Marionettes Inc. by Ray Bradbury

Master of Puppets, I'm pulling your strings.

It’s been a lot of fun revisiting some of my favorite Ray Bradbury short stories, many of which I first read over 20 years ago (gosh, I feel really old). My reading habits and preferences have changed drastically since then, so it has also been interesting to see whether my opinions have shifted at all. Some of these stories hold up well and are just as good as I remember; others, not so much. I’m happy to report that Marionettes, Inc. firmly falls into the former category. It creeped me out back then and my reaction this time around was pretty much the same.

This is a deeply sinister little tale, blending horror with a generous dose of dark humor. It's an area where Bradbury truly shines. He has a remarkable ability to take an idea that sounds odd, even a little silly on the surface, and slowly twist it into something profoundly unsettling. His horror doesn’t rely on cheap scares; instead, it seeps in gradually, tapping into discomfort, dread, and the awful feeling that something is very wrong.

Here, Bradbury takes aim at male selfishness and hubris, particularly within the confines of marriage. Braling, the main character, feels trapped in a loveless relationship and can’t stand being around his wife, whom he views as a nuisance and an obstacle to his happiness. His dream is to escape to Brazil, but of course, that’s impossible because his wife is far too demanding and takes up all his time. Divorce would be the most sensible option, but no, Instead, he turns to a shady corporation that specializes in creating lifelike clones. Problem solved: Braling Two can stay home with the wife, while the real Braling enjoys his newfound freedom.

Naturally, Braling is confident that this plan is foolproof and that absolutely nothing could go wrong. His friend Smith is fascinated by the idea and can't wait to get a clone of his own because he is also dealing with his marital issues. While the premise teeters on the edge of camp, Bradbury treats it with complete seriousness, creating an atmosphere thick with dread and inevitability. The creepiness is subtle but highly effective, and the sinister twists land beautifully for both characters. Marionettes, Inc. is an eerie and surprisingly funny piece of sci-fi horror. 

Amusements by Sherman Alexie

Crazy mirrors.

In Amusements, Victor returns as the narrator, this time spending the evening at a local carnival with his cousin Sadie. They stumble upon their drunk relative, “Dirty Joe,” passed out on the grass while the other ticketholders (mostly white) completely ignore him. To them, he’s just another drunk Indian acting a fool. Victor and Sadie decide the best solution is to bribe the roller-coaster operator and strap Dirty Joe into a ride, hoping the thrill will sober him up fast. It’s a funny premise with some great comedic moments, especially as the two of them argue over what to do with their inebriated relative. But beneath the dark humor, that familiar sense of sadness creeps in again, a common feature that runs through so many of Sherman Alexie’s stories.

Alexie has explored racial discrimination before, but here it’s handled with a a more playful edge. There’s a great scene near the end where Victor runs from security guards who immediately assume that, since he’s Indigenous, he must be involved in the roller-coaster stunt. They are technically right, but the speed of their assumption says everything. Victor becomes an easy target, not because of what he’s done, but because of who he is based on skin color. He hides in a fun house filled with warped mirrors that stretch and twist his reflection, turning the moment into a powerful metaphor. Victor sees himself fractured—caught between wanting to distance himself from his cultural identity and knowing he can never fully escape it. The story captures that painful tension of trying to blend into whiteness while carrying shame, fear, and embarrassment about being visibly Indigenous in a world that is always watching, judging, and ready to misunderstand him.

Somebody Kept Saying Powwow by Sherman Alexie

Pete Rose.

Two five-star reviews in a row? I don't think that has ever happened before on this blog.

Sherman Alexie is one hell of a short-story writer, and Somebody Kept Saying Powwow is yet another knockout in a collection already packed with brilliant stories. His trademark style of stark realism mixed with witty, often dark humor is such a joy to read. The prose flows so effortlessly that he makes it look easy, even when he’s tackling heavy material. At this point, it’s safe to say The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven is shaping up to be one of the best short-story collections I have ever read.

The first-person narration is especially strong here with the story told from Junior’s perspective, giving us another intimate look at life on the reservation. Alexie walks a fine line, balancing comedy and heartbreak with remarkable control. He has a fantastic ear for natural, realistic dialogue; lines that can be laugh-out-loud funny one moment and devastating the next. You’ll find yourself laughing, only for the sadness beneath the humor to sneak up on you before you realize it.

Junior reflects on his platonic relationship with Norma before she married James Many Horses. Although she isn’t much older than him, she’s considered an elder in the community because of her wisdom, generosity, and deep sense of responsibility toward others. Junior clearly admires her and harbors a bit of a crush as he jumps from anecdote to anecdote about her life, while interconnected with moments from his own experiences growing up in this community. This approach can feel digressive at times, but it never drifts aimlessly. In just a few pages, Alexie gives us a vivid sense of who Norma is as a person, what she believes in, and why she’s so deeply respected.

