Short Story Review || There Will Come Soft Rains (1950)
"The story is set in a house when nuclear war has annihilated human life. However, the technological devices in the house continue to perform their daily automated duties."
: 🌕 : SPOILER ALERT : 🌕 :
It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the subject matters of the book & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on death, post-mortem practices, the death of an animal, & others.
“Ten o'clock. The sun came out from behind the rain. The house stood alone in a city of rubble and ashes. This was the one house left standing. At night the ruined city gave off a radioactive glow which could be seen for miles.”
Here we find ourselves once more with a short story read with my friend « Scott ». Around this time of year, I think back on all the masters of the craft; writers who build a world of their own in my mind, lingering from the stories they’ve created. Bradbury is one such Titan. Though my first introduction to him was through reputation alone, I was not disappointed upon reading his more reputable work, “Something Wicked This Way Comes” (1962). Everything about Bradbury is memorable; his writing is enthralling, a rapture of what is expected from storytellers, & something altogether magical.
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This short story embraces a landscape that has been destroyed by what we presume to be nuclear products; by whom & why we cannot know. The entire premise of this story is the ticking of a clock, one that is unseen. The hours pass & they rattle against the only house that remains in a town that has experienced mass devastation.
While reading this story I found that I was unable to imagine what the house might look like; its wallpaper, the stovetop burners, how large the windows might be, & where the bedrooms were located. In my mind, this house was a maze.
This feeling of imagining myself in a darkness that the author could envision but, which I could not, fostered feelings of unease & not ones that I had anticipated. It is bizarre that, alongside all of the destruction we witness every day both at home & abroad, I could not bolster the gumption to pretend it to be fictional; untrue & something that hasn’t quite touched us yet. The unfortunate reality is that what is written in this story does affect people. The destruction caused by war is a ravaging beast that consumes without prejudice, save for the one that its instigator safeguards in their principles.
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The robotic-style mice that linger in the walls of this home, cleaning like they were driven to the brink of despair, as though cleanliness would filter through the consequences of death, was an interesting touch. So few creatures survive in nuclear-ravaged environments. I wonder what the rodents & roaches must think of us. They might wonder why we would be so stupid as to strip ourselves of the only environment in which we can survive; a silly course of action indeed.
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With the story somewhat revolving around Sara Teasdale’s poem by the same name—“There Will Come Soft Rains” (1918)—it is not difficult for the reader to form feelings of fondness for the world that Bradbury has inserted around the enchanting prose left behind by Teasdale. Both of which grant us all the opportunity to change, to think twice, & to remember. Before the final moments of the house’s agency are stripped from it; after the dog has died, after the incinerator’s flames have cooled, & before the sky darkens once more, there is a moment of remembering.
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We can look back at our lives individually or as a collective, if we are so inclined, & remember all the days of our lives that led us here. How quickly they escape us when guided by giant orbs in our skies. When all is said & done, this is why I appreciated this story so much.
Perhaps it is not so much what Bradbury writes as how he approaches writing it. I feel in his words the space to reflect before understanding; a moment of reprieve before the pages collapse in my hand. If one has the chance to waltz alongside the storytellers & word shapers, one is certainly in good company.
If you would like to read this story, please visit this link — « There Will Come Soft Rains » by Ray Bradbury
C. 💌