Fahrenheit 451

[review of the book Fahrenheit 451 (1953), by Ray Bradbury]
A society can be a dystopia and doesn’t know it: maybe, it doesn’t even care! Montag, Fahrenheit’s improbable hero, isn’t concern with some ruthless political elite, he just wants to rouse his wife, himself and ultimately, his technologically advanced community, from theirs intellectual alienation. His awakening is a thrilling story, full of powerful metaphors and a perfect climax. Ray Bradbury’s novel has a chilling resemblance to today’s screen obsessed civilization.


More pictures. The mind drinks less and less. Impatience. Highways full of crowds going somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, nowhere.

If you don’t want a man unhappy politically, don’t give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none.

Cram them full of non-combustible data, chock them so damned full of “facts” they feel stuffed, but absolutely “brilliant” with information. Then they’ll feel they’re thinking, they’ll get a sense of motion without moving.

The folly of mistaking a metaphor for a proof, a torrent of verbiage for a spring of capital truths, and oneself as an oracle, is inborn in us, Mr Valéry once said.

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