The most striking incongruity with our modern era to me is that the family was all outside when the blast occurred. With pervasive screens, we just don't get outside like we used to.
And why on earth was that dad mowing when the house was able to take care of it?
To be alone for an hour.
this guy gets it
That's one of the usual failures of science fiction: most authors imagine technological progress, but don't also predict what societal changes it might bring. So this family had a quaint picture-book suburban 1950s life, just with robots. Same as Asimov's Detective Baley smoked a pipe and had a traditional 1950s marriage with a stay-at-home wife - just with robots...
I think you have to distinguish what the author can imagine and what the audience could likely accept. Part of writing stories is engaging the readers, who have biases of their own.
The usual response here is, any author can predict the horseless carriage, only a true visionary will predict the traffic jam and road rage.
I don't know that it because Bradbury couldn't predict the changes. See The Veldt for example. It is more that painting an idyllic 1950's life cast a sharper contrast with the destruction and thus had stronger impact.
> Same as Asimov's Detective Baley smoked a pipe and had a traditional 1950s marriage with a stay-at-home wife - just with robots..
How do you know that will not happen in the future?
A hugely different society might look more like past than the present.
They don't even predict all the technological changes. I love how in William Gibson's Neuromancer they have VR, true AI, and even fancy orbital resorts, but not mobile phones!
To smell fresh cut grass. It can be quite enjoyable.
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The things we enjoy doing, we prefer to do ourselves. For example: coding.
Man, if only I wasn't so burnt out. I've still been day-dreaming about architecture and design for my side-projects. I haven't had a chance to sit down and get into the flow state like I used to.
I've got a neighbor who I'm pretty sure would still be out there.
Mine would be... at 8:30pm... on a Sunday... running the Dixie Chopper.