Thursday, December 18, 2014

Fahrenheit 451 Exploratory Draft


Mollie Gordon

Literature 12/18/14

Fahrenheit 451 Exploratory Draft

            My proposal is that I am interested in writing about the true intentions of the firemen because I want to understand why they do certain things like burn books, yet use the phoenix as their symbol, which doesn’t add up. One way to consider this is that the firemen destroy books, all the while knowing that the ideas in books cannot be destroyed. They give the people the show of them burning books without letting them know that the ideas in the books will always arise from the flames.

            Granger discusses the phoenix near the end of the book. He says the bird “Built a pure and burnt himself up… but every time he burnt himself up he sprang out of the ashes, he got himself born all over again” (Bradbury 163). This idea of dying but not really dying directly ties into books. Everyone is told that books are being destroyed, but isn’t there a part of them that isn’t? Something in them that can and always will remain?

            I’m not sure if the firemen are aware of this, but the use of the phoenix as their logo could either be pure stupidity or a hidden message. A message that no one would get because no one reads books.

            Well, no one is a strong term.

            Maybe the firemen are aware that they are secretly helpless against the undefeatable enemy of not books, but thinking. So they use the books as a sort of scapegoat to make themselves seem in control. That’s what their whole world is based around, right? Control? Like when they can’t find Montag when he’s run off so they kill a random guy to never miss a beat. Could book burning be like this for them?

            There’s definitely a repeated idea of book burning being a show, a circus, really. Full of smoke and mirrors and fire eaters and torch jugglers. All these things are not only pure entertainment, but pure lies. Fire eaters don’t actually eat the fire, they know a trick. Everything is just a trick. But the way the show of book burning actually being effective is put on, it seems like reality, just like the parlor walls.

            It’s manipulative, it’s a power play, and no one knows enough to know better.

            Why does it work so well? Because like Beatty says, people love fire. The fact that they always wait to burn books till night because it “looks prettier” has no sense of urgency. If books were really a threat, they’d be far more urgent. But it’s the spectacle that counts not the content.

            Everything is about entertainment, but everything is also about community. Maybe the reason why the firemen leave the Book People alone is because they know they’re not likely to do any damage – no one would take them seriously. If it’s really just about maintaining the community, they are quite successful. There are few odd ducks like Clarisse who question things, and when they rise up they usually fall just as fast.

            Nothing comes in, nothing comes out. People don’t seem to visit. Probably because exterior influence would be a threat. That’s why they work so hard to keep people uneducated – because they’d look for more. They’d look past the façade.

            But where do you look? This is something Faber brings up when he says “No, no, it’s not books at all you’re looking for! Take it where you can find it, in old phonograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself” (Bradbury 82). Interestingly out of the whole list the only resource that Montag actually has access to is the final one: himself. So is that the only way to keep these things going: meditation, self-reflection? But in this community it takes someone else to catalyst such a thing.

            So it has to come from somewhere else. For Clarisse it came from nature, as Montag guesses when he reaches the land where the Book People roam.

            Montag didn’t have to look far to find a deep-seated curiosity to learn, to know, because ultimately it’s in every one of us. So do book burnings take this away or only prolong it? It’s definitely easier to look for something when you know it exists somewhere.

            Also – if the firemen are the actors in the show, wouldn’t they know that they are acting? Are they conscious that they are leading people astray? Or is it so deep-rooted in them that it’s unconscious? Beatty seems conscious of it. His death and all indicate he knows more than he’s saying. And when Montag the “minstrel man” thinks of winking at himself in the mirror, this implies that he has a secret with himself (or maybe the other part of him) that requires the winking. Maybe all firemen have these two halves of themselves, this division between mind-body.

            And there’s such a big emphasis on the casting of the firemen. Montag has a realization at one time that the vital qualifying quality of a firemen is that you look the part. How interesting. If it was really about destroying literature I don’t think appearances would be such a focus.

            Watching a book burning doesn’t require thought. That’s why it’s so effective. They don’t contemplate. They stand and watch. And it’s so incredibly effective that all the people become sort of hypnotized by it. Doors open all down the street when the “carnival”/the burning of Montag’s books sets up, and people run out of houses all down the street when the book lady burns down her house.

            That’s another thing. People like the book lady are a threat because they disrupt the show, they add in extra lines that haven’t been rehearsed. And yet a good actor like Beatty doesn’t lose his dignity in such a situation – he keeps it always.

            When Montag has left the city, he says “He felt as if he had a left a stage behind and many actors” (Bradbury 140). But the ironic part is that he is one of the actors he’s left behind. All firemen are actors in the big play of pretending book burnings can actually destroy the values in books, the grand charade that fools the audience completely. But if acting simply isn’t your niche (as Clarisse hints to Montag), sometimes all you need is someone else to make you realize this.

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