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Fahrenheit 451: A Novel Kindle Edition
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Guy Montag is a fireman. His job is to destroy the most illegal of commodities, the printed book, along with the houses in which they are hidden. Montag never questions the destruction and ruin his actions produce, returning each day to his bland life and wife, Mildred, who spends all day with her television “family.” But when he meets an eccentric young neighbor, Clarisse, who introduces him to a past where people didn’t live in fear and to a present where one sees the world through the ideas in books instead of the mindless chatter of television, Montag begins to question everything he has ever known.
- LanguageEnglish
- Lexile measure890L
- PublisherSimon & Schuster
- Publication dateNovember 29, 2011
- ISBN-13978-1982102609
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From the Publisher



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Editorial Reviews
Review
“A masterpiece . . . A glorious American classic everyone should read: It’s life-changing if you read it as a teen, and still stunning when you reread it as an adult.” —Alice Hoffman, The Boston Globe
“One of this country’s most beloved writers . . . A great storyteller, sometimes even a mythmaker, a true American classic.” —Michael Dirda, The Washington Post
About the Author
Amazon.com Review
Guy Montag is a book-burning fireman undergoing a crisis of faith. His wife spends all day with her television "family," imploring Montag to work harder so that they can afford a fourth TV wall. Their dull, empty life sharply contrasts with that of his next-door neighbor Clarisse, a young girl thrilled by the ideas in books, and more interested in what she can see in the world around her than in the mindless chatter of the tube. When Clarisse disappears mysteriously, Montag is moved to make some changes, and starts hiding books in his home. Eventually, his wife turns him in, and he must answer the call to burn his secret cache of books. After fleeing to avoid arrest, Montag winds up joining an outlaw band of scholars who keep the contents of books in their heads, waiting for the time society will once again need the wisdom of literature.
Bradbury--the author of more than 500 short stories, novels, plays, and poems, including The Martian Chronicles and The Illustrated Man--is the winner of many awards, including the Grand Master Award from the Science Fiction Writers of America. Readers ages 13 to 93 will be swept up in the harrowing suspense of Fahrenheit 451, and no doubt will join the hordes of Bradbury fans worldwide. --Neil Roseman
--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.From AudioFile
From Publishers Weekly
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
Review
''[A] great science-fiction classic . . . (Audiobook narrator) Christopher Hurt reads this provocative story with the natural and compelling grace that it deserves.'' --Land Line (five-star review) --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
From the Publisher
There are some books that no matter how long ago you've read them, details
from the story stick in your mind. Farenheit 451 was like that for me. I
was 15 when I first checked it out from the high school library. I hadn't
really gotten very far into the book when a cute guy noticed I was carrying
it around school.
"Good book," he commented.
"Yeah, I'm still reading it," I answered. Wow, I thought, approval from an
older guy. That gave me the incentive to finish what turned out to be one
of the most important sf novels ever written.
It's been more than 20 years since I've spoken to but I'll always feel
grateful to him whenever I hear about bookburnings. His tiny bit of
encouragement introduced me to one of the genre's finest writers.
--Amy Stout, Consulting Editor
--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.Book Description
Review
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed. With the brass nozzle in his fists, with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in his head, and his hands were the hands of some amazing conductor playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to bring down the tatters and charcoal ruins of history. With his symbolic helmet numbered 451 on his stolid head, and his eyes all orange flame with the thought of what came next, he flicked the igniter and the house jumped up in a gorging fire that burned the evening sky red and yellow and black. He strode in a swarm of fireflies. He wanted above all, like the old joke, to shove a marshmallow on a stick in the furnace, while the flapping pigeon-winged books died on the porch and lawn of the house. While the books went up in sparkling whirls and blew away on a wind turned dark with burning.
Montag grinned the fierce grin of all men singed and driven back by flame.
