Pure white heat

Guy Montag is a fireman, and in Montag's world, firemen start fires. Because of a long-standing mandate that states that books are offensive, it's his job to burn them. For ten happy-go-lucky years, Montag doesn't question why books are against the law - but then he meets Clarisse, an odd girl who presents a new and challenging way for Montag to view his world. He connects with Clarisse in a way that he never could with his wife Mildred, who is glued to the TVs in the house and quickly reveals herself to be as empty-minded as Clarisse is thoughtful. Montag's interest in books as something other than kindle begins to blossom, to the dark amusement of his fire chief and the sincere hope of an old professor with a passion for education. Montag wants to rescue books, but can he defy his chief, his government, and his entire way of life to do it?

As an English major, it should not have taken me this long to read a book well-known for its ironic placement on banned lists all over the country. Bradbury's short novel about censorship, independence, and the importance of knowledge (and knowing how to use it) packs a punch even though its reputation proceeds it. The simple, straightforward plot clips along, but it manages to thrill the reader even if he or she doesn't see the underlying message. "Underlying" is not the right word, actually, since the message is spelled out explicitly a couple of times, but it's certainly not overbearing or off-putting. The way it's discussed in the novel adds dimension to it - that is, it's introspective and tangible, rather than didactic and stale: Books have character. Books are character. And knowledge creates individuality. Montag learns that he can't control what others take away from the knowledge he wants to offer, and that's a hard pill to swallow in real life as well.

As far as characters go, Montag is an impressively believable main character. He admits his weaknesses and his desire to do the right thing - to struggle against the tide - renders him manic at times. Faber, the professor, has his own struggles that add some depth to his role as unlikely mentor. Clarisse is more one-note, but her fate is no less startling. One thing I noticed here more than in Bradbury's short stories is his forceful, intricate use of imagery. He knows how to direct a metaphor just to his liking, and this striking prose adds a layer of urgency and tension to the story.

It seems unfair to give this book one of my usual ratings. I'll just add that it's a classic and it has every right to be regarded as such.