by Ray Bradbury
I don’t talk things, sir. I talk the meaning of things.
I first read this book in early high school and did not see the hype. I didn’t think it deserved to be called a masterpiece, not even close to “one of the good classics.” But for some reason this year, I decided to return to the book. In fact, this is the only book other than Cosmos that I have read more than once. Just as I don’t really know why I didn’t like it back then, I had fewer clues as to why I decided to reread it. Looking back, however, I think I picked it back up because:
- I had the time
- I was on a classics kick
- I wanted to give it another chance
When you are required to do something, you get less utility out of doing that something. I really don’t mind cleaning. But when instructed, I don’t seem to enjoy it as much. Maybe it is some kind of egoist complex or maybe it is simply an idiosyncrasy of being human. I hope the latter; it may be a side effect of shaving off the last of my teenage skin. We do not like to be told what to do. People don’t like wearing masks. People don’t like to stop at stop signs. And a lot of people, and I mean a lot, don’t like waiting in lines. The stakes of whether we listen to authority vary on the task at hand. For not wearing masks, there’s a chance of spreading disease. For rolling a stop sign, aside from the obvious risk of danger, there’s a possibility of being pulled over. The consequences of not waiting in line vary from not being able to capitalize on your discounted merchandise to breaking societal norms and alienating you from being a good human being.
Guy Montag didn’t like waiting in lines, metaphorically of course.
Above is a loose, loose metaphor. Is there a word for “loose metaphor intended to seduce humor?” Maybe that is just called being unfunny. Am I not funny? Am I writing to myself here? No one reads this page. But the crux of this pitch is that even though I can’t entertain others, I can at least entertain the proverbial reader. Who else but me, though?
Anyway, Guy, the guy, didn’t like to burn books. Did I understand why a bit better the second time around? Sure. Did I enjoy it more the second time around? Sure. Has my opinion on the book changed? Sure.
Why does he keep saying “Sure.” like he has something more to say? Well, I have plenty of more to say, but not much about my opinion of Fahrenheit 451. I don’t have any reserve. I liked it much better this time. I can now get behind the idea of why it is a classic. For the 50s, it is a scary thought: “No more books! Watch TV! Watch TV! Watch TV! Watch TV! Is your wife happy? Watch TV! Watch TV! Watch TV!” Books are bad. TV is worse. But only Guy and the reader know that.
That is not really the point of 451 but you get it. Today, I can certainly see a dystopian where books are banned; it wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe we have had our expectations beat out of us. We wouldn’t be surprised if World War 3 started. Much of humanity has already abandoned intellectual thought. They are ready to take one side and never falter from it. On the same hand but another finger, a lot of us don’t have the time to sit down and think or even do. I am lucky to have enough time to even type these words. I am no exception. I tend to seldomly challenge the views I generally follow. Guy did. He changed his life forever, but only for a short time before everyone else’s lives were changed by the war breaking on home soil at the end of the novel.
Guy challenged authority and won his battle, but maybe not the war. His intellectual and moral revolution was again to be swept under the rug, underneath “bigger” problems at hand. Our small battles are often drowned out by the clamor of the modern-adult world. This world is maybe what our parents prophetically hinted at as being the “real world.” I relate to that metric more today than I did as a 15-year-old.
I give Fahrenheit 451 four stars.