The Scent of Sarsaparilla by Ray Bradbury

If you know, you know.

Although I hold Ray Bradbury up to a very high standard when it comes to the art of the short-story, I am not expecting every one of his works to be a masterpiece. I've encountered plenty of mediocre and forgettable ones, even some real stinkers. "The Scent of Sarsaparilla" is not exactly a terrible read lacking all merit, but it's certainly a far-cry from Bradbury's best. I would place it in the mediocre category and it's doubtful that it will linger in my mind for very long. 

It's most redeeming qualities include Bradbury's delectable prose and captivating use of magic realism involving time travel. Nostalgia is a recurring theme in many of his works, especially pertaining to childhood memories. Much to the chagrin of his wife, an older man spends most of his free time up in the attic, indulging in the sensory experiences of the past through various mementos from many years ago. Bradbury wastes no time jumping right into the story, cultivating intrigue around this mysterious attic, which might harbor more than dusty floorboards, cobwebs and long forgotten heirlooms.

The narrative maintains a steady pace, never overstaying its welcome, and initially, it seemed like I had stumbled upon another literary gem. However, my enthusiasm took a sharp downturn when Bradbury included an unwarranted and blatant racist remark against black people. In a heated argument between the wife and husband about the past, particularly the old roads in town, she inexplicably states, "Those old roads were dirty. We came home looking like Africans." While acknowledging the era in which it was written—1950s—and the prevalence of racial prejudices, it's difficult for me to overlook this stain and fully appreciate the story.