Listening for Bradbury's Voice

“‘[…] Please!’ [Colonel Freeleigh] pleaded. ‘One last time, listen to me. They’re taking the phone out tomorrow. I can never call you again.’

Jorge said nothing.

The old man went on. ‘For the love of God, Jorge! For friendship, then, for the old days! You don’t know what it means. You’re my age but you can move! I haven’t moved anywhere in ten years.’

He dropped the phone and had trouble picking it up, his chest was so thick with paid. ‘Jorge! You are still there, aren’t you?’

‘This will be the last time?’ said Jorge.

‘I promise!’

` The phone was laid on a deck thousands of miles away. Once more, with that clear familiarity, the footsteps, the pause, and, at last, the raising of the window.

‘Listen,’ whispered the old man to himself.

And he heard a thousand people in another sunlight, and the faint, tinkling music of an organ grinder playing “La Marimba”—oh, a lovely, dancing tune.

With eyes tight, the old man put up his hand as if to click pictures of an old cathedral, and his body was heavier with flesh, younger, and he felt the hot pavement underfoot.

He wanted to say, ‘You’re still there, aren’t you? All of you people in that city in the time of the early siesta, the shops closing, the little boys crying loteria nacional para hoy! to sell lottery tickets. You are all there, the people in the city. I can’t believe I was ever among you. When you are away from a city it becomes a fantasy. Any town, New York, Chicago, with its people, becomes improbable with distance. Just as I am improbable here, in Illinois, in a small town by a quiet lake. All of us improbable to one another because we are not present to one another. And so it is good to hear the sounds and know that Mexico City is still there and the people moving and living…’ […]

The door to the bedroom moved wide. The three boys stood looking in at the old man seated there on the floor. […]

There was something in his silence that made them all shut their mouths. […]

Douglass, bent down, disengaged the phone from the old man’s now quite cold fingers. Douglas lifted the receiver to his own ear, listened. Above the static he heard a strange, a far, a final sound.

Two thousand miles away, the closing of a window.” (133-5)

This scene from Dandelion Wine, a Ray Bradbury novel made up of a series of vignettes from the summer of 1928 in Green Town, the archetypical small town, reveals quite a lot about Bradbury’s voice as an author. Through the reminisces of Colonel Freeleigh, Bradbury interjects the story with even more nostalgia. Besides just idealizing life in 1928, which coincides with Bradbury’s childhood, Bradbury idealizes the life that Colonel Freeleigh once had: life in a busy city such as Mexico City. In addition to being an example of nostalgia being used by the author, this passage also shows Bradbury’s view on death. Through Freeleigh’s content passing, marked by him enjoying the sounds and memories that were most joyful to him, the reader can infer that Bradbury believes one should not be afraid of death. Rather, he believes that one should live one’s live to the fullest extent and get everything out of it that one wants even up to the very moment that you die, in the act of doing what you love and what brings you happiness. This is instead of living one’s life in fear of death and avoiding doing the things that to oneself really matter.

Further analyzing the events that occur in this passage, one could theorize that Bradbury believes that children understand death in a way that no middle-aged adult does, due to how Doug and the other boys are not fazed at all with the discovery of dead Colonel Freeleigh, a respected elder. That they would so casually approach his body and pick up the phone clasped in his hands shows that Bradbury believes children understand Freeleigh’s joy in the face of death. This relates to the theme of nostalgia because throughout this novel Bradbury yearns to once again view the world from the eyes of a child, like he did in the summer of 1928 in the small town he grew up in. Bradbury, at the time of writing, is now middle-aged and in between being a child and an elderly person and, due to his age, has a fear of death and wishes that he could be able to view death in the way he used to as a child, but not is unable to do so. This vignette is an expression of that desire of Bradbury.

