A carnival comes to a Norman Rockwellish town one autumn midnight. Its owner Mr Dark has evil designs on the citizens’ souls. Charles Halloway, his teenage son Will and his best buddy Jim save the day by sending major love vibes in Mr Dark’s general direction.
The action is liberally spiced with “fine writing.” Here’s daddy Halloway’s extended solo for his son’s edification:
Oh, what strange wonderful clocks women are. They nest in Time. They make the flesh that holds fast and binds eternity. They live inside the gift, know power, accept, and need not mention it. Why speak of time when you are Time, and shape the universal moments, as they pass, into warmth and action?
Incredibly, the 13-year old sits through this without a hint of an eye roll. If this type of overripe nonsense is your thing, this novel has plenty more to savor.
In conclusion, I am a terrible man for dissing a nonagenarian’s work. But that’s nothing compared to Stephen King, who has accused it for inspiring some of his novels.
Writer: Ray Bradbury