Junior even wonders why Norma never ended up with Victor, another familiar character from the collection, since she’s a healer and Victor, as an alcoholic, could have used a lot of healing. Victor makes a brief but memorable appearance, stumbling drunk into the local watering hole. It’s a funny scene, but also a deeply sad one. This is classic Alexie, finding humor without letting us forget the pain underneath.

Through Junior's reflections and having access to his inner world, he becomes a fully fleshed-out character as well. At one point he confesses a shameful memory from his youth, when he was an all-star basketball player who bullied an opposing player. He still harbors guilt about his unethical behavior and Alexie effectively captures that long-lasting remorse. This brings us to the importance of Pete Rose in the story. He was one of the greatest baseball players of all time, whose legacy was tarnished by a gambling scandal. Norma compares Junior to Pete Rose: someone who achieved greatness, but one mistake ends up defining how others see him, a stain on their character that is impossible to shake. It’s a sharp, heartbreaking comparison,  perfectly encapsulating what Alexie does best: mixing humor, empathy, and social commentary together in a voice that feels completely his own, treating these flawed characters with such honesty and compassion. 

The Rocket Man by Ray Bradbury

And I think it's gonna be a long, long time

I have that Elton John song stuck in my head ever since reading this. It’s a Ray Bradbury double feature kind of day, which is always a treat. The Rocket Man is absolutely wonderful, maybe even one of his very best short stories. It definitely deserves to be in that upper-tier category, for sure. 

This is a simple story, but it’s also haunting, tender, and heartbreaking. It centers on a fractured family: a son, his mother, and a father whose job takes him far beyond Earth. He’s a space explorer, constantly traveling from planet to planet, and that life leaves very little room for rest, stability, or real connection. When he does return home, it’s only temporary, and even then, the family never quite feels whole. There’s always the knowledge that he will be leaving again.

The mother lives in a constant state of quiet agony. The only way she can psychologically survive the cycle of reunion and departure is by pretending her husband is already dead. It's a coping mechanism because if she can accept that loss upfront, maybe it won’t hurt as much when he leaves for real.

The father exists in a liminal space, never fully grounded in Earth-time. His life belongs to the stars, and while he loves his family, he can’t fully inhabit their world. When he’s home, he’s distant and withdrawn. He spends hours in his garden, digging into the soil, desperately trying to anchor himself to Earth, to feel rooted somewhere. But it never quite works. He’s always looking up at the sky, torn between wanting to stay and feeling the pull of the rocket ship calling him back. His purpose has given his life meaning, but it has also created an unbridgeable distance between him and the people he loves.

Then there’s Doug, the son, who longs for a father figure who can truly be there for him, especially during these formidable years. As the story unfolds, he begins to understand that this is likely all he’ll ever get. These brief visits, half-presence, borrowed moments. Doug learns to treasure what little time he has with his father, knowing it’s fleeting. That awareness of loving someone while already grieving their absence, gives the story its palpable, crushing power.

So much of The Rocket Man is built around stillness and silence: small moments loaded with unspoken longing, scenes of connection that never quite materialize into something substantial. The yearning is constant, and fulfillment always feels just out of reach. It’s understated and emotionally devastating. Once again, Bradbury’s short-story magic shines bright. His prose flows with such ease, leaving a lingering ache long after the final page.

The Other Foot by Ray Bradbury

Space is the Place. - Sun Ra

If you can suspend your disbelief, forget everything we know about Mars as a completely uninhabitable rock and read The Other Foot purely as an allegory about racism in America, you might enjoy this Ray Bradbury story more than I did. Science-wise, it’s complete nonsense, but Bradbury isn’t interested in astrophysics here. He’s using sci-fi as a moral sandbox, and that’s where things get interesting.

The premise is bold: Black people have left Earth and built a peaceful, thriving civilization on Mars. With white people gone, racism disappears. Life is idyllic, equality is the norm, and oppression is something that exists only in memory. Meanwhile, back on Earth, white people are still busy annihilating one another in nuclear war. With the planet on the brink of destruction, a lone white emissary is sent to Mars to beg for refuge. He pleads for a fresh start, promising that race relations will be different this time and that Mars can be a place of true equality.

Bradbury then flips the power dynamic. The Black residents of Mars, especially the main character Willie, respond with anger, fear, and deep skepticism. Who can blame them? Given Earth’s history, trust is in short supply. Willie rallies the community into a kind of mob mentality and what follows is a chilling role reversal: segregation is reinstated, discriminatory laws are drafted, interracial marriage is banned and white people are assigned the lowest-paying jobs. Mars has become like the Jim Crow south, just with the roles reversed.

