When I first read Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, I was too young to understand nostalgia; I did not have a childhood that had faded to dreams and snatches of memory. In fact, I was still what most people would consider a child. But even then Bradbury’s book did something remarkable: it spoke to my soul. I know that sounds grand and silly, but there is no other real way to describe the experience of reading this book. In his almost poetic language, Bradbury speaks as somebody who still experiences the magic of the seasons, who knows there is something special among the scents of falling leaves and autumn wood smoke. He speaks of childhood in a way that even when I was young, I could recognize, almost as though he is a denizen of that fleeting realm. And now that I have grown up and stepped knee-deep into the pungent cynicism and dreary reality of the adult world, this book speaks to the small, nearly ethereal part of me that still clings to a world more interesting than the one I have grown to discover.

But this is not about why I am not a fun person at cocktail parties, this is about a remarkable book. Something Wicked This Way Comes is no mere sentimental romp. Heck no. For those not familiar with the book, Something Wicked This Way Comes is the story of twelve year olds Will Halloway and Jim Nightshade and their encounter with Cooger and Dark’s Pandemonium Shadow Show, which rolls into town on a midnight train. When they visit the carnival, Will and Jim find that sinister forces lurk beneath the guise of joy and gaiety. For this carnival can offer not only passing pleasures, but the chance to fulfill the fantasies that sit deep in the hearts of all people, young and old. But there is a price: always, there is a price.

This is a dark fantasy story that raises goose bumps and keeps the pages turning. There is a purpose to Bradbury’s creating such a vivid reminiscence of childhood, and it is not to just allow the reader to lament the passing of youth. The magic of youth and all of its hopes and fears are pit against an encroaching evil that can only be fathomed if the reader recalls what it meant to be young.

Mr. Dark is a truly imposing villain, the sort of nemesis that stands in juxtaposition to the youth and hope of two boys. He is, in fact, perfect for this book and the scenes which pit him against Will’s father, Charles Halloway, are brimming with tension even as they delve into the philosophical. He is a person who makes me curious about where he has come from and where he has been, but he also exudes the sort of latent evil which we imagine children sense long before we adults understand.

I have to admit, when reading the book, sometimes the dialogue seems stilted. I don’t know if this is because Bradbury is harkening back to a particular childhood in a time before I was even born. But if a salesman came up to me and started in on, “What color is lightning? Where does thunder go when it dies? Boys, you got to be ready in every dialect with every shape and form to hex St. Elmo’s fires, the balls of blue light that prowl the earth like sizzling cats,” I wouldn’t care if he is a lightning rod salesman, I would think he was nuts. Ordinary people do not just break into poetic speeches. But perhaps that is the point. The narration of the book is so gorgeous that it is almost as though it is infused with magic. How strange would normal conversation seem when set against such a rich backdrop? As I reread the book, I could not imagine Will and Jim speaking as my friends and I did.

In the end, this is truly a fantastic book. It takes us into the realms of horror and nostalgia, it gives us reason to reminisce and cause to be afraid. The characters are believable and lively and not ones which are soon to be forgotten. Something Wicked This Way Comes is a book I am glad I read as a child, but am even happier I reread as an adult.

   -- Katie Hager