From the Bookshelf of On Paths Unknown…

Fahrenheit 451

Ray Bradbury

Start date: December 27, 2015

Finish date: March 30, 2018

Discussion: CENSORSHIP vs FREEDOM OF SPEECH

Why we're reading this: To discuss relevant issues of censorship.
[close] To discuss relevant issues of censorship.

Find A Copy At

Libraries

Group Discussions About This Book

Showing 2 of 3 topics — 124 comments total

CENSORSHIP vs FREEDOM OF SPEECH

Fahrenheit 451 Part 3 : Burning Bright
By Traveller · 40 posts · 30 views

last updated Feb 11, 2016 12:18AM

Fahrenheit 451 Part 2: The Sieve and the Sand
By Traveller · 13 posts · 10 views

last updated Jan 19, 2016 08:55AM

showing 3 of 3 topics view all »

What Members Thought

Oct 02, 2016 Michael Finocchiaro rated it it was amazing

Shelves: dystopian, hugo-awards-winner, novels, classics, sci-fi, american-20th-c, fiction

I think this is my second reading of this classic, but it is hard to remember so far back. In any case, it is an incredible story, so well-written and so gripping. The ideas of firemen creating fires to destroy books is poignant especially given GQP tendencies in red states such as Florida at the moment. Bradbury's fable is about trying to control free thought by demonizing literature and unfortunately never gets old. It was written a while after Brave New World and a few short years before 1984 I think this is my second reading of this classic, but it is hard to remember so far back. In any case, it is an incredible story, so well-written and so gripping. The ideas of firemen creating fires to destroy books is poignant especially given GQP tendencies in red states such as Florida at the moment. Bradbury's fable is about trying to control free thought by demonizing literature and unfortunately never gets old. It was written a while after Brave New World and a few short years before 1984 but clearly is in the same vein and perhaps the most beautifully written of the three. I was truly impressed by the poetry in his narration. And his iconic character Guy Montag!

Some favorite passages:
"Colored people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White
people don't feel good about Uncle Toms Cabin. Burn it. Some-
one's written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The
cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book. Serenity, Montag.
Peace, Montag. Take your fight outside. Better yet, into the in-
cinerator. Funerals are unhappy and pagan? Eliminate them, too.
Five minutes after a person is dead he's on his way to the Big
Flue, the Incinerators serviced by helicopters all over the coun-
try. Ten minutes after death a man's a speck of black dust. Let's
not quibble over individuals with memoriams. Forget them.
Burn all, burn everything. Fire is bright and fire is clean.

She rattled some chestnuts
that had fallen off the tree in the front yard. "Or talking about
how strange the world is. Being with people is nice. But I don't
think it's social to get a bunch of people together and then not
let them talk, do you? An hour of TV class, an hour of basketball
or baseball or running, another hour of transcription history or
painting pictures, and more sports, but do you know, we never
ask questions, or at least most don't; they just run the answers
at you, bing, bing, bing, and us sitting there for four more hours
of film-teacher. That's not social to me at all. It's a lot of funnels
and a lot of water poured down the spout and out the bottom,
and them telling us it's wine when it's not. They run us so ragged
by the end of the day we can't do anything but go to bed or head
for a Fun Park to bully people around, break windowpanes in
the Window Smasher place or wreck cars in the Car Wrecker
place with the big steel ball. Or go out in the cars and race on the
streets, trying to see how close you can get to lampposts, playing
chicken' and knock hubcaps. I guess I'm everything they say I
am, all right. I haven't any friends. That's supposed to prove I'm
abnormal. But everyone I know is either shouting or dancing
around like wild or beating up one another. Do you notice how
people hurt each other nowadays?"

