The Illustrated Man
The Illustrated Man, a seminal work in Ray Bradbury’s career, whose extraordinary power and imagination remain undimmed by time’s passage, is available from Simon & Schuster for the first time.
Ray Bradbury brings wonders alive. For this peerless American storyteller, the most bewitching force in the universe is human nature. In these eighteen startling tales unfolding across a canvas of tattooed skin, living cities take their vengeance, technology awakens the most primal natural instincts, and dreams are carried aloft in junkyard rockets. Provocative and powerful, The Illustrated Man is a kaleidoscopic blending of magic, imagination, and truth—as exhilarating as interplanetary travel, as maddening as a walk in a million-year rain, and as comforting as simple, familiar rituals on the last night of the world.
made Mother unhappy-but I could not help myself. I kept at him, though he had always refused. I had never seen him in it, and at last he said, "Oh, all right." We waited in the parlor while he went upstairs in the air flue. Mother looked at me dully, as if she couldn’t believe that her own son could do this to her. I glanced away. "I’m sorry," I said. "You’re not helping at all," she said. "At all." There was a whisper in the air flue a moment later. "Here I am," said Dad quietly. We looked
crystal there, the moon in each one. I went out and sat beside him. We glided awhile in the swing. At last I said, "How many ways are there to die in space?" "A million." "Name some." "The meteors hit you. The air goes out of your rocket. Or comets take you along with them. Concussion. Strangulation. Explosion. Centrifugal force. Too much acceleration. Too little. The heat, the cold, the sun, the moon, the stars, the planets, the asteroids, the planetoids, radiation…" "And do they bury
children jumping, everything right, men marching bravely, and you sit here! Oh, shame!" "Shame," sobbed the faraway voices in the hedge. "Get the devil out of my house with your inane chatter," said Ettil, exploding. "Take your medals and your drums and run!" He shoved Father-in-law past a screaming wife, only to have the door thrown wide at this moment, as a military detail entered. A voice shouted, "Ettil Vrye?" "Yes!" "You are under arrest!" "Good-by, my dear wife. I am off to the wars
you married me instead of that Bud Chapman you once liked. It seems that in the last month you have loved me more wildly than ever before." Tears came to his eyes. Suddenly he wished to kiss her, confess his love, tear up the card, forget the whole business. But as he moved to do this, his hand ached and his ribs cracked and groaned. He stopped, with a pained look in his eyes, and turned away. He moved out into the hall and through the dark rooms. Humming, he opened the kidney desk in the
what things are true and not true." "He mentioned that," said Mink. "And what’s im-pres-sionable?" It took her a minute to say it. "Why, it means-" Her mother looked at the floor, laughing gently. "It means-to be a child, dear." "Thanks for lunch!" Mink ran out, then stuck her head back in. "Mom, I’ll be sure you won’t be hurt much, really!" "Well, thanks," said Mom. Slam went the door. At four o’clock the audio-visor buzzed. Mrs. Morris flipped the tab. "Hello, Helen!" she said in welcome.