This is where the racial politics get thorny. Bradbury seems less interested in exploring historical power structures and more focused on making a moral point about prejudice being universally corrosive. The story suggests that racism is a human flaw rather than a system rooted in history, economics, and power. By framing it as “any group can become racist if given the chance,” the story risks flattening the very real history between centuries of anti-Black oppression and a hypothetical scenario of reverse racism. The allegory is clear, but it’s also a little too neat.

The black population are faced with an important decision: should they let white humanity perish or extend mercy and risk repeating history? Bradbury opts for reconciliation, forgiveness, and racial harmony. It’s a hopeful ending but also a very safe one. The kumbaya moment feels contrived and overly optimistic, as if moral clarity can magically override centuries of slavery, systematic oppression, racial violence and intergenerational trauma. I can appreciate Bradbury’s intent and his use of science fiction as a vehicle for social critique, even if the ending kind of irked me. 

Sexy by Jhumpa Lahiri

Madhuri Dixit and Shah Rukh Khan in Devdas.

I mentioned in my review of Chekhov’s "The Lady with the Little Dog" how hard it must be to write a memorable story about an affair without sliding into boredom or cliché. Jhumpa Lahiri takes on that challenge in Sexy and while not spectacular, it’s thoughtful, observant, and tries to do something a little different. There is a pervasive melancholy that runs throughout the story, which adds to the emotional resonance. The story is less interested in scandal and more interested in exploring loneliness and the desperate need for genuine connection. 

Miranda is a white woman in her twenties who becomes involved with Dev, a married Indian man. It's a very simple story, but Lahiri fills it with small, telling details that reveal Miranda’s inner life, especially her shaky sense of self-worth. Despite going against her better judgment, she has accepted her position as the "other woman" knowing she’s on the outside of Dev’s real life. Her whiteness only reinforces that distance. A part of her is holding onto that tiny shred of hope that he might leave his wife one day and then they can be together happily. As the story unfolds, it becomes increasingly clear to her that Dev is never going to leave his wife.

In response, Miranda half-consciously tries to fold herself into Dev’s world. She watches Bollywood movies, befriends her coworker Laxmi, and latches onto pieces of Indian culture as if they might bring her closer to him emotionally. But these gestures feel forced and Lahiri subtly shows how cultural curiosity can slide into self-deception when it’s fueled by romantic desperation.

There is the obvious parallel between Miranda’s affair and the story Laxmi tells about her cousin’s marriage falling apart because the husband ran off with a younger woman. The echo is impossible to ignore, even if Miranda would rather not hear it. The title word, “sexy,” comes into focus when Miranda babysits Rohin, Laxmi’s cousin's son. Rohin casually calls her this, which she believes he’s heard elsewhere without fully understanding it's meaning. When he asks her what it means, she tells him: “loving someone you don’t know.” It’s a deceptively simple line. For Rohin, it's just another provocative word in our sex-obsessed western culture. For Miranda, it suddenly becomes a painfully accurate description of her own situation. 

Dev finds Miranda sexy, but only in the shallowest sense. Their relationship is almost entirely physical. She has fallen for him emotionally, while he remains detached, comfortable keeping her in a separate, consequence-free box. In that way, “sexy” becomes less about attraction and more about distance. Instead, it becomes desire without intimacy and closeness without real knowledge of the other person. I appreciate that Lahiri doesn’t judge her characters harshly and doesn’t let them off the hook either. Sexy is a story about longing, cultural misalignment and  self-deception. It captures that very human habit of building elaborate narratives in our own heads as a way to feel special or loved, especially when the reality of the relationship is very different. We convince ourselves that small gestures mean more than they do, that emotional distance is temporary, that silence is complicated rather than dismissive. These stories become a form of comfort, even protection, allowing us to hold onto desire without fully confronting disappointment. Lahiri shows how fragile and persuasive these internal narratives can be and how devastating it is when they finally collide with the truth.

The Appropriation of Cultures by Percival Everett

White power!

I can’t believe it took me this long to finally read something by the great Percival Everett. He’s been on my radar for years and after just a handful of short stories, consider me a fan. The Appropriation of Cultures is a perfect example of Everett’s razor-sharp satire, irony, and  irreverent sense of humor.

The story instantly reminded me of Dave Chappelle’s classic Clayton Bigsby sketch about the blind Black man who grows up to become a white supremacist. Everett is playing in a similar comedic and parody space. His protagonist, Daniel, is a Black musician who suddenly buys a pickup truck plastered with Confederate flag decals. That choice isn’t random or ironic for irony’s sake. It grows out of an ugly moment when Daniel is performing at a bar and a group of rowdy white guys insist that he play “Dixie.” The song, of course, is deeply tied to Confederate ideology, minstrel traditions, and the promotion of slavery. Everett doesn’t sugarcoat this history or soften the implications; rather, he puts the ugliness right out in the open.