He knew that when he returned to the firehouse, he might wink at himself, a minstrel man, burnt-corked, in the mirror. Later, going to sleep, he would feel the fiery smile still gripped by his face muscles, in the dark. It never went away, that smile, it never ever went away, as long as he remembered.
He hung up his black beetle-colored helmet and shined it; he hung his flameproof jacket neatly; he showered luxuriously, and then, whistling, hands in pockets, walked across the upper floor of the fire station and fell down the hole. At the last moment, when disaster seemed positive, he pulled his hands from his pockets and broke his fall by grasping the golden pole. He slid to a squeaking halt, the heels one inch from the concrete floor downstairs.
He walked out of the fire station and along the midnight street toward the subway where the silent air-propelled train slid soundlessly down its lubricated flue in the earth and let him out with a great puff of warm air onto the cream-tiled escalator rising to the suburb.
Whistling, he let the escalator waft him into the still night air. He walked toward the corner, thinking little at all about nothing in particular. Before he reached the corner, however, he slowed as if a wind had sprung up from nowhere, as if someone had called his name.
The last few nights he had had the most uncertain feelings about the sidewalk just around the corner here, moving in the starlight toward his house. He had felt that a moment prior to his making the turn, someone had been there. The air seemed charged with a special calm as if someone had waited there, quietly, and only a moment before he came, simply turned to a shadow and let him through. Perhaps his nose detected a faint perfume, perhaps the skin on the backs of his hands, on his face, felt the temperature rise at this one spot where a person’s standing might raise the immediate atmosphere ten degrees for an instant. There was no understanding it. Each time he made the turn, he saw only the white, unused, buckling sidewalk, with perhaps, on one night, something vanishing swiftly across a lawn before he could focus his eyes or speak.
But now tonight, he slowed almost to a stop. His inner mind, reaching out to turn the corner for him, had heard the faintest whisper. Breathing? Or was the atmosphere compressed merely by someone standing very quietly there, waiting?
He turned the corner.
The autumn leaves blew over the moonlit pavement in such a way as to make the girl who was moving there seem fixed to a sliding walk, letting the motion of the wind and the leaves carry her forward. Her head was half bent to watch her shoes stir the circling leaves. Her face was slender and milk-white, and in it was a kind of gentle hunger that touched over everything with tireless curiosity. It was a look, almost, of pale surprise; the dark eyes were so fixed to the world that no move escaped them. Her dress was white and it whispered. He almost thought he heard the motion of her hands as she walked, and the infinitely small sound now, the white stir of her face turning when she discovered she was a moment away from a man who stood in the middle of the pavement waiting.
The trees overhead made a great sound of letting down their dry rain. The girl stopped and looked as if she might pull back in surprise, but instead stood regarding Montag with eyes so dark and shining and alive that he felt he had said something quite wonderful. But he knew his mouth had only moved to say hello, and then when she seemed hypnotized by the salamander on his arm and the phoenix disc on his chest, he spoke again.
“Of course,” he said, “you’re our new neighbor, aren’t you?”
“And you must be”—she raised her eyes from his professional symbols “—the fireman.” Her voice trailed off.
“How oddly you say that.”
“I’d—I’d have known it with my eyes shut,” she said, slowly.
“What—the smell of kerosene? My wife always complains,” he laughed. “You never wash it off completely.”
“No, you don’t,” she said, in awe.
He felt she was walking in a circle about him, turning him end for end, shaking him quietly, and emptying his pockets, without once moving herself.
“Kerosene,” he said, because the silence had lengthened, “is nothing but perfume to me.”
“Does it seem like that, really?”
“Of course. Why not?”
She gave herself time to think of it. “I don’t know.” She turned to face the sidewalk going toward their homes. “Do you mind if I walk back with you? I’m Clarisse McClellan.”
“Clarisse. Guy Montag. Come along. What are you doing out so late wandering around? How old are you?”
They walked in the warm-cool blowing night on the silvered pavement and there was the faintest breath of fresh apricots and strawberries in the air, and he looked around and realized this was quite impossible, so late in the year.
