Burning Bright... To the End

This definitely wasn't how I imagined it to end. I mean, wasn't it sort of anticlimactic? Fahrenheit 451 is not exactly an exciting read, but I definitely thought the story's end would be faster paced, some intense action scenes (The running didn't cut it. It seemed like it was in his head most of the time.) and some serious confrontations. What could have been a thrilling conclusion failed. Strictly in my opinion, of course.

Okay, what was up with Montag's temper tantrum? He. Blew. Up. Beatty. With. A. Flame. Thrower. Now that wasn't morbid at all. I mean, Montag even tried to justify it by saying Beatty taught him "to burn the problem" and how Beatty was asking for it by provoking him. Those aren't good reasons to blow someone to pieces. And then killing the other two firemen, just for being there... That's horrible. I lost all respect for Guy Montag as a character in that moment.

The whole meeting with Faber in was just weird to me. They just sat there and seemed to give a summary of the last couple pages and drank alcohol. Nice. To give him credit, Faber did give Montag good advice about running away, but I'm pretty sure Montag could have figured that out for himself. Unless I totally over-estimate his character. Which is totally possible. Probably it makes sense (their meeting) but I just thought it rang on off-note upon my first reading. To each their own, I say.

Did I already address my disappointment with the big unveiling of the "rebellion"? No? Well, I was disappointed. A group of old men who camp outside of the cities that memorize books? And then burn them? That's blasphemy! That should be everything they are against! They're not helping civilization towards a lighter day, but spiraling it into a darker age! If the people who supposedly love books and literature and knowledge are adding to the flame themselves, then why should they expect anything different from others? Sure, they try to "preserve" books and novels by memorizing them, but that's not much. They're more likely to forget what the original works or screw them up in translation than help people with the knowledge. And they're not even trying to get other people to join them. They're not planning protests or gatherings. They're not questioning authority. They're bending the rules set in place for them. Some rebels they are. So much for beliefs.

Random Thoughts Whilst Reading:

- I can't believe the entire book happened in one week. It seemed like so much longer, or maybe it was just the slow pace.

- Poor random man who enjoys taking walks. See what your hothead and impulses get you, Montag? An innocent dead man.

- Why is Montag still hung up over Mildred? She's a good for nothing, self-absorbed, ignorant woman who rats her husband out. Great lady. I mean, it's natural for him to feel some attachment and feelings for her seeing as they were married for what? ten years? But to bring her up as much as I felt he did... Not necessary.

- I'm glad Mildred and those other annoying women told on Montag. If they didn't, well, you already read how I felt about that. I mean, I'm not glad that Montag was on the run, but at least this shows that Mildred's friends weren't completely incompetent.

- Why did Montag leave a book in the Black residence? Personal vengeance? Wanted to rid of the evidence? Closest firefighter? Maybe they explained it, but I'm not remembering.

- Mechanical Hounds sound insanely creepy. I hope never to come across one. Especially since it'd probably be the death of me.

- Was Beatty implying that Clarisse was a spy for him? Those few lines - "You weren't fooled by that little idiot's routine, were you? Flowers, butterflies, leaves, sunsets, oh, hell!... What trash What good did she ever do with all that?... Alone, hell! She chewed around you, didn't she?" - seemed to imply that Beatty knew far more about the girl. Perhaps he executed her, or gave the orders for her death, but it felt really suspicious to me.

Random pages bookmarked whilst reading:

- Page 115: "For everyone nowadays knows, absolutely is certain, that nothing will ever happen to me. Others die, I go on. There are no consequences and no responsibilities. Except that there are. But let's not talk about them, eh? By the time the consequences catch up with you, it's too late, isn't it, Montag?... What is there about fire that's so lovely? No matter what age we are, what draws us to it? It's perpetual motion; the thing man wanted to invent but never did. Or almost perpetual motion. If you let it go on, it'd burn our lifetimes out. What is fire? It's a mystery. Scientists give us gobbledegook about friction and molecules. But they don't really know. Its real beauty is that it destroys responsibility and consequences."

- Page 141: "The sun burnt every day. It burnt Time. The world rushed in a circle and turned on its axis and time was busy burning the years and people anyway, without any help from him. So if he burnt things with the firemen and the sun burnt Time, that meant that everything burnt! One of them had to stop burning. The sun wouldn't, certainly. So it looked as if it had to be Montag and the people he had worked with until a few short hours ago. Somewhere the saving and putting away had to begin again and someone had to do the saving and keeping, in one way or another..."

- Page 151: "All of us have photographic memories, but spend a lifetime learning how to block off the things that are really in there."

- Page 153: "But you can't make people listen. They have to come 'round in their own time, wondering what happened and why the world blew up under them. It can't last."

- Page 156: "Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there. It doesn't matter what you do, he said, as long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away."

Page 163-164: "You're not important. You're not anything. Someday the load we're carrying with us may help someone. But even when we had the books on hand, a long time ago, we didn't use what we got out of them. We went right on insulting the dead. We went right on spitting in the graves of all the poor ones who died before us.... And when they ask us what we're doing, you can say, We're remembering."

I said before I planned to have a final reflection of the overall novel, but upon reaching "the end" I found an afterword and coda. I haven't read those yet, but I'm doing that now and then I'll post my final reaction combined with those. Until then.

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