A review by pennyblood
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
4.0
Okay, so I understand why this book needed to be written and I understand why it needs to be read, but I feel like I'm the only person who felt like...I don't know….
Let me explain first that I am an imaginative reader. If the author is good, I am able to see, touch, smell, and hear a story. If the author is really good, I can pretty much step into the character's skin, and be them. Think their thoughts, feel their feelings, etc.
This book made me feel like I was in a sweaty fever dream. Like I felt like someone slipped me some LSD and I was in TV Land, living in some strange cookie cutter box home with giant tv walls, in a Leave It To Beaver neighborhood. I wanted to hug all my books and keep them away from the firemen outside (it didn't help that I live next to a fire station).
That being said, this book made me afraid. It made me afraid of my future, our kids' future, their kids' future. Although some things were a little too science fiction (the Hound), I feel like the soullessness this book expels is not too far from 'home'. It made me think about how many of us out there actually appreciate our art, our ethics, our science? Our answer lies in the mediocre sitcoms with the same played out plot still somehow being rewarded an audience who claps their hands and laughs or pouts their lips and aww's with the crowd tracks as if they need to be guided on what is and isn't funny. I often wonder if this is how we learn to be human. If this sort of TV is our major resource to learn how to be a person, where are we headed as a species? This book?
I know I'm being obvious. This review is the point of Farhenheit 451, so I should thoroughly address the second point of the book: Fuck Mildred.
I'd give this book 5 stars because the message is clear and definitely scares the living garbage out of me, but I'm rating it 4 stars, because believe it or not I don't like feeling like I got slipped LSD.
Let me explain first that I am an imaginative reader. If the author is good, I am able to see, touch, smell, and hear a story. If the author is really good, I can pretty much step into the character's skin, and be them. Think their thoughts, feel their feelings, etc.
This book made me feel like I was in a sweaty fever dream. Like I felt like someone slipped me some LSD and I was in TV Land, living in some strange cookie cutter box home with giant tv walls, in a Leave It To Beaver neighborhood. I wanted to hug all my books and keep them away from the firemen outside (it didn't help that I live next to a fire station).
That being said, this book made me afraid. It made me afraid of my future, our kids' future, their kids' future. Although some things were a little too science fiction (the Hound), I feel like the soullessness this book expels is not too far from 'home'. It made me think about how many of us out there actually appreciate our art, our ethics, our science? Our answer lies in the mediocre sitcoms with the same played out plot still somehow being rewarded an audience who claps their hands and laughs or pouts their lips and aww's with the crowd tracks as if they need to be guided on what is and isn't funny. I often wonder if this is how we learn to be human. If this sort of TV is our major resource to learn how to be a person, where are we headed as a species? This book?
I know I'm being obvious. This review is the point of Farhenheit 451, so I should thoroughly address the second point of the book: Fuck Mildred.
I'd give this book 5 stars because the message is clear and definitely scares the living garbage out of me, but I'm rating it 4 stars, because believe it or not I don't like feeling like I got slipped LSD.