It's always disturbing to find a relatively old work in a look that can be transposed almost unchanged on today, as if to give reason to author writing a work of anticipation, today was good the culmination of an evolution, predictable, as if there had been no real technological or cultural schism in the West since the 50's (1968 movements, transition to the digital age, fall of communism ... revolutions?)
We find the same generalized flight: in the intoxication of speed or in temporary forgetfulness afforded by sleeping pills; in the sound of laughter and feigned too sound on oversized screens. The permanent connection is found (to who? What?) Via seashells embedded in ears, looking for distraction at all costs, so the leak and the other, which is also reflected in a shift away from body and denial emotions. Thus, the "families" referred in the work echo the "friendship" of social networks.
No need for an inquisitorial authority to maintain this situation and divert the path to be oneself and to others, to deviate from the reading. Being offline, silent, reader, thinker rather than noise consumer and image seems to reject a person more surely than the plague in rank outcasts. Okay, I exaggerate into pathos, I admit. And these reflections are short summaries and all deserve a careful reading of the book by Ray Bradbury, which for my part I read here more than a year.
