Dandelion Wine is my all time favorite book. How good is it? So good that I’ve never even been able to finish it. It’s been 19 years I think since I first picked it up. I’ve never made it past page 50. My current copy is more tattered and loved than pretty much any other book on my shelf.
Ray Bradbury = magic. And Dandelion Wine is profound. He had a blast writing this book and it shows. I love his rhythm- not just with his prose, but with the way he summons the senses and makes me hear the bees and feel the sunshine, and how he can even make my mouth pucker at the taste of imaginary almost-ripe blackberries. When I read it, I want to be a writer too. Immediately. So I put down the book and pick up a pen. I do this year after year and I still halfway believe that someday I will actually finish the book. Honestly though, that could ruin everything. This book is an eternal childhood summer and I don’t want it to end.
(Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine is now being made into a movie. I probably won’t see it, but man is it tempting…)