More Than A Feeling

Dandelion Wine revels in the American tradition of summer vacation, making it a comforting book for the beginning of the season, and its structure (short stories with a simple frame) satisfies the conventional hunger for light reads in lazy times. Each time I read it, Bradbury’s contagious nostalgia minimizes the years and miles between my childhood and Douglas Spaulding’s¹. This time around, I wondered whether it would be compelling to folks whose upbringing was still more distant.

In truth, the novel isn’t entirely kick-the-can and late-night ice cream. Dandelion Wine contains some moments of real peril, like Douglas’ severe illness and Lavinia Nebbs’ flight from a serial killer. The book’s charm occasionally veers into the occult, evoking Something Wicked This Way Comes with stories about a mechanical Tarot card reader and the alleged witch of the neighborhood. And in a disarmingly-edgy moment, Charlie complains that the arrest of the aforementioned serial killer has made Green Town into “vanilla junket.”

On a deeper level, the novel offers surprisingly-nuanced commentary on the human condition. Bradbury initially seems most interested in criticizing technology. From the Happiness Machine² and the electric scooter to a new breed of low-maintenance grass and a bus to replace the trolley, Green Town seems beset upon by tech that disrespects the community’s way of life. This thesis only works up to a point, though, because technology also represents an undeniably-positive force in the townsfolk’s existence. Dandelion Wine honors the telephone and romanticizes the innovations hidden inside tennis shoes. Even rhetorically, the novel embraces invention when it reveres the wisdom of elders as metaphorical “time machines.”

The advent of the bus alleviates any tension here. When Charlie complains that it “won’t even give us a chance to be late to school,” he’s not comparing the motorized future to some ideal no-tech past–he wants the wonderfully-mechanical trolley to stick around. Neither Charlie nor Bradbury have a blanket statement about technology; they’re suckers for tradition. Douglas feels the same, journaling instances all summer long in a list he precociously labels “RITES AND CEREMONIES.” Most touching, though, is how Great-grandma appeals to tradition from her deathbed, using it to help her family cope with her loss and to ease her own mind.

This framing also supports some of the more nuanced themes. Mrs. Bentley’s struggle to relate to the neighborhood kids is a bittersweet warning against This framing also supports some of the more nuanced themes. Mrs. Bentley’s struggle to relate to the neighborhood kids is a bittersweet warning against attachment to the past³, and it emphasizes the practice of tradition rather than simple comfort in the familiar. When Grandfather rejects that time-saving grass, or when Aunt Rose tanks Grandma’s cooking by organizing her kitchen, Dandelion Wine reminds readers that modernity’s tendency toward order and efficiency is not always progress.

Of course, not all traditions have value, but Bradbury doesn’t give that much thought–particularly when it comes to the misogyny of the times. It’s not prevalent enough to spoil the novel (or so says this cis dude), but it certainly subverts the nostalgia whenever it comes up, kinda like being shaken from a dream.

I revisited Dandelion Wine looking for something more than wistful stories of time gone by, and I’m pleased to have found it. I’m not qualified to say whether it’s enough to captivate readers who don’t share my fondness for summer vacations passed, but I’m willing to bet it is.