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O homem ilustrado by Ray, Bradbury

O homem ilustrado (original 1951; edition 1955)

by Ray, Bradbury, Eurico da Costa

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7,117115891 (3.98)212
Ray Bradbury's The Illustrated Man is a kaleidoscopic blending of magic, imagination, and truth, widely believed to be one of the grand master's premier accomplishments. Collected here are eighteen tales, startling visions of humankind's destiny, unfolding across a canvas of decorated skin, visions as keen as the tattooist's needle and as colorful as the inks that indelibly stain the body.… (more)
Title:O homem ilustrado
Authors:Ray, Bradbury
Other authors:Eurico da Costa
Info:Lisboa, Livros do Brasil,, [D.L. 1955]
Collections:Your library

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The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury (1951)



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» See also 212 mentions

English (109)  Danish (2)  German (1)  French (1)  All languages (113)
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Ray Bradbury is the only writer I can say with certainty has not so much changed my life as made it what it is. I'm scarcely the first or last to say that, and most definitely not the most important.

Neil Gaiman began his acknowledgement to Bradbury thus:

I can imagine all sorts of worlds and places, but I cannot imagine one without Ray Bradbury. Not Bradbury the man (I have met him. Each time I have spent any time with him I have been left the happier for it), but Bradbury the builder of dreams. The man who took an idea of the American Midwest and made it magical and tangible, who took his own childhood and all the people and things in it and used it to shape the world. The man who gave us a future to fear, one without stories, without books. The man who invented Hallowe’en in its modern incarnation. http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/article7...

The story, 'The Illustrated Man', title story of this collection, won a special place in my heart, full as it was of his stories. It made me write my first published poem, 'The Illustrated Man' - I couldn't think of a better title. It was only very recently, reading an interview with Bradbury in The Paris Review that I discovered this character was also part of what made his life what it is.


Does literature, then, have any social obligation?


Not a direct one. It has to be through reflection, through indirection. Nikos Kazantzakis says, “Live forever.” That’s his social obligation. The Saviors of God celebrates life in the world. Any great work does that for you. All of Dickens says live life at the top of your energy. Edgar Rice Burroughs never would have looked upon himself as a social mover and shaker with social obligations. But as it turns out—and I love to say it because it upsets everyone terribly—Burroughs is probably the most influential writer in the entire history of the world.


Why do you think that?


By giving romance and adventure to a whole generation of boys, Burroughs caused them to go out and decide to become special. That’s what we have to do for everyone, give the gift of life with our books. Say to a girl or boy at age ten, Hey, life is fun! Grow tall! I’ve talked to more biochemists and more astronomers and technologists in various fields, who, when they were ten years old, fell in love with John Carter and Tarzan and decided to become something romantic. Burroughs put us on the moon. All the technologists read Burroughs. I was once at Caltech with a whole bunch of scientists and they all admitted it. Two leading astronomers—one from Cornell, the other from Caltech—came out and said, Yeah, that’s why we became astronomers. We wanted to see Mars more closely.

I find this in most fields. The need for romance is constant, and again, it’s pooh-poohed by intellectuals. As a result they’re going to stunt their kids. You can’t kill a dream. Social obligation has to come from living with some sense of style, high adventure, and romance. It’s like my friend Mr. Electrico.


That’s the character who makes a brief appearance in Something Wicked This Way Comes, right? And you’ve often spoken of a real-life Mr. Electrico, though no scholar has ever been able to confirm his existence. The story has taken on a kind of mythic stature—the director of the Center for Ray Bradbury Studies calls the search for Mr. Electrico the “Holy Grail” of Bradbury scholarship.


Yes, but he was a real man. That was his real name. Circuses and carnivals were always passing through Illinois during my childhood and I was in love with their mystery. One autumn weekend in 1932, when I was twelve years old, the Dill Brothers Combined Shows came to town. One of the performers was Mr. Electrico. He sat in an electric chair. A stagehand pulled a switch and he was charged with fifty thousand volts of pure electricity. Lightning flashed in his eyes and his hair stood on end.

The next day, I had to go the funeral of one of my favorite uncles. Driving back from the graveyard with my family, I looked down the hill toward the shoreline of Lake Michigan and I saw the tents and the flags of the carnival and I said to my father, Stop the car. He said, What do you mean? And I said, I have to get out. My father was furious with me. He expected me to stay with the family to mourn, but I got out of the car anyway and I ran down the hill toward the carnival.

It didn’t occur to me at the time, but I was running away from death, wasn’t I? I was running toward life. And there was Mr. Electrico sitting on the platform out in front of the carnival and I didn’t know what to say. I was scared of making a fool of myself. I had a magic trick in my pocket, one of those little ball-and-vase tricks—a little container that had a ball in it that you make disappear and reappear—and I got that out and asked, Can you show me how to do this? It was the right thing to do. It made a contact. He knew he was talking to a young magician. He took it, showed me how to do it, gave it back to me, then he looked at my face and said, Would you like to meet those people in that tent over there? Those strange people? And I said, Yes sir, I would. So he led me over there and he hit the tent with his cane and said, Clean up your language! Clean up your language! He took me in, and the first person I met was the illustrated man. Isn’t that wonderful? The Illustrated Man! He called himself the tattooed man, but I changed his name later for my book. I also met the strong man, the fat lady, the trapeze people, the dwarf, and the skeleton. They all became characters.

