When I found out that we were reading Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury and that it is a dystopian novel, I must admit I was a little underenthused. My experience with dystopian movies has been less than wonderful...I have watched The Road, Gattaca, Daybreakers, and Harrison Bergeron to name a few, and The Road, frankly, was the most bleak, dismal, morbid film I have seen. So the idea of reading a novel about the world's dark, hopeless future did not seem so fun to me. However, reading part 1 of Fahrenheit 451 certainly has proved my expectations wrong. This book is great.
One of the first things that captured my attention in this book is Bradbury's use of vivid imagery. I have developed in my mind's eye my own crystal-clear pictures of what the characters look like, their facial expressions, the Montags' house, and the fire station where Guy works. Being able to 'see' what is going on helps me pay attention and interpret some of what is going on in my own way.
My favorite character so far, as I am sure is most everyone else's, is Clarisse McClellan. In the midst of all the uniformity and unquestioning obedience of this futuristic society, Clarisse stands out because she wants to know not only how things work, but why they work. She thinks in an unusual way, and she has something that no one else has: curiosity. Everyone else is complacent and dull and cluelessly content with mindlessly watching giant TV walls or wrecking cars and smashing windows on purpose. Ignorant. I like Clarisse because she is interested in life and the world, and therefore she is an interesting person.
Guy's wife Mildred annoys me though. To me she is the epitome of one of those mindless complacent societal robots who don't know or care to know how to do anything but what they are told. Why doesn't she get a job? or take up a hobby? or do something that does not involve her being in an unmoving horizontal position? One part of the book that bothered me was the part where she tried to kill herself with sleeping pills (or forgot and kept on taking them until she overdosed, whichever) and the medics came to pump her stomach. They didn't seem to care at all what they were doing, they were just caught up in the routine. Instead of being bent over the bed with concern, Bradbury writes, they are standing straight up smoking their cigarettes like it is no big deal that the woman they are aiding is dying. The lack of value of human life and disposableness of it in this book bothers me.
I enjoyed Part 1: The Hearth and the Salamander so much that I didn't just stop at page 68 where the required first reading ended. I wanted to know what happened, so I read ahead to part 2. This is such a well-written book, I really enjoy the quality of it and cannot wait to find out what will happen next.
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