From Montag's mentor, Beatty:
"What more easily explained and natural? With school
turning out more runners, jumpers, racers, tinkerers, grabbers,
snatchers, fiers, and swimmers instead of examiners, critics,
knowers, and imaginative creators, the word 'intellectual,' of
course, became the swear word it deserved to be. You always
dread the unfamiliar. Surely you remember the boy in your own
school class who was exceptionally 'bright, did most of the re-
citing and answering while the others sat like so many leaden
idols, hating him. And wasn't it this bright boy you selected for
beatings and tortures after hours? Of course it was. We must all
be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution
Says, but everyone made equal. Each man the image of every
other; then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make
them cower to judge themselves against. Sol A book is a loadey
fun in the house nest door. Bum it. Take the shot from the
Weapon. Breach man's mind. Who knows who might be the tar.
get of the well-read man? Me? I wont stomach them for a min
hite. And so when houses were finally fireproofed completely, all
over the world you were correct in your assumption the othe
night) there was no longer need of firemen for the old purposes,
They were given the new job, as custodians of our peace of mind
the focus of our understandable and rightful dread of being in
ferior; official censors, judges, and executors. That's you, Montag,
and that's me.

More from Beatty:
"There was a girl next door," he said, slowly. "She's gone now,
I think, dead. I can't even remember her face. But she was differ-
ent. How-how did she happen?"
Beatty smiled. "Here or there, that's bound to occur. Clarisse
McClellan? We've a record on her family. We've watched them
carefully. Heredity and environment are funny things. You can't
rid yourselves of all the odd ducks in just a few years. The home
environment can undo a lot you try to do at school. That's why
we've lowered the kindergarten age year after year until now
we're almost snatching them from the cradle. We had some false
alarms on the McClellans, when they lived in Chicago. Never
found a book. Uncle had a mixed record; antisocial. The girl?
She was a time bomb. The family had been feeding her subcon-
scious, I'm sure, from what I saw of her school record. She didnt
want to know how a thing was done, but why...The poor girl is better off dead!

Montag walked in silence. "Millie, Millie," he whispered
"Millie."
"What?"
"My wife, my wife. Poor Millie, poor, poor Millie. I can't
remember anything. I think of her hands but I don't see them
doing anything at all. They just hang there at her sides or they
lie there on her lap or there's a cigarette in them, but that's all."
Montag turned and glanced back.
What did you give to the city, Montag?
Ashes.
What did the others give to each other?
Nothingness.
Granger stood looking back with Montag. "Everyone must
leave something behind when he dies, my grandfäther said. A
child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall but of f
Pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand
touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you
die, and when people look at that tree of that home, wupe,
you're there, It doesnt matter what you do, he said, so long as
you change something from the way it was before you take your hands away
it into something thats like you after you take your hand away
The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and at
gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just
as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there,
lifetime."

The pessimism is probably best understood in the aftermath of WWII as Bradbury wrote this in 1945:
remember. Montag clung to the earth. I remember. Chie
ago. Chicago a long time ago. Millie and I. That's where wener
remember now. Chicago. A long time ago,
The concussion knocked the air across and down the rivet,
turned the men over like dominoes in a line, blew the water in
lifting sprays, and blew the dust and made the trees above them
mourn with a great wind passing away south. Montag crushed
himself down, squeezing himself small, eyes tight. He blinked
once. And in that instant saw the city, instead of the bombs, in
the air. They had displaced each other. For another of those im-
possible instants the city stood, rebuilt and unrecognizable, taller
than it had ever hoped or strived to be, taller than man had built
it, erected at last in gouts of shattered concrete and sparkles of
torn metal into a mural hung like a reversed avalanche, a million
colors, a million oddities, a door where a window should be, a
top for a bottom, a side for a back, and then the city rolled over
and fell down dead.
The sound of its death came after.

A must-read. ...more

46 likes · Like · see review

Jun 30, 2015 Amy (Other Amy) rated it liked it · review of another edition

Shelves: 2016, study-of-evil, topia-dys-and-u, books-on-books, 3-stars-liked-it, bandits-pirates-and-thieves, we-live-in-cities, hugo, apocalypse-now-and-then, 1000-done

It was a pleasure to burn.
It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed. With the brass nozzle in his fists, with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in his head, and his hands were the hands of some amazing conductor playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to bring down the tatters and the charcoal ruins of history.

Reading with my inner child, part whatever and one

Me: Wow, that is a gutsy beginning, li ...more

11 likes · Like · see review