I've decided I'm just not the audience for a book about a boy's magical summer. I'm not feeling engaged with the writing here, and it feels like a chore every time I pick the book up. I'd really rather be reading something else. I love Bradbury, but this book is missing the speculative elements I so enjoy in his other work, and I'm finding the prose a bit overwrought. I think this is a case of the writer being too close to his subject. I'm just not as enamored of his childhood as he is. Don't worry, Ray. I'll be seeing you again. Just not in the summer of 1928.