Bradbury captured the unqualified awe and wonder of being a little boy: the angle of the sun, a bush bull of bees, leaves swirling on an autumn day, the importance of running, the comfort of a best friend. He got it. Much like dandelion wine captures each summer's essence, his books take you right back to how you felt as a child, how you thought, what was important to you. He's also the ultimate lightening rod merchant, selling magic, mystery and warning of danger. Much of his writing can be viewed as the death of something warm and safe, whether it be childhood or provincial America.
Ellison was the angry author of my teens. His wit and sarcasm helped ease me into the world of deadlines, responsibility, and the treadmill of conspicuous consumption. I appreciated that he was one of the few who was courageous enough to declare that the King had no clothes. He threw jelly beans into the gears of the metronome. "Repent, Harlequin!" Said the Ticktockman" still gives me satisfaction - even after all these years.
I'm full spectrum, so I need cold, calculating, unmerciful prophets like Asimov and Clarke.
I'll check out Neal Stephenson. I think I read Cryptonomicon, but I can't remember. What books of his would you recommend?