Farenheit 451: Still Relevant after All These Years
By Maureen Thomas
I love Dystopia. I have been a fan of the genre since I read 1984, when I was about 10. I was far too young to grasp the subtleties, but I became obsessed with the ideas of Big Brother, larger forces at work beneath the surface, and, most of all, the idea that if humanity keeps behaving in a certain way, terrible things are going to happen. As I matured, my devotion never wavered: Brave New World, The Handmaid’s Tale, The Road, Never Let Me Go, even The Hunger Games. I love a Dystopian-themed movie too, and I have seen almost all of them, from my childhood, when I was a huge fan of Planet of the Apes and Soylent Green. Later, it was the somber Children of Men and, of course, The Walking Dead. As a teenager and young adult I saw the original Mad Max trilogy and am looking forward to seeing the apparently awesome, feminist-themed new version.
I teach high school English. Part of the love in the love-hate relationship I have with teaching is when a kid really connects with a book. When they have that moment when you can literally see the light bulb shine over their head. It is empowering, to say the least. These moments don’t come often, but, when they do, they are enough to give you the strength to keep trying in a career that is often soul-sapping and frustrating beyond belief.
As far as what we read, teachers don’t get to choose. Decisions are made by higher ups, who are, understandably, influenced by a vortex of forces that have nothing to do with what kids might possibly connect with. As a book nerd, understandably, I like many of the choices when the kids don’t. A big part of my job is explaining why we are reading a particular work: its moral relevance, literary importance etc. to people whose response is generally, “Yeah, but this book sucks.”
This semester, I got to teach one of my all-time favorites, Ray Bradbury’s classic dystopian novel Fahrenheit 451 to 10th graders. While I actually think The Martian Chronicles is an even more amazing book, I have loved Fahrenheit for 35 years, since I first read it in high school. True, Bradbury can get a little heavy handed with the message at times, but his writing is metaphorical, beautiful, and touches me every time I re-read it. Now, while I was excited to teach F451, since I haven’t taught it in 10 years, I was a little wary. When I taught it 10 years ago, the kids were not impressed. They were ninth graders, it was the end of the year, and, while I was excited about it, quite frankly, they were not. No matter how hard I tried, they just weren’t getting it. But a lot has changed in 10 years, in terms of technology. The social media, reality TV, smartphone intensive world we live in has provided a whole new connection to the novel.
F451 was written by a thirty-something year old struggling writer, in a post WW2 society that was wrestling with post WWII trauma, the Cold War, and the burgeoning space race and technology explosion. This is reflected in the novel, which is set in a futuristic America that exists as a bloated super power, constantly at war with surrounding impoverished countries (so it’s scarily accurate, huh). The inhabitants of this society are willingly controlled by technology, and addiction to short-term pleasure. Their living room walls are giant TV screens, where they participate in “interactive” television nightly. They crash cars and take drugs for pleasure. Reflection and deep thinking aren’t just frowned upon, they are almost non-existent. People don’t read, books have long been banned, and the protagonist, Guy Montag, is a fireman, whose job is to burn any books that fringe elements such as former professors, have hidden away in their homes. They also burn down the houses of the offenders, and in some cases, the offenders themselves. They go about their business with the moral certitude of those who know that they are on the righteous path.
Like any good novel, Fahrenheit 451 centers around the protagonist’s moral awakening. Clarisse, a seventeen year old girl who moves into his neighborhood, confronts him with the probing questions that become catalyst to his redemption. He realizes that:
“He wore his happiness like a mask and the girl had run off across the lawn with the mask and there was no way of going to knock on her door and ask for it back.” (Bradbury)
Good stuff. But would a bunch of spring-feverish 15 year olds see that? Surprisingly, they have. Because, in ten years, the world has moved a lot closer to Bradbury’s scenario than most of us would care to admit. The kids compare the “seashell radios” constantly in the ears of the inhabitants of the book to their own headphones and earbuds. Reality TV is one step away from “the walls,” where the emotionally dead are virtual prisoners of their own desire for “interaction” with the characters that appear to them nightly. My students saw themselves and, quite frankly, almost all of us in our social media addiction, in our perception that a moment isn’t real unless it is shared and commented on. They saw the relevance when we watched Gary Turk’s “Look Up,” which is, in Turk’s words,
“A lesson taught to us through a love story, in a world where we continue to find ways to make it easier for us to connect with one another, but always results in us spending more time alone..’
The young women in my class identified far more strongly with this book then I had thought they would. One student told me that she really liked the book and felt that it was one she could understand and relate to, “I always feel stupid when I read books in school, but this one makes me feel smart.” While simply written, Bradbury’s characters resonate deeply.
My female students reacted strongly to the opposing feminine characters: Mildred, Montag’s wife, who goes to sleep every night in her temperature-controlled sanctum, earbuds blasting nonsense music, slogans, and propaganda, after a day spent in scripted interaction with the characters who appear on her “walls.” Mildred tries to commit suicide, and, the next morning, after bored stomach-pumping technicians revive her, Mildred has no memory of the event or any motivation she may have had. She is a chilling parody of the reality TV watching, fashion-addicted, “basic” shopping mall drones (the kid’s spot-on analogy) that are frequently slammed, yet ever present in our culture.
They expressed admiration for Clarisse, who, admittedly, is a trope for the manic pixie dream girl. However, that’s not all Clarisse is; she’s also a goat in a world of sheep. Her appearance in the novel is short-lived, due to her untimely violent death, her pointed questions and piercing observations are the catalyst to Montag’s awakening, rebellion, and ultimate salvation.
We have been inundated with dystopian societies lately; my kids are familiar with the concept of a world “after.” It works for them now because we are at the vortex of that familiarity, plus the ever-present arguments about social media: How much connection is too much? Are we sacrificing real communication for the pseudo-closeness brought on by the apps on our phones? These kids are the true products of the social media explosion. They have literally been raised with cell phones, most with smart phones. The dystopia of Fahrenheit 451, while not occupied by zombies, battling teenagers, or mutants on motorcycles, is more chilling because of the willing participation of its citizens. This is something that is tangible, possible, and unfortunately close to home. And, hopefully, teen rebellion, unarguably a force to be reckoned with, can be harnessed in ways that will prevent Bradbury’s dystopian vision from becoming our future.
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