Oprah Interviews Bradbury

Recently on the Oprah Winfrey show the host, Oprah Winfrey, interviewed Ray Bradbury, author of the Oprah’s Bookclub Book of the Month, Dandelion Wine, a story about a young boy’s adventures in the summer of 1928 in a small Midwestern town. Here’s an excerpt from the interview:

Winfrey: So I understand that you grew up in a small town? And you would have been about Douglas’s age in 1928, correct?

Bradbury: Yes, I was born in Waukegan, Illinois, in 1920. So I would have been eight years old in 1928, a few years younger than Douglas. But he is very much modeled after me­—especially­­ the way he thinks. I believe that every child thinks the way Douglas does. Children are naturally adventurous and curious about the world. And that’s how I felt in 1928 in Waukegan.

Winfrey: We’re here talking to Ray Bradbury, author of Dandelion Wine, my pick for Oprah’s Bookclub Book of the Month. Now Ray, I can call you that right?, now Ray, is this a book for children? Because in it there are some very scary things, such as fear of the ravine, there is some death in it. Is this a children’s book?

Bradbury: This is a question that I get asked a lot by many people such as teachers, parents, other writers, even children themselves. There are two arguments that can be made about the matter. One is that in Dandelion Wine I idolize those summers you spend as a child while you are still very innocent and eager to explore the world. I think that many adults feel that you have to be older to understand this book because then you can feel nostalgia that is directed to those wonderful summer days where you romp around and just feel right. But what those adults don’t realize is that children are living those days. Just because the world isn’t like a small pre-depression Midwestern town doesn’t mean the summers of childhood are any less meaningful or magical. And this is the second argument: children can enjoy this book. Of course there are some characters, such as Mrs. Bentley—

Winfrey: And she is the character who is near the end of her life, and the small children don’t believe that she was ever young? And they steal the things she tries to prove to them that she once was young with?

Bradbury: —correct. Mrs. Bentley can only really be understood at the surface level by adults who have grown up, and know what it is like to look back and realize how much you have changed, and how you never will be the person you were fifty years ago. But even children can read about Mrs. Bentley and understand the loneliness she has. Even children can understand the profoundness of her existence.

Winfrey: We’ll be back right away with more from Ray Bradbury, so stay tuned.

(The audience cheers.)

Winfrey: And now we’re back. Today I invited Ray Bradbury here, to talk with me about his book Dandelion Wine. If you haven’t read it yet, pick it up at your local bookstore; just ask for Oprah’s Bookclub Book of the Month. OK Ray during the commercial break I found a quote from Dandelion Wine that I want to talk to you about. It’s on page thirteen. Here it is: “Dandelion wine. The words were summer on the tongue. The wine was summer caught and stoppered.” What exactly is dandelion wine and what does it mean to you?

Bradbury: Dandelion wine is the essence of summer. When I think back to those halcyon days of summer as a young child before the Great Depression, I think back to being a carefree young boy, brimming with excitement for the freedom to do anything and go anywhere. Dandelion wine, to me, represents all of these things to me. Dandelions, of course, are considered weeds to most adults, but to a child a field of dandelions is a magical yellow blanket of nature, which is pure, and therefore not considered an eyesore by children, not by a long shot.

Winfrey: So what I understand is that dandelion wine doesn’t actually exist? It just exists as a metaphor for the type of summer that might inspire its production?

Bradbury: That’s incorrect; dandelion wine is drunken by some, not very many people anymore. However you are correct when you say that in this book it is more of a metaphor, and in my mind it’s a metaphor for the way a child would think about their summers and a child’s point of view.

Winfrey: It was a pleasure having you on, but I’m afraid we are out of time. Ray Bradbury everybody, and his classic Dandelion Wine. Thank you!

Bradbury: I had a wonderful time coming on your show Oprah.

Winfrey: And if everyone looks underneath their seat they will see a special Oprah’s Bookclub Book of the Month edition of Dandelion Wine.

(The audience begins shrieking.)

Woman: (climbing onstage) Oh my God, I love you Oprah! I love you! Thank you, thank you, and thank you!

Oprah: Security! (woman is escorted out of the room)