false 28143496 733629 119787 0345342968 9780345342968 563 http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1176400211m/119787.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/119787.Fahrenheit_451 3.97 6474 The system was simple. Everyone understood it. Books were for burning, along with the houses in which they were hidden.

Guy Montag was a fireman whose job it was to start fires. And he enjoyed his job. He had been a fireman for ten years, and he had never questioned the pleasure of the midnights runs or the joy of watching pages consumed by flames, never questioned anything until he met a seventeen-year-old girl who told him of a past when people were not afraid. Then Guy met a professor who told him of a future in which people could think. And Guy Montag suddenly realized what he had to do...

The Del Rey 50th Anniversary Edition includes "A Conversation with Ray Bradbury."]]> 1630 3.92 149199 7552 4 15 false Tue Jul 01 00:00:00 -0700 2008 Thu Jul 24 04:20:41 -0700 2008 Sat Aug 02 09:36:53 -0700 2008
Thwart all possible interruptions; turn off your cell phone and disconnect the house line, only after placing a fraudulent call to the guy manning the nearest tornado alert siren telling him he’s got the night off. Nothing is going to get in your way.

You lay back slowly, hardly able to contain the anxiety of awaiting the pleasures which are soon to commence. Relax. Examine the articles which you’ve assembled to increase the forthcoming flood of sensations; silk boxers and a plush robe for maximum comfort and style, instead of the usual barrage of Coors and Captain, you’re tapping into the reserves of Lindeman’s and Chambord, a fresh pack of Camels. You’ve even put a new dryer sheet in the blow-tube. Give in to any last minute impulses: feel free to slick your hair back, put a foot over that line in the sand you ordinarily wouldn’t cross. Everything is going your way. You’re set.

Slowly place it in your hand, lift it up a little, don’t be afraid to gaze at it with affection and admiration for its worth. It’s quite a marvel, isn’t it. Perhaps the careful application of a gentle caress or a little squeeze before beginning will make all the difference. Feel free to use your non-dominant hand should you get to indulge in this more frequently than most. As a last precaution, double-check that the reduced lighting is ample for your needs, heed your mother’s warning that this can make you go blind.

While still softly cradling the underside, lovingly wrap your thumb around the side and over the top. You’re ready to manhandle it bilaterally now. It responds accordingly, the cover opens smoothly, a sharp intake of breath: Fahrenheit 451 begins.

As strange as it may seem, I don’t think I enjoyed this quite as much as I did on previous reads. Perhaps Bradbury’s classic is getting stale, or maybe I should take my own advice and employ a switch-handed approach next time. What I found to be really unexpected is that this time around I appreciated different aspects of the book than I did previously. On my first few reads of F451 I was naturally consumed (not to mention mortified) by the prospect of Fireman enlisted to seek out and destroy the world of literature my young mind was coming to embrace. Now, nearing the age where I’d always imagined I’d be sent off to the savannah to die alone, I’ve come to realize that while the Fireman aren’t necessary, I’m all for a reduction in the publication of completely pointless, brain-damaging crap. While I don’t fathom I’ll ever be entirely convinced of the heralded merits of ‘Living Green’, I will say that I’ve always considered stock car racing and the release of shitty books to be equally poor usage of natural resources. This is probably because in the elapsed time I’ve read “The Bell Jar” and “Story of the Eye”, which I am sure some people will cherish and find significant, but naturally it’s my taste that ultimately matters. Sarcasm probably doesn’t come across too well without italics.

There was the time I thought maybe Clarisse was the engrossing aspect of the book. That inspirational, blossoming young woman who contrastingly stands out in the nightmarish landscape of Bradbury’s future like a daisy springing from the concrete on Wacker drive in downtown Chicago. In time I’ve come to expect that nothing good will come to these liberated souls, and like the daisy, she is also duly pulverized by oncoming traffic.

Then came the reading where I sought to find significance behind the enigmatic nature of Fire Captain Beatty and the Hound. Beatty, who is the head book-burner capable of quoting from significant works through the ages, the self-hating bibliophile. It almost seems like a gyp that the Captain’s obviously interesting and divergent past isn’t recounted. I also thought maybe there was something more going on behind the cold, lifeless eyes of the Hound; prompted by the hostile (almost precognitive) attitude which it directs at Montag, and the announcement in the book that a Hound was released against the firemen in it’s own precinct. What might have been going on in that nameless Firehouse? Perhaps a whole station of firemen stockpiling, storing, hoarding books, the Hound finally unable to passively stand by and endure this dereliction of duty. Again, I got older and wiser, and realized what was going on here: in Montag’s world, everything has been fireproofed, thus no more need for fire hydrants, thus one upset pooch that’s been holding an aching urination for its entire existence.

Reading F451 now, what I probably liked most was the world and backstory which Bradbury built around Montag’s awakening. Previously, I felt that the story completely revolved around the concept of the Firemen, and that the ridiculous society which spawned such an occupation was mere filler. I’m now leaning the other way, mainly because I agree with a small message which Bradbury buries in the book; that the reason the world ended up this way was because the voice of the minority clusters rose up and was obeyed; as Beatty states “It didn’t come from the Government down. There was no dictum, no declaration, no censorship, to start with, no! Technology, mass exploitation, and minority pressure carried the trick.” In an effort to make sure nobody’s feelings were hurt, anything which offended anyone was destroyed, a pure sign of progress. Yes, sarcasm again.

“I protest, sir! Your book contains a statement in which the narrator derides someone for dancing ‘as if he had two left feet’!” trills the pear-shaped, discontented mother.
“That’s possible.” The pothead author meekly rebuts, trying to recount just what the hell his latest book was even about.
“My son was born with two left feet, and your vile, thoughtless trash insults his very nature,” she continues, “do you have any idea how he will feel should his innocent eyes happen to stray upon your story?”
“Um, I guess he might feel like clumsily side-shuffling over to kick my ass?”
And straight to the incinerator with book and author both.

I sincerely do loathe this pandering to the minority at the expense to the majority, and can only expect the bleakest outcome to follow should we persist in this path. I think about this every time I have to confirm to the ATM machine that I do indeed want my transaction in English, and feel the bile rising up as I try to ignore the Braille beneath each number, seeing as this is a drive-thru machine. You’re not supposed to voice those unpopular opinions though, that’s cruelty, probably prosecutable these days. I envision a future in which the only person you can beat the shit out of without it being recorded as a ‘hate crime’ is a clone of yourself.

It’s probably me just getting old and crotchety, but I now feel like I can better appreciate Bradbury’s dreary imaginings. The pace of life sped up beyond reason, the incessant babble pouring from the morons Mildred associates with via the wallscreens, espousing their inane thoughts on voting and child-rearing, and all the while, the few non-mutants simply falling into lockstep with this insanity, barely raising their voices to call for a cessation of the madness. I finally see F451 as something beyond a statement on censorship, I see it as an indictment of the people we’re allowing ourselves to become.





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