![]() ![]() In many ways, Autumn itself is that backwards-running carousel that both takes us back and terrifies us with what this way comes. It’s a time when we subconsciously realize that death isn’t the horrible thing about life. It portends the coming winter and mourns the loss of summer and spring. It’s a time to reap the fruits of past labors. It’s a melancholy, bittersweet little tale, much like Autumn itself.Īfter all, Autumn is a time of remembering, of nostalgia. Every bit of description is painfully evocative, extraordinarily vivid. Signed in green ink and boldly inscribed taking up the entire flyleaf. Every page is a crackling brown leaf, blown about on orchard- and bonfire-scented winds. Inscription reads, For -, Something Wicked from Ray Bradbury March 1963. In the end, Something Wicked fits its season. Charles Halloway is the eyepiece I want to inspect humanity through (wait…give me back Zaphod Beeblebrox). ![]() So you can keep your Hamlets, your Holden Caulfields, your Zaphod Beeblebroxes. However, as I got older, that fascination was redirected to Charles Halloway to the point that I find his character one of the most intriguing that I’ve come across in literature. When I first discovered the book, the characters of Jim and Will completely enthralled me. One of those adults faced with that enormous press of sunset regret is Will’s father, Charles Halloway, the janitor at the town library. ![]()
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