There was only the girl walking with him now, her face bright as snow in the moonlight, and he knew she was working his questions around, seeking the best answers she could possibly give.
“Well,” she said, “I’m seventeen and I’m crazy. My uncle says the two always go together. When people ask your age, he said, always say seventeen and insane. Isn’t this a nice time of night to walk? I like to smell things and look at things, and sometimes stay up all night, walking, and watch the sun rise.”
They walked on again in silence and finally she said, thoughtfully, “You know, I’m not afraid of you at all.”
He was surprised. “Why should you be?”
“So many people are. Afraid of firemen, I mean. But you’re just a man, after all . . .”
He saw himself in her eyes, suspended in two shining drops of bright water, himself dark and tiny, in fine detail, the lines about his mouth, everything there, as if her eyes were two miraculous bits of violet amber that might capture and hold him intact. Her face, turned to him now, was fragile milk crystal with a soft and constant light in it. It was not the hysterical light of electricity but—what? But the strangely comfortable and rare and gently flattering light of the candle. One time, as a child, in a power failure, his mother had found and lit a last candle and there had been a brief hour of rediscovery, of such illumination that space lost its vast dimensions and grew comfortably around them, and they, mother and son, alone, transformed, hoping that the power might not come on again too soon . . .
And then Clarisse McClellan said:
“Do you mind if I ask? How long’ve you worked at being a fireman?”
“Since I was twenty, ten years ago.”
“Do you ever read any of the books you burn?”
He laughed. “That’s against the law!”
“Oh. Of course.”
“It’s fine work. Monday burn Millay, Wednesday Whitman, Friday Faulkner, burn ’em to ashes, then burn the ashes. That’s our official slogan.”
They walked still farther and the girl said, “Is it true that long ago firemen put fires out instead of going to start them?”
“No. Houses have always been fireproof, take my word for it.”
“Strange. I heard once that a long time ago houses used to burn by accident and they needed firemen to stop the flames.”
He laughed.
She glanced quickly over. “Why are you laughing?”
“I don’t know.” He started to laugh again and stopped. “Why?”
“You laugh when I haven’t been funny and you answer right off. You never stop to think what I’ve asked you.”
He stopped walking. “You are an odd one,” he said, looking at her. “Haven’t you any respect?”
“I don’t mean to be insulting. It’s just I love to watch people too much, I guess.”
“Well, doesn’t this mean anything to you?” He tapped the numerals 451 stitched on his char-colored sleeve.
“Yes,” she whispered. She increased her pace. “Have you ever watched the jet cars racing on the boulevards down that way?”
“You’re changing the subject!”
“I sometimes think drivers don’t know what grass is, or flowers, because they never see them slowly,” she said. “If you showed a driver a green blur, Oh yes! he’d say, that’s grass! A pink blur! That’s a rose garden! White blurs are houses. Brown blurs are cows. My uncle drove slowly on a highway once. He drove forty miles an hour and they jailed him for two days. Isn’t that funny, and sad, too?”<br... --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
From the Inside Flap
From the Back Cover
Product details
- ASIN : B0064CPN7I
- Publisher : Simon & Schuster; Media Tie-In edition (November 29, 2011)
- Publication date : November 29, 2011
- Language : English
- File size : 10621 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 167 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #8,606 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #9 in Classic American Fiction
- #12 in Classic Literary Fiction
- #19 in Censorship & Politics
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

In a career spanning more than seventy years, Ray Bradbury, who died on June 5, 2012, at the age of 91, inspired generations of readers to dream, think, and create. A prolific author of hundreds of short stories and close to fifty books, as well as numerous poems, essays, operas, plays, teleplays, and screenplays, Bradbury was one of the most celebrated writers of our time. His groundbreaking works include Fahrenheit 451, The Martian Chronicles, The Illustrated Man, Dandelion Wine, and Something Wicked This Way Comes. He wrote the screen play for John Huston's classic film adaptation of Moby Dick, and was nominated for an Academy Award. He adapted sixty-five of his stories for television's The Ray Bradbury Theater, and won an Emmy for his teleplay of The Halloween Tree. He was the recipient of the 2000 National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters, the 2004 National Medal of Arts, and the 2007 Pulitzer Prize Special Citation, among many honors.
