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4.0étoiles sur 5
Bradbury continues the magic, this time in Hollywood., Fév 22 2002
Setting this novel during the glory days of Big Studio Hollywood, in which he himself was an earnest young screenwriter, Ray Bradbury sets out to create a murder mystery in which a twenty years-dead body is found on a ladder leaning against a wall between a graveyard and the movie studio next door. Over-the-top Hollywood characters and wannabes, "beasts" and monsters, and faux settings, such as Notre Dame, Calvary, and even the speaker's grandparents' house in Green Town, Illinois, fill this book with the illusions in which the film industry excels, while the machinations of ego-driven moguls provide motivations for murder.No one should read this novel expecting a hard-boiled mystery, however. Bradbury's obvious love of people and of life itself is so heartfelt and overwhelming that it makes any sense of toughness unbelievable--and there are many other reasons to enjoy this book. Grounded by Midwestern values, fundamentally decent, and lacking the ego which seems to drive the rest of the industry, Bradbury shines in describing a mad Hollywood, "where great elephant ideas go to die. A graveyard for lunatics," where men so dedicate their lives to the creation of illusions that they often lose sight of reality. His wacky imagination flourishes, and it is clear that despite his sometimes flippant, tongue-in-cheek observations, his irony, and his criticism of Hollywood excess, that he loves the place and the exotic characters he meets there. With imagery and descriptions that bring to life every aspect of studio activity, trenchant philosophical observations inserted casually (almost as throwaways), self-deprecating humor, and visions of plain folks challenging the studio bigwigs, Bradbury's mystery ambles toward an almost amiable conclusion. For the lover of Bradbury, this is another chance to share his visions and his enthusiasm for a life lived honestly. Most readers will undoubtedly share the feelings of Constance, who tells speaker/Bradbury, "How lucky to be inside your skin...Don't ever change. We stupid doomsayers, cynics, monsters laugh, but we need you. Otherwise, Merlin dies, or a carpenter fixing the Round Table saws it crooked, or the guy who oils the armor substitutes cat pee. Live forever. Promise?"
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