Published in 1953, this anthology showcases Bradbury's extraordinary imagination and knack for spinning tales that dance on the edge of reality and fantasy.
The title is lifted from the evocative line in W.B. Yeats' poem "The Song of Wandering Aengus": "And pluck till time and times are done, the silver apples of the moon, the golden apples of the sun." This poetic flourish sets the tone for the themes Bradbury explores: the pursuit of dreams, the limits of human knowledge, and the beauty and mystery of the universe. It's all very lofty and grand, like a motivational poster, but way cooler.
The anthology is divided into 22 distinct stories, each a gem in Bradbury's treasure chest of weird and wonderful ideas. From time travel and interstellar voyages to dystopian futures and personal reckonings with mortality, this collection has it all.
It opens with "The Fog Horn", where Bradbury explores the tragic love life of a lonesome sea monster whose romantic advances are cruelly thwarted by a foghorn. Heartbreaking and oddly relatable if you've ever tried to date in a big city.
"The Pedestrian" offers a bleak vision of a future where people are so tech-obsessed they can’t even bother to take a walk. It's like Bradbury knew Instagram was coming. And then there's "The April Witch," a tale about a girl who can become anything or anyone to feel emotions she’s otherwise denied. Basically, she’s the ultimate method actor, minus the awards.
In "The Great Wide World Over There," Bradbury tells of a woman in a rural backwater dreaming of literacy. Written in the 1950s, this story strikes a chord today, reminding us of the power of connection that reading brings. It's a love letter to literacy wrapped in a tale of loneliness, envy, and unexpected kindness.
"Wilderness" is Bradbury's take on the Mars exodus, featuring women waiting for a shuttle in a drugstore while lamenting the scarcity of chocolate malts on Mars. If they’re trying to escape a universe where women sip malts in drugstores, maybe 2024 Earth wouldn’t be so bad.
"The Fruit at the Bottom of the Bowl" and "The Murderer" dive into the paranoia and madness of meticulously cleaning up after a crime and raging against the machines, respectively. If only Bradbury knew how right he was about our smart gadgets listening in on us, he might have written a sequel titled "The Privacy Policy."
There are a couple of Chinese morality tales, a Mexican deportation sketch, a baseball game pitting whites against blacks, and a religious revelation courtesy of modern science. These tales span future worlds, time warps, and magic, making the collection a delightful variety show. "Powerhouse" serves up a religious epiphany in a power plant, while "The Rocket" laments that even in the future, only the rich can afford dreams and space travel. Then there's "Here There Be Tygers," where a planet personified as a woman is ready to please its guests—a quaint reflection of Bradbury's era's gender roles, bless his heart. There are also some trite ones: "Big Black and White Game," a cliché-ridden baseball game, and "Rocket Man," a tale drenched in sentimental schmaltz where a father tragically dies. Cue the violins.
The Golden Apples of the Sun solidifies Bradbury's place as a luminary in science fiction. His poetic prose, vivid descriptions, and ability to craft memorable characters leave a lasting impact. Each story is a sensory delight, blending fantastical worlds with poignant human experiences.
To truly enjoy Bradbury’s rich, immersive storytelling, I suggest coupling the read (or listen) with a microdosing DMT session. When smoked, DMT is a fast-acting substance, peaking around 2 minutes after ingestion and resolving within 15-20 minutes. It'll help you mentally dematerialize into a swirling space-time void, rapidly inducing an extremely immersive state of consciousness—exactly the mind-bending journey Bradbury wants to take you on.
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