Cover art by Ian Miller, 1979.
• Ray Bradbury was born 100 years ago today. Emily Temple expresses surprise that Truman Capote encouraged the publication of a Bradbury short story at Mademoiselle in 1946. I’m more surprised that Bradbury was paid $400 for his work; no wonder he was so eager to write for the non-genre magazines. Elsewhere: Ray Bradbury—The Illustrated Man: the BBC’s Omnibus arts strand profiled Bradbury in 1980 with enthusiastic assistance (narrating/reading/performing) from the man himself; Ray Bradbury book and magazine covers at Flickr.
• Anna Smith asks whether Linda Fiorentino was the greatest femme fatale ever in The Last Seduction (1994). A substantial claim, especially for a neo-noir playing so self-consciously with the theme, but it’s a very good film, and one I’d like to see again.
• “Bad as a work of art, and morally bad…” Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita being reviewed by Kingsley Amis, a writer who preferred the peerless prose and stainless morals of Ian Fleming. Dan Sheehan looks at other contemporary reactions to Nabokov’s novel.
• At Dennis Cooper’s: Mary Ellen Bute Day, and (how could I avoid it?) ClicketyClack presents…Brothers Quay Day.
• More from The Art of the Occult: S. Elizabeth offers a glimpse of the contents of her forthcoming book.
• Make the letter bigger: John Boardley on the development of the illuminated capital.
• In 1987 Anne Billson talked to Nicolas Roeg about his latest film, Castaway.
• Five controversial arthouse features from Japanese filmmaker Sion Sono.
• It’s that group again: Joe Banks on the strange world of Hawkwind.
• C82: Works of Nicholas Rougeux.
• Fahrenheit 451 (1982) by Hawkwind | Something Wicked This Way Comes (1996) by Barry Adamson | The Martian Chronicles (2007) by Dimension X
I was lucky to be an acquaintance-dare I even say friendly-with Bradbury. He lived near my home for years, and I got to visit him many times for this or that. And it wasn’t Halloween without a visit to his bbq’s. I was lucky to get a lot of signed books and personal items over that special period of time. He was a brilliant man, and an even better storyteller in-person.
When the weather cools and the trees rustle lazily, I think if him…I often wonder where he is now.
Perhaps he’s running with the cosmos, reaching those twinkling lands he knew so well. Or, perhaps he’s hidden in long shadows cast by the autumn sun; whispering things he wishes we could know.
That was a great privilege, he was a unique writer. And yes, autumn is definitely his season.