By Ray Bradbury

Discussion Précis by Tony Groesbeck

The new criticism school of literary interpretation instructs us to “let the work speak for itself” and “ignore any biographical or historical context of the author.” This sounds very simple and sensible until one considers that if there is any meaning to be found in a piece of writing, it must either originate from the mind of the author and be discovered through close reading, or it must be smuggled in during the interpretation by the reader. While the latter option sycophantically soothes the subjective paradigm of a postmodern mind, rejection of the former as a guiding principle can lead to a nearly infinite number of interpretations of any work, thereby robbing said work of any particular value and designating the author’s intention to convey meaning as futile.

On the other hand, I find it very difficult to ignore the truth that books, like conversations, are created by people and (except among the insane) are created for other people. In a conversation, the transferral of meaning can flow both ways, but in reading a book, the stream only rolls one direction, from author to reader. One virtue of the written word is that the intended meaning of the author is recorded indelibly on the page- a philosophical and revealing snapshot of a particular human at a particular time in a particular place. Obviously, debates can be had about an author’s efficacy in communicating his intended meaning, the veracity and significance of the message and even the application of the meaning to the reader in his respective context, but the substance of the work was decided when the author put pen to paper.

Perhaps it is because of my foundational faith in this truth that I am so troubled by the currently unfolding advent of artificial intelligence as a “creative” force in our world. I am troubled, but not surprised. After all, we have become accustomed to interacting with the inhuman receptionists that manifest in the “phone trees” and “chat bots” that so often greet us when we call a company on the phone or via text (innovations that, ironically, promised to increase human-connectedness.) Even if I grant that the new way is more convenient, I can’t help but feel that something has been lost, something beautiful and good, something divine, even. Talking to a machine, even a useful one like the pleasant Irish-accented Siri who is always ready to serve (unless there is no cell service), makes me feel lonely- worse, actually; it makes me feel alone. You may balk at my reservations and want to call me “Luddite” or “technophobe,” but I wonder if you are prepared to imagine a world where you are cut off from

all human contact. How effectively would the imitations and creations of humanity serve as surrogate companions for your lonely soul? What can you learn about yourself from the answer you give? What does the question make us consider about humanity as we know it? This question and many others are explored by Ray Bradbury and experienced by his readers by means of his National Book Award winner, The Martian Chronicles.

All science fiction of any worth is predicated by the question “What if…?” and allows authors to explore not only fictional environments and scenarios, but real elements of what it is to be human. In The Martian Chronicles, through a series of short stories, Bradbury asks the central question, “What if humans could travel to Mars?” Asked in 1950, when the book was published, this question offered a vast array of avenues for contemplation, all of which led to more questions, but also to opportunities to create imaginative and unbelievable scenarios that gave him the opportunity to show us readers something true and real about ourselves; our fears, our flaws, and our values.

Bradbury’s life in mid 20th century America has to be considered when reading this book. He was living in the midst of a technological frenzy of incredible innovations in fields such as transportation, medicine, and energy that potentially offered humanity the means to drastically improve human life on the planet earth, and also the means to destroy it completely. In The Martian Chronicles, Bradbury reveals a deep interest less focused on the promised innovations of the future, and more focused on the effects these innovations could have on the humans of the time. Because the various experiences are the point of Bradbury’s exploration, he needed to decentralize the narrative away from a central character. In fact, over the twenty-six separate vignettes in the book, there are only a couple of recurring characters; if there are any “central characters” in the book, I would argue that Bradbury positions the planet Mars as one, and humanity at large as the other. It is the interaction between these two parties that drive the plot forward and maintain the narrative thread.

So, gentlemen, as we sit out here tonight, nearly 75 years after Mr. Bradbury published this book, and 25 years past the “Rocket Summer” of his first chapter, we know that many of his dreams about the particulars of Mars were mistaken – thank God! However, we can discuss many of the timeless themes that he raised. We are not staring into a canal like Timothy, or Michael, or Robert during their “Million-Year Picnic,” but perhaps we, too, can be Martians, if only for a night. Here’s to Ray Bradbury and the goodness, truth, and beauty of a human author!

Possible questions:

1. What is the “What if…?” in each story?
2. What is the human theme in each story?
3. Which was the most chilling story?
4. Which one was the most beautiful?
5. Where did you relate to the story?
6. What warnings or encouragements does Bradbury give us?
7. What is he right about?
8. What is he wrong about?