There Will Come Soft Rains by Ray Bradbury

There Will Come Soft Rains by Ray Bradbury

There Will Come Soft Rains is a thought-provoking short story by Ray Bradbury, set in a post-apocalyptic world where a fully automated house continues its daily routines despite the absence of its human inhabitants. The narrative explores themes of technology, isolation, and the consequences of human actions, highlighting the stark contrast between the house's mechanical efficiency and the desolation surrounding it. As the story unfolds, readers witness the house's attempts to maintain normalcy in a world devastated by nuclear war, ultimately leading to its tragic demise. This poignant tale serves as a cautionary reflection on humanity's reliance on technology and the fragility of life, making it essential reading for fans of speculative fiction and dystopian literature.

Key Points

  • Explores the impact of technology on daily life in a post-apocalyptic setting.
  • Highlights themes of isolation and the consequences of human actions.
  • Depicts a fully automated house continuing its routines after humanity's extinction.
  • Illustrates the contrast between mechanical efficiency and desolation.
  • Serves as a cautionary tale about humanity's reliance on technology.
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Ray Bradbury: There Will Come Soft Rains
www.dennissylvesterhurd.com/blog/softrain.htm
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There Will Come Soft Rains
By: Ray Bradbury
In the living room the voice-clock sang, Tick-tock, seven o'clock, time to get up, time to get up,
seven o 'clock! as if it were afraid that nobody would. The morning house lay empty. The clock
ticked on, repeating and repeating its sounds into the emptiness. Seven-nine, breakfast time,
seven-nine!
In the kitchen the breakfast stove gave a hissing sigh and ejected from its warm interior eight pieces
of perfectly browned toast, eight eggs sunny side up, sixteen slices of bacon, two coffees, and two
cool glasses of milk.
"Today is August 4, 2026," said a second voice from the kitchen ceiling, "in the city of
Allendale, California." It repeated the date three times for memory's sake. "Today is Mr.
Featherstone's birthday. Today is the anniversary of Tilita's marriage. Insurance is payable,
as are the water, gas, and light bills."
Somewhere in the walls, relays clicked, memory tapes glided under electric eyes.
Eight-one, tick-tock, eight-one o'clock, off to school, off to work, run, run, eight-one! But no
doors slammed, no carpets took the soft tread of rubber heels. It was raining outside. The weather
box on the front door sang quietly: "Rain, rain, go away; umbrellas, raincoats for today. .." And
the rain tapped on the empty house, echoing.
Outside, the garage chimed and lifted its door to reveal the waiting car. After a long wait the door
swung down again.
At eight-thirty the eggs were shrivelled and the toast was like stone. An aluminium wedge scraped
them into the sink, where hot water whirled them down a metal throat which digested and flushed
them away to the distant sea. The dirty dishes were dropped into a hot washer and emerged
twinkling dry.
Nine-fifteen, sang the clock, time to clean.
Out of warrens in the wall, tiny robot mice darted. The rooms were a crawl with the small cleaning
animals, all rubber and metal. They thudded against chairs, whirling their moustached runners,
kneading the rug nap, sucking gently at hidden dust. Then, like mysterious invaders, they popped
into their burrows. Their pink electric eyes faded. The house was clean.
Ten o'clock. The sun came out from behind the rain. The house stood alone in a city of rubble and
ashes. This was the one house left standing. At night the ruined city gave off a radioactive glow
which could be seen for miles.
Ten-fifteen. The garden sprinklers whirled up in golden founts, filling the soft morning air with
scatterings of brightness. The water pelted window panes, running down the charred west side
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www.dennissylvesterhurd.com/blog/softrain.htm
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where the house had been burned, evenly free of its white paint. The entire west face of the house
was black, save for five places. Here the silhouette in paint of a man mowing a lawn. Here, as in a
photograph, a woman bent to pick flowers. Still farther over, their images burned on wood in one
titanic instant, a small boy, hands flung into the air; higher up, the image of a thrown ball, and
opposite him a girl, hands raised to catch a ball which never came down.
The five spots of paint - the man, the woman, the children, the ball - remained. The rest was a thin
charcoaled layer.
The gentle sprinkler rain filled the garden with falling light.
Until this day, how well the house had kept its peace. How carefully it had inquired, "Who goes
there? What's the password?" and, getting no answer from lonely foxes and whining cats, it had
shut up its windows and drawn shades in an old-maidenly preoccupation with self-protection which
bordered on a mechanical paranoia.
It quivered at each sound, the house did. If a sparrow brushed a window, the shade snapped up.
The bird, startled, flew off! No, not even a bird must touch the house!
Twelve noon.
A dog whined, shivering, on the front porch.
The front door recognized the dog voice and opened. The dog, once huge and fleshy, but now
gone to bone and covered with sores, moved in and through the house, tracking mud. Behind it
whirred angry mice, angry at having to pick up mud, angry at inconvenience.
For not a leaf fragment blew under the door but what the wall panels flipped open and the copper
scrap rats flashed swiftly out. The offending dust, hair, or paper, seized in miniature steel jaws, was
raced back to the burrows. There, down tubes which fed into the cellar, it was dropped into the
sighing vent of an incinerator which sat like evil Baal in a dark corner.
The dog ran upstairs, hysterically yelping to each door, at last realizing, as the house realized, that
only silence was here.
It sniffed the air and scratched the kitchen door. Behind the door, the stove was making pancakes
which filled the house with a rich baked odour and the scent of maple syrup.
The dog frothed at the mouth, lying at the door, sniffing, its eyes turned to fire. It ran wildly in
circles, biting at its tail, spun in a frenzy, and died. It lay in the parlor for an hour.
Two o'clock, sang a voice.
Delicately sensing decay at last, the regiments of mice hummed out as softly as blown gray leaves in
an electrical wind.
Two-fifteen.
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Ray Bradbury: There Will Come Soft Rains
www.dennissylvesterhurd.com/blog/softrain.htm
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The dog was gone.
In the cellar, the incinerator glowed suddenly and a whirl of sparks leaped up the chimney.
Two thirty-five.
Bridge tables sprouted from patio walls. Playing cards fluttered onto pads in a shower of pips.
Martinis manifested on an oaken bench with egg-salad sandwiches. Music played.
But the tables were silent and the cards untouched.
At four o'clock the tables folded like great butterflies back through the paneled walls .
Four-thirty.
The nursery walls glowed.
Animals took shape: yellow giraffes, blue lions, pink antelopes, lilac panthers cavorting in crystal
substance. The walls were glass. They looked out upon color and fantasy. Hidden films clocked
through well-oiled sprockets, and the walls lived. The nursery floor was woven to resemble a crisp,
cereal meadow. Over this ran aluminum roaches and iron crickets, and in the hot still air butterflies
of delicate red tissue wavered among the sharp aroma of animal spoors! There was the sound like a
great matted yellow hive of bees within a dark bellows, the lazy bumble of a purring lion. And there
was the patter of okapi feet and the murmur of a fresh jungle rain, like other hoofs, falling upon the
summer-starched grass. Now the walls dissolved into distances of parched grass, mile on mile, and
warm endless sky. The animals drew away into thorn brakes and water holes. It was the children's
hour.
Five o'clock. The bath filled with clear hot water.
Six, seven, eight o'clock. The dinner dishes manipulated like magic tricks, and in the study a click.
In the metal stand opposite the hearth where a fire now blazed up warmly, a cigar popped out, half
an inch of soft gray ash on it, smoking, waiting.
Nine o'clock. The beds warmed their hidden circuits, for nights were cool here.
Nine-five. A voice spoke from the study ceiling: "Mrs. McClellan, which poem would you like
this evening?" The house was silent.
The voice said at last, "Since you express no preference, I shall select a poem at random."
Quiet music rose to back the voice. "Sara Teasdale. As I recall, your favourite...
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
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FAQs of There Will Come Soft Rains by Ray Bradbury

