Ray Bradbury chose an excellent influence for The Martian Chronicles (1950; some stories published previously) in Winesburg, Ohio, Sherwood Anderson's meandering opus. It is an ode to love and loneliness, and the infinitely odd measures of a man's triumphs and failures. Rather, man's or woman's—the women in the stories are no less thoughtfully delineated than any male characters. The structure of these connected stories, in which characters reoccur as the focus in one piece, as background in another, is clearly reflected in Bradbury's work (and is a thematic prelude to Tahei and Matashichi's repurposing as two bickering robots).
There the influence ends. Bradbury's women are whiny housewives, robot mothers, and lonely hearts. The exist to placate or annoy men, who do all the pesky subjugating and conquering required by colonisation. This is because the Martian Chronicles are about America's Old West. Bradbury was unable to imagine a culture different from any on earth, and was more limited in describing the role of women in conquest. The book is mere preciously rendered atavism—well written and fairl amazing for its time but steeped in the retro values of the post-WWII United States. Perhaps Bradbury was deeply pessimistic about the human race, so much so that he could only envision cycles of oppression and death. He ends the book where it should begin, with humans casting off their earthly pasts and becoming wholly alien.