Throughout his life, Bradbury liked to recount the story of meeting a carnival magician, Mr. Electrico, in 1932. At the end of his performance Electrico reached out to the twelve-year-old Bradbury, touched the boy with his sword, and commanded, "Live forever!" Bradbury later said, "I decided that was the greatest idea I had ever heard. I started writing every day. I never stopped."
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These firemen are sanctioned by what one can only conclude to be a dystopian government to burn books, as well as the houses they are contained within. In this future world, the government has deemed books as dangerous, containing ideas that run counter to the narrative they wish to form and broadcast via televisions that cover entire walls within people’s homes. And the people want this, as they feel more comfortable with their government fed information. How dystopian indeed.
Reminds one of the behavior of the Roman Catholic Church during the Dark Ages. The two have book burning in common, as well as burning Bibles (in the case of the RCC, Bibles that didn’t subscribe to their criteria – even though they came from source material originating from the same authors). No offense to Catholics – some Protestant sects weren’t much better (like the early Anglicans who destroyed much of the Church’s property, including relics, as did Orthodox Christians during the Iconoclast Era).
Montag takes quite apparent joy in his job, causing a smile to overcome his face every time he gets to burn those devilish books. That is, until he becomes intrigued by a young neighbor girl named Clarisse. Clarisse is a female character that many feminists sadly overlook as to her importance in the overall arc of the story. Good on Bradbury for taking this approach, as you know what they say – “behind every great man, there’s an even greater woman”. This doesn’t always have to imply a spouse, mind you, and Bradbury exploited this fact while using Montag’s lame wife as a great contrast.
Clarisse is somehow able to tap into Montag’s emotional capacity to better understand what exactly his job is harming, and how his otherwise dull life (including dull wife who serves as a great example of the brainwashed zombie like people of his society) could become so much more enriched by. This confrontation with not only Clarisse – but himself – causes a sort of psychosis for our villainous protagonist. And thus begins his character development that makes the book really begin to take off and hook the reader into the protagonist’s story arc and growth.
At first, Montag struggles with his newfound understanding of the profound beauty of books. He is intrigued by the sense of wonder, emotion, and timelessness that books have to offer compared to the mind numbing talking heads that rule the day (sounds similar to our times with all the political talking heads telling how people should think, unlike books that allow people to draw their own conclusions). Yet he is still skeptical, resisting this newfound understanding as he continues in his line of work.
He challenges the notion of books being a net positive for society along the way, including challenging protectors of books along the way. All of this amidst some unknown war going on in the background of the story that is never really described in much detail. I assume that Bradbury himself had assumed (living in the days of the Cold War between the US and the USSR) that some kind of war of that magnitude coming to fruition was sadly somewhat inevitable.
As his change of heart is occurring, he struggles with his chief named Beatty (the antagonist of the story). Beatty is a walking contradiction, as he is full of knowledge pertaining to the books they burn. He is so well versed in their content by heart, yet seeks to eliminate books from existence on behalf of the government.
Unlike Montag who simply found pleasure in his destructive line of work, Beatty knows full well every reason and intention as to why they do and takes pleasure in doing so. This, all while being so well versed in the knowledge and insights contained within them. He overall sees them as dangerous, yet behaves as if the type of knowledge contained within books should be reserved for elites rather than the average citizen. This antagonist displays the kind of pretentious attitude that perfectly captures what it means to convey the notion of a dystopian society within a book of this genre.
After trials and tribulations in his struggle, Montag reaches a point where he is so moved by the message of a particular book, that he even steals it so that he can preserve it himself. As a Christian myself, I personally loved that this book just so happened to be a Bible. Why does Montag take such a personal infatuation with the Bible?
