The book year began September 1, 2016, and ends August 31, 2017.
“Fahrenheit 451” is beautifully written and scary in its accuracy; like “Brave New World,” it correctly depicts a 21st century people that knows nothing but screens, screens which become walls, until it becomes impossible for one person to even conceive of understanding the feelings of another. It seems silly to even glance at nature, pause to consider the dance of rain, what with all the lovely screens at hand.
There is some glut, some ranting, some disconnect between suspense and exposition. Finding Clarisse, or at least her uncle, among the book keepers toward the end seems such an obvious move to make, binding the bookends a bit tighter together. I always forget at the end of my edition there is an interview in which Bradbury mentions how the original draft was 25,000 pages, and how he essentially doubled it to turn it into a novel. Well, you can tell. But excess Bradbury is better than the zenith of most writer’s careers, so read on, most definitely.