A Medicine for Melancholy by Ray Bradbury

"So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep"

There are bound to be more than a few rotten eggs amongst the thousands of short stories by Ray Bradbury and "Medicine for Melancholy" is certainly one of them. This was quite awful and completely forgettable. I am shocked that publishers even deemed the title story worthy of representing the entire collection--a blatant case of false advertising if you ask me! If not for the association with the author's name, I would have easily mistaken it for the work of someone else, as it deviates significantly from his typical style. Perhaps he sought to step out of his comfort zone and venture beyond the confines of the typical speculative science-fiction genre expected of him. I can respect an author trying to do something different. However, in this case, delving into a bizarre fantasy folklore narrative proved to be a huge misstep.

The silly plot takes place in London during ye olden days, maybe it's the 1800s? Anyways, the time period doesn't really matter. Some rich girl from a noble family is suffering from a mysterious illness. After seeing many doctors and receiving various treatments, nothing seems to work. The doctor's are quacks and their exploits are supposed to be funny but the outlandish humor falls flat. Everyone is baffled that the girl's health continues to deteriorate at an exponential rate. Until, the family has an ingenious idea that some fresh air would do her good and she should sleep outside. Alone. Late at night she is approached by a stranger covered in soot, a "Dustman" or chimney sweeper. He has the perfect remedy for curing her illness, SEX. How scandalous, Mr. Bradbury! My theory is that the author smoked some really good weed and was on a cosmic joyride while writing this story, or maybe he was just having an off-kind of day. I presume most prolific authors stumble into the twilight zone of creativity at some point.