My
Most Memorable Read... EVER
by
Loyd C. Dillon
There he was. In person. The imaginative, energetic octogenarian
Ray Bradbury was speaking — without notes — to a sellout
crowd at the 1997 Novello Festival of Reading. This plump, owlish,
bespectacled man gave me my most memorable reading experience, not
only of the last ten years, but of my entire life. Let me explain.
My early childhood was spent in abject poverty. My father was
killed when I was only six months old. My mother was suddenly
a sixteen-year-old widow. There were no books in our little two-rooms-and-a-kitchen
shotgun house without running water. I do not mean few books.
I mean no books.
I did not even have a concept of the private ownership of books
until I was nine or ten and my school had a book fair. I had
thought that only schools and public libraries could own these
magical things called books. The book fair was a revelation.
I ran home. "Mom, you won't believe it! People can buy books
and keep them! Forever!" Somehow my mother found enough money
for me to buy two books. I have been buying them ever since.
A bit later, my happily remarried mother and stepfather allowed
me to join the Science Fiction Book Club. I am sure some of the
other books were good, but Fahrenheit 451 was the best.
And the only one I remember buying. And keeping.
Ray Bradbury spoke to my heart then and speaks to my heart
now with this story about the importance of books. I absolutely,
completely understood why these oppressed citizens of the future
would secretly memorize the books, all of which had been banned
and were burned if found. Yeah, I thought, I would do that too.
A decade or two later, I read Fahrenheit 451 again.
And loved it again, having by now become a book collector — possibly
compensatory behavior for not having any books as a small child.
When Ray Bradbury's appearance at Novello was announced, Brenda
and I immediately phoned the library to reserve tickets. The
night of his talk, we arrived early at Spirit Square and took
seats on the front row. I had my old copy of Fahrenheit 451 with
me.
After his talk, the indefatigable Bradbury signed books for
two or three hours. Yes, he signed my beat-up old copy of his
masterpiece.
Then I read it again. This time as a mature adult with a collection
of 4,000 books, many of them quite rare (hey, when I compensate,
I really compensate).
Occasionally looking up from Fahrenheit 451, I would
scan the bookcases surrounding me. There they all were, in leather
or buckram — the world's greatest works of human thought
and imagination.
There was my 1722 three-volume edition of the works of John
Locke — writings that had greatly influenced Thomas Jefferson.
There were the dozens of little Arts and Crafts period gems from
Roycroft Press, Kelmscott Press and Mosher. There was the King
James Bible with its magnificent poetry along side the Norton
Facsimile of Shakespeare's First Folio. There were histories,
biographies, novels, short stories, essays, works of science,
religion, politics, art.
If I had to choose just one, which book would I memorize? I
frowned. Which book would I most want to preserve for others?
Then I smiled. I had it. Literally had it in my hands.
Fahrenheit 451 is the one I would memorize because,
more than any other work I have ever read, it clearly shows the
importance of books in our lives and how even the most extreme
censorship — book burning — can never and will never
succeed.
Books will, no matter what, live forever. Especially the great
books like my most memorable read ever — Fahrenheit 451.
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