What makes the caustic satire so effective is how Everett flips the usual script. Rather than another tale about white people appropriating Black culture, he turns the concept inside out. Daniel begins appropriating the symbols of white supremacist culture instead, exposing how hollow and absurd they really are. By the end of the story, this inversion snowballs into something even more outrageous: Black people across the country start driving around with Confederate flags, draining the symbol of its supposed power. Daniel even takes “Dixie” itself and breaks it down, rebuilding it through R&B and Black musical traditions. In other words, reclaiming it, reshaping it, and stripping it of its racist intent.

Everett is humorously mocking racism while dismantling it through exaggeration, irony, and subversion. By forcing these symbols into contexts they were never meant to survive, he reveals the fragility of these ridiculous racist ideologies. The result is provocative, defiant, and genuinely funny. There are some really hilarious moments in this story that caused me to burst out laughing. This is satire doing exactly what it’s supposed to do: unsettling, exposing, and laughing racism right out of the room. Percival Everett clearly knows how to wield that blade, and he does it brilliantly here.

You can read this story HERE.

Paycheck by Philip K. Dick

Another terrible PKD adaptation.

Paycheck by Philip K. Dick starts off with a ton of promise and then, unfortunately, drives itself straight into a brick wall at 100km/hr. As a sci-fi mystery thriller with time-travel elements, the opening is genuinely gripping. There’s intrigue, suspense, and that classic Philip K. Dick sense that something very strange and very clever is unfolding. For a while there, I was completely hooked.

Then the momentum collapses. Hard. What begins as a tight, fascinating setup gradually unravels into something convoluted, silly, and increasingly absurd. This feels like a textbook example of Philip K. Dick at his most frustrating: bursting with bold, imaginative ideas, but struggling to shape them into a fully cohesive, satisfying story. 

It makes me wonder what might have been salvaged with a firmer editorial hand. The story desperately needed a tighter focus. Cutting the word count by at least half and ditching the pointless plot detours would have gone a long way. Instead, it drags on far longer than it needs to, turning what should have been a brisk, punchy sci-fi tale into a bit of a slog.

The premise itself is great though. A mechanical engineer named Jennings has his memory wiped for the last two years of his life after finishing a secret job for his employer, a construction company. Rather than walking away with a hefty payout, he’s handed a small envelope filled with random junk. At first, it seems like a slap in the face. However, once the police show up and he miraculously escapes using one of those worthless items, it becomes clear that someone (possibly future-Jennings) knew exactly what was coming and planned accordingly. That’s a great hook.

From there, Jennings is on the run, trying to uncover what special project he worked on and why his past self set this elaborate breadcrumb trail. Again, there is so much potential for a great story here. Unfortunately, it spirals into confusion, plot holes, and increasingly goofy twists. There’s also some rushed, half-baked social commentary about capitalism and revolution that feels tacked on rather than meaningful, adding more noise instead of depth. Paycheck is a reminder of why Philip K. Dick is such a fascinating but wildly uneven writer. His ideas are endlessly compelling, but the execution often can’t keep up. 

Such a disappointment.

Tom Edison's Shaggy Dog by Kurt Vonnegut

Tommy E, mixologist.

There’s no denying that dogs are intelligent and emotionally perceptive creatures. But what if they were actually the smartest beings on Earth and have been deliberately hiding that fact from humans for centuries? After all, free lodging, regular meals, grooming services, and someone else cleaning up your poop is a pretty sweet arrangement. Why mess that up?

That’s the wonderful premise behind Tom Edison’s Shaggy Dog by Kurt Vonnegut, a short story that’s lighthearted, fast-paced, and a lot of fun. This isn’t Vonnegut at his most caustic or overtly satirical. Instead, he showcases a more playful, eccentric kind of humor that proves very entertaining.

The story opens with two elderly men sitting on a park bench. They are total strangers, but that doesn’t stop one of them from talking nonstop while the other man just wants some peace and quiet. Eventually, the reluctant listener fires back with a story of his own, recounting a strange childhood encounter with none other than the famous inventor himself, Thomas Edison! He lived next to him as a boy and while playing with his dog, ends up crashing into Edison's laboratory. 

As it turns out, Edison had a secret invention he never shared with the world called the “Intelligence Analyzer.” When he tests it on the boy’s dog, the results go completely off the charts. Vonnegut plays this revelation as slightly ridiculous and runs with it. Despite the silliness, the ending takes a surprisingly dark turn, especially when it comes to the consequences faced by the dog for letting this canine secret slip to the humans. This may not rank among Vonnegut’s most memorable short stories, but it doesn’t need to. It’s quick, clever, and built around a great premise, with his understated comedic style on full display. Sometimes being entertaining from start to finish is more than enough for me and there’s nothing wrong with that at all.