It may be that Montag’s society is so lost that when bombs begin to fall toward the end, whatever Montag had read might help him and others rebuild society for the better. After all, the Bible is full of advice, and provides direction for moral and ethical enrichment. Certainly a new society would need guidelines to rebuild and improve over mistakes made in the past.
Montag refers to the book of Job at one point in the story, as well as references made about Caanan. At the end, Montag even tries to recall parts of the books of Ecclesiastes and Revelation. The book of Revelation itself (arguably my favorite book of the Bible – I’m a fan of the dystopian genre after all) deals with the end of times. Although, perhaps Montag failed to recall this as quickly as he might because they are preparing to start a new life when the world appears to be ending.
The novel ends with Montag escaping the city in the midst of this new war. He escapes deep into the countryside, meeting a band of roving intellectuals who have elected to preserve significant works of literature in their memory. Reminds me of the Vaudois, the Waldenses and the Albigenses who preserved the original books of scripture in spite of the persecution they suffered from the RCC.
Not long after these roving intellectuals welcome Montag into their community, an atomic bomb falls on the city and reduces it to rubble. The next morning Montag leads the men on foot back toward the city with rebuilding in mind. The novel’s conclusion functions to bring the prevalent violence to its logical conclusion, which is that violence infiltrates nearly every aspect of the world our protagonist finds himself in.
The firemen violently destroy people’s property and lives. Television displays gruesome, desensitizing violence for viewers’ entertainment. Pedestrians regularly get trampled by speeding vehicles. Finally, war takes these forms of violence to a new extreme, destroying society and its infrastructure altogether. The novel’s ending depicts the inevitable self-destruction of such an oppressive society in such an effective, and rather melancholy fashion.
As stated in the beginning of the Fahrenheit 451 book review, this book is one of my all time favorites. It’s no wonder as to why I give it a 5/5 rating. Bradbury’s use of language is lyrical, yet not overly forceful. He paints a picture of a world in which we as a society should wish to avoid – in a multifaceted way.
When it comes to dystopian books, this is truly a classic – and for good reason. Not only was it tremendous back in its heyday; it has stood the test of time, proving to be of use to us nearly 70 years later. I absolutely love Fahrenheit 451, and I believe you would too if you love dystopian fiction and have happened to somehow not have read it yet (it happens – later is better than never though!).
Or, perhaps, it is the times in which I now live, 2023 as I scribe this review. When, on so many levels, I live Fahrenheit 451 as an every day experience where speaking without guard is dangerous. Only today it is not only the written word that could have power to burn down your house, but spoken word can literally burn down your life.
Words - all words have been rendered sadistic social weapons rather than simply tools of communication. You CANNOT use certain words/terms without consequence and social vanquishment. You MUST use certain words/terms or be prepared for isolation and disparagement. Your use of language is no longer a tool one uses to communicate what YOU choose to communicate. Your words are now REDEFINED by society at large to communicate THEIR biases and worldview upon you, with “appropriate” social backlash and punishment.
I read Fahrenheit 451 today with new understanding, and experience, of that against which he warned.
Reading the additional context of that which he passionately wanted to communicate, the circumstances & events that birthed the multiple short stories that served as preludes & testing grounds of Fahrenheit 451, make that more clear than the novel itself.
As so many dystopian authors of the 1900s, who lived the everyday consequences of totalitarian control and tyranny - both politically and socially - it appears the wisdom and insight gained from their experience is lost on this current society, grasping at personal control of those around them for the “sins” of failing to comply with their arbitrary demands to be rulers & tyrants of others behavior and choice of words/terms with the same religious passion of bygone tyrants, whether in Crusader uniforms and armor or religious garb.
Dystopian novels were written as warnings, not manuals. Hopefully, soon, they will serve their intended purpose.
