Day 377: Something Wicked + Caruso CD 1

WickedChapter Four opens with a perfect example of why I love Ray Bradbury’s writing: His clever use of verbs, simile, and metaphor.

For example,

The druggist’s fount fizzes “like a nest of snakes.”

Shades “slither.”

Keys “rattled their bones in locks.”

See!

WILL STOPPED. Will looked at the Friday night town.

It seemed when the first stroke of nine banged from the big courthouse clock all the lights were on and business humming in the shops . But by the time the last stroke of nine shook everyone’s fillings in his teeth, the barbers had yanked off the sheets, powdered the customers, trotted them forth; the druggist’s fount had stopped fizzing like a nest of snakes, the insect neons everywhere had ceased buzzing, and the vast guttering acreage of the dime store with its ten billion metal, glass and paper oddments waiting to be fished over, suddenly blacked out. Shades slithered, doors boomed , keys rattled their bones in locks, people fled with hordes of torn newspaper mice nibbling their heels.

Bang! they were gone!

“Boy!” yelled Will. “Folks run like they thought the storm was here!”

“It is!” shouted Jim. “Us!”

Bradbury, Ray (2013-04-23). Something Wicked This Way Comes (Greentown) (p. 20). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.

Plus, there’s so much action in his writing. Lots of exclamation points (which drives some readers nuts, I’ve heard), sure. But a lot of precise and unexpected verbs and short sentences. The paragraphs move along, man. They move.

The chapter ends with another example of wistfulness – Mr. Crosetti, the barber, shedding a tear because he smelled cotton candy, which reminded him of a favorite time from his youth.

Something Wicked This Way Comes is chock-full of wistfulness, sadness, longing, people not quite content in their own skin, where they are in life. Except for Will Halloway. He seems to be the only one who’s happy just being Will Halloway.

Maybe that’s why this book resonates with me so much. I feel everything these characters feel – deeply.

By the way, a few days ago I mentioned listening to the piano in a Caruso song and thinking, “The pianist is dead.” The song is “Manon (Sung in Italian) – Manon: O dolce incantao.” The piano really stands out in a pretty way.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *