I know it's stupid to criticise Ray Bradbury for writing about space too much, but when you have a man whose body tells all manner of stories via its tattoos it's very strange that they're all about rockets. I never fully managed to get past that fact, even though it's just a method of tying the stories together. Once he gets into the book he forgets about the man of the title anyway and just gets on with the stories until the bolted on epilogue. Clearly, the age Bradbury grew up in meant he was fascinated by space and the possibilities, but as someone who isn't a great fan of full on sci-fi I did find it quite off putting. Most of the stories are great reflections of the human condition, I just yearned for more variety in the settings. That's my problem though. It's a decent and easy read and presents some interesting ideas, powerful imagery, and well told stories, so if you can cope with everything being confined to the vastness of space, you'll more than likely enjoy this.