Top reviews from other countries


The title of the book, Fahrenheit 451, refers to the supposed temperature at which paper burns, which is symbolic of the book's central theme of censorship and the destruction of ideas.
Bradbury's writing style is captivating and almost poetic at times, making the reader truly feel the weight of the oppressive and bleak world he has created. The atmosphere is dark and chilling, leaving a lasting impression on the reader.
But beyond the masterful writing and intriguing plot, Fahrenheit 451 is a deeply philosophical novel that explores the importance of free thought, the dangers of censorship, and the power of ideas. It challenges the reader to consider the role of knowledge in society and the consequences of its suppression.
Overall, Fahrenheit 451 is a must-read for anyone interested in thought-provoking literature. Its timeless themes and beautiful writing make it a valuable addition to any bookshelf.

At 225 pages split into three parts this book is small, particularly when its larger than average font is considered.
It's a long time since I've read a Ray Bradbury book (since I studied The Illustrated Man in 1983!!). I have little interest in science fiction or fantasy novels although enjoy some dystopian novels so I approached this cautiously but hopefully.
There is a great quote at the start of the book "If they give you ruled paper, write the other way". Maybe this is a hint of the rebellion in this book.
I always ignore introductions to "classic" books as they are usually written by sycophantic admirers and give away too much of the novel (note to publishers... always put these at the end of novels not the beginning). This introduction is written by the author himself and worth reading - it gives context and sets the scene of him writing the story.
I tried very hard to enjoy this book but it was ultimately too much of a struggle and took a huge amount of time to read. The language is overplayed with some of the descriptive sections not actually describing anything at all. I wanted to try to get to know the characters but didn't get anywhere close.
I love the idea of the concept of TV taking over from books and how this effects society so was unsure how this author managed to make the narrative so uninspiring.
The novel was controversial when it was released and I can see why but the world has moved very far since then and, without the shock factor, this book is more of a curiosity than a classic.

I really don’t know what made me pick up Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. I’ve had it on my TBR for years with no idea when I’d be brave enough to pick it up. Apparently, a new year is a perfect time. I don’t know what I was expecting but this certainly wasn’t it. I quickly became lost in another time and the writing was laser sharp.
“There must be something in books, something we can’t imagine, to make a woman stay in a burning house; there must be something there. You don’t stay for nothing.”
Set in a dystopian time – Books are outlawed, and anyone found with any in their possession has them burned immediately and arrested. Guy Montag is a fireman, no, they no longer put out fires in buildings but to destroy books. It’s a vivid piece of imagery and made me wonder how far I would go to keep my prized possessions…I’d go all the way. Books are so wonderful; in what other art form can the reader live many lives through the medium of stories? It’s the freedom of expression, it’s the passion and ability to see the passage of time without a time machine.
It’s a cautionary tale, it takes us to a place we have no wish to be. Guy Montag our friendly fireman with a flamethrower after a series of events starts to awaken from society’s indoctrination. A meeting with a young girl sets it all in motion and witnessing a woman willing to be burned with her books is the runaway train that is Montag’s psyche. He really wants to know what books could contain to make a woman lay down the ultimate sacrifice.
I was completely blown away by this reading experience and can only imagine the uproar it would’ve caused upon its release in 1953.

The first thing that struck me was the style. It reads a bit like a fairy tale - Brothers Grimm - the language at times has a poetic quality, at times even puerile. The pace is unusually fast. There are no chapters as such, just the three parts and the book burns through fiercely. But there are some important messages going on here and some warnings about the unpredictable or perhaps even predictable course society is following. If they are not burning books they will be censoring the internet. It is about control. We all know the historical precedents. So for me this book is a reminder to be vigilant!
There is a very telling dialogue with Beatty, Montag`s fireman colleague who sets out very clearly the reasons why people need to be controlled. This episode is striking and deserves close attention.
I was reminded a bit of Orwell`s Animal Farm in that we have a fairly short story with a surreal like quality but with a very powerful message at its core and a warning of the perils which are ever present.