What is the setting of There Will Come Soft Rains?
The story is set in Allendale, California, in the year 2026, in a fully automated house that continues its daily operations after a nuclear disaster has wiped out humanity. The house stands alone in a city of rubble and ashes, emphasizing the stark contrast between its mechanical routines and the surrounding desolation. This setting serves as a backdrop for exploring themes of technology and isolation, as the house remains oblivious to the absence of its human occupants.
What themes are explored in Ray Bradbury's story?
There Will Come Soft Rains delves into several profound themes, including the dangers of technological advancement and the consequences of human actions. It highlights the idea of isolation, as the automated house continues to function without its inhabitants, reflecting a world devoid of human connection. Additionally, the story serves as a cautionary tale about the fragility of life and the potential for self-destruction through reliance on technology.
How does the house react to the absence of its owners?
The house operates as if its human occupants are still present, performing daily tasks such as cooking breakfast, cleaning, and announcing the time. It demonstrates a mechanical efficiency that contrasts sharply with the surrounding destruction, as it continues to function despite the absence of life. This reaction underscores the story's themes of isolation and the futility of technology in the face of human extinction.
What happens to the house at the end of the story?
At the end of There Will Come Soft Rains, the house ultimately succumbs to a fire caused by a falling tree branch. Despite its attempts to extinguish the flames with automated systems, the fire spreads rapidly, leading to the house's destruction. This tragic ending symbolizes the inevitable failure of technology to protect against the consequences of human actions, reinforcing the story's cautionary message.
What literary techniques does Bradbury use in the story?
Ray Bradbury employs various literary techniques in There Will Come Soft Rains, including vivid imagery and personification. The house is depicted with human-like qualities, allowing readers to connect emotionally with its plight. Additionally, Bradbury uses symbolism, particularly through the automated routines of the house, to reflect broader themes of technology and isolation. The contrast between the house's mechanical efficiency and the desolation surrounding it serves to enhance the story's impact.
What is the significance of the poem recited by the house?
The poem recited by the house at the end of the story, 'There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,' serves as a poignant reminder of nature's resilience and the indifference of the world to humanity's fate. It emphasizes the theme that life will continue despite human extinction, highlighting the fragility of human existence. The poem's inclusion reinforces the story's overarching message about the consequences of technological reliance and the inevitability of nature's reclamation.
Who are the main characters in There Will Come Soft Rains?
There Will Come Soft Rains does not feature traditional characters but instead focuses on the automated house itself as the central 'character.' The house performs various tasks and routines, embodying the remnants of human life. The absence of human characters emphasizes the themes of isolation and the consequences of technological advancement, as the house continues its operations in a world devoid of its inhabitants.

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