Mr. Electrico was a beautiful man, see, because he knew that he had a little weird kid there who was twelve years old and wanted lots of things. We walked along the shore of Lake Michigan and he treated me like a grown-up. I talked my big philosophies and he talked his little ones. Then we went out and sat on the dunes near the lake and all of a sudden he leaned over and said, I’m glad you’re back in my life. I said, What do you mean? I don’t know you. He said, You were my best friend outside of Paris in 1918. You were wounded in the Ardennes and you died in my arms there. I’m glad you’re back in the world. You have a different face, a different name, but the soul shining out of your face is the same as my friend. Welcome back.

Now why did he say that? Explain that to me, why? Maybe he had a dead son, maybe he had no sons, maybe he was lonely, maybe he was an ironical jokester. Who knows? It could be that he saw the intensity with which I live. Every once in a while at a book signing I see young boys and girls who are so full of fire that it shines out of their face and you pay more attention to that. Maybe that’s what attracted him.

When I left the carnival that day I stood by the carousel and I watched the horses running around and around to the music of “Beautiful Ohio,” and I cried. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I knew something important had happened to me that day because of Mr. Electrico. I felt changed. He gave me importance, immortality, a mystical gift. My life was turned around completely. It makes me cold all over to think about it, but I went home and within days I started to write. I’ve never stopped.

Seventy-seven years ago, and I’ve remembered it perfectly. I went back and saw him that night. He sat in the chair with his sword, they pulled the switch, and his hair stood up. He reached out with his sword and touched everyone in the front row, boys and girls, men and women, with the electricity that sizzled from the sword. When he came to me, he touched me on the brow, and on the nose, and on the chin, and he said to me, in a whisper, “Live forever.” And I decided to.

Ideas. The thing Bradbury brings to the world of writing but which literature scorns. Like all this books this one is full of them. Please read, as an example, 'The Veldt' http://www.veddma.com/veddma/Veldt.htm

It is a terrifying picture of a world in which automation and machines take over. Children become addicted to their entertainment in a way which makes them kill rather than accept losing it. Who hasn't seen the idea of this all around us? The kids may not kill, they generally wield enough power to be able to bully parents into what they want. Not so long ago, I observed some kids being told to leave their mobile phones at home while they went to the pictures, and refusing to do so; and then, a day or two later, a family at dinner in a restaurant, both kids glued to the screens they had brought with them, Bradbury's ideas so often turn from fantasy into fact. Amazing. ( )
  bringbackbooks | Jun 16, 2020 |
Racconto preferito: Gli esuli. ( )
  Atticus06 | Jun 9, 2020 |
This is one of the few books I have read in one sitting. Nice quiet day while the wife was at work on a Saturday. RAY BRADBURY WAS A MASTER STORYTELLER! I have since read a lot of his work. His ability to describe things and convey emotion is almost unmatched. My favorite short is titled "The Man". This is a decent starting point if you haven't read his stuff and it should be on every science fiction/fantasy bookshelf. ( )
  boromirjonah | Apr 20, 2020 |
One of Bradbury's famous short-story collections, this book is full up with creepy sci-fi glimpses into an imagined 'future'.

Told through a surface story where an unknown man allows 'The Illustrated Man', whose entire body is covered in intricate tattoos, to stay in his house for the night. As he sleeps, the man is witness to the tattoos telling their stories; each haunting picture becomes its own vignette.

From faraway cities on distant planets, to the empty void of space, to an unassuming 'playroom' here on Earth, Bradbury uses his lyrical writing to craft Twilight Zone-esque stories: each one simple, moving, and usually with a ending that will leave you shuddering with the truth and possibility it presents.

While I didn't care for several of the vignettes, which seemed to drag for no reason, some were creepily good. 'The Veldt,' 'The City,' and 'No Particular Night or Morning,' stand out to me as three of those that kept me awake at night, both in fear and deep thought. ( )
  booksong | Mar 18, 2020 |
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» Add other authors (22 possible)

Author nameRoleType of authorWork?Status
Ray Bradburyprimary authorall editionscalculated
Bing, JonTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Binger, CharlesCover artistsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Bringsværd, Tor ÅgeTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Burns, JimCover artistsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Butchkes, SydneyCover artistsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
豊樹, 小笠原Translatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Goodfellow, PeterCover artistsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
O'Brien, TimCover artistsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
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This book is for Father, Mother, and Skip, with love.
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It was a warm afternoon in early September when I first met the Illustrated Man.
They walked down the hall of their soundproofed, Happylife Home, which had cost them thirty thousand dollars installed, this house which clothed and fed and rocked them to sleep and played and sang and was good to them. Their approach sensitized a switch somewhere and the nursery light flicked on when they came within ten feet of it. Similarly, behind them, in the halls, lights went on and off as they left them behind, with a soft automaticity.
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Contents: Prologue: The Illustrated Man | The Veldt | Kaleidoscope | The Other Foot | The Highway | The Man | The Long Rain | The Rocket Man | The Fire Balloons | The Last Night of the World | The Exiles | No Particular Night or Morning | The Fox and the Forest | The Visitor | The Concrete Mixer | Marionettes, Inc. | The City | Zero Hour | The Rocket | Epilogue
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