"Sometimes, at night, I feel the images, like ants, crawling on my skin. Then I know they are doing what they are supposed to do..."

The fact that the Illustrated Man continues to be continuously reprinted since its publication in 1951 is undeniable evidence of the universal acceptance of Ray Bradbury's work. It is a marvelous, albeit often dark, blend of science fiction, fantasy literature, and horror literature. 

With the clever framework that opens and closes the book, Bradbury introduces himself as the anonymous narrator who encounters the Illustrated Man - a wanderer whose entire body is a living canvas with exotic tattoos. Even more remarkable, and constantly more disturbing, is that the illustrations themselves are magically alive. 

If El Greco had painted miniatures, no larger than the size of a palm, infinitely detailed, with his entire pale yellow color palette, the elongation of forms and anatomy, perhaps he should have used the body of this man for his art... However, the Illustrated Man has tried to burn his illustrations. 

He has tried sandpaper, acid, and a knife. Because, when the sun sets, the images sparkle like coals, like scattered diamonds. They tremble and come to life. The figures activate their stories - voices rise, small and gentle, foreshadowing the future. Each story projects and unfolds its own narrative, like in "The Veldt" where some misfit children play a game of virtual reality beyond any limit. 

Or in "Kaleidoscope," a poignant portrait of stranded astronauts preparing to re-enter our atmosphere unprotected. Or in "Zero Hour," where alien invaders have found their most reasonable ally - our own children. Although written in the 1940s and 1950s, these classic stories will remain chillingly relevant even fifty years from today.