The Martian Chronicles (Ray Bradbury)
“Mars was a distant shore, and the men spread upon it in waves. Each wave different, and each wave stronger. The first wave carried with it men accustomed to spaces and coldness and being alone, the coyote and cattlemen, with no fat on them, with faces the years had worn the flesh off, with eyes like nailheads, and hands like the material of old gloves, ready to touch anything. Mars could do nothing to them, for they were bred to plains and praries as open as the Martian fields. They came and made things a little less empty, so that others would find the courage to follow. They put panes in hollow windows and lights behind the panes.”Sure, we’re talking about Mars here. But this kind of prose is hardly typical of science fiction, with its “I kanna give er any moore, captain” drama. Don’t get me wrong, such sci fi is great on occasion. But Bradbury easily transcends genre fiction into the realm of magical realism ala Gabriel Garcia Marquez — a realm of shape-shifting aliens who want only a home, where insanity manifests in physical form, where the ruins of alien cities tower over the desert. And yet it’s all so human and tangible and authentic. My personal favorite: a standoff at the first Martian hot dog stand.
Humorous, dark, satiric, warm, compassionate and lyrical, this book of interconnected short stories (written in 1949) has stood the test of time and I’m happy that the National Book Award judges had the good sense to see that, even way back in the day.
But… well, there was one little thing.
(Audience groans, sensing a tangental rant.)
WTF?! We’ve progressed to the point in time where we’ve developed the technology to visit and colonialize the planet Mars, but Martian wives are still cooking and serving dinner to Martian husbands every night? A Martian woman, Mrs. Ttt, answers the door to the first group of astronauts and she says, “If you’ve made my crystal buns fall in the oven, I’ll hit you with a piece of wood … I’ll see if you can have a minute with Mr. Ttt. What was your business?” In other words, I’m busy baking and if you need anything important (read: not baked goods) you need to talk to the man of the house.
Yes, yes. I realize this book was written a long time ago, decades before the sexism in these examples would have been noticed or discussed. But, man oh MAN, if we’re going to dream up a fake future where we see cool new mental abilities and fabulous technology, couldn’t we for one moment assume that there might be one corner of the universe where the men would bake us cookies?
Oatmeal raisin. You hear that, honey?
Rating: 4 out of 5 stars - Book club selection
Award-Winning, Fiction |