Bradbury was still producing work into his nineties, as evidenced by the essay that Bradbury had contributed to the most recent issue of The New Yorker--a double-issue (June 4 & 11) dedicated to science fiction. Bradbury himself eschewed his place as a science fiction writer, although his most famous works, Fahrenheit 451 and The Martian Chronicles, are certainly of the genre.
But Bradbury defied categorization, I think . . . especially when one looks at his entire body of work. His three short story collections are among my favorite books, and I often turn to them on rainy days. He has always had that sort of effect on me--like comfort food.
Well, I will miss Bradbury. I began reading him when I was ten or eleven years old and his style, as well as the depth and breadth of his work, was always surprising and marvelous. Bradbury often called himself a magician instead of a writer, and I think he always set out to delight and please in everything he wrote.
So that's how I'll leave him.
Thanks, Mr. Bradbury. Although you have passed from this life your life lives on through your words . . . and I'll carry them on my shelves always.
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