed...

One More for the Road. Copyright © by Ray Bradbury. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

Read More

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Write a Review

and post it to your social network

     

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews >