Censorship for Whose Own Good?
I ran over to Bart’s Books Saturday afternoon to see if I could find a Ray Bradbury book. I figured if I was going to a book signing, I ought to have a book for him to sign. I’m ashamed to say that I skimmed Fahrenheit 451 in high school and spent more time with the Cliff’s Notes than the book itself, though it was practically beat into me how important this book was. So, happy to have any excuse to venture into Bart’s Books, I willingly got lost between the stacks, meeting the torn and dusty likes of Joyce, Bronte, James and low and behold, nestled amongst the Sci-Fi section, Bradbury. There was only one copy of F. 451 and I snatched it up like it was the last pixie tangerine of the season at the Farmers Market. I read the inside cover: “Fahrenheit 451 – the temperature at which book paper catches fire, and burns…” An early eighties reprint, it’s in relatively good shape, with yellowing pages and notes in the margins that tell me this book was loved. And at $7.50, a bargain find.
I sat side-by-side with aspiring authors at the Santa Barbara Writers Conference, waiting for Ray Bradbury to take the stage. I eye the crowd, which was absolutely what you would expect of wannabe writers. Not particularly well-dressed or even necessarily well-groomed, but certainly well-prepared and exceedingly punctual: a graying, balding, fifty-something bespectacled man with not three hairs on his head proudly collected into a pony tail; a tall, brooding, dark, big-haired woman with a fuzzy leopard print hat. Nearly everyone had a writing implement, be it pen and paper or an IMac. Geeks galore. And I was one of them. At least I tried to be. Oh, hell, I desperately yearned to be!
When Ray Bradbury wheeled himself onto the stage, the crowd went nuts. You would have thought a rock star had just leapt through a velvet curtain. Wearing his trademark black rimmed glasses, he imparted sound, impassioned advice to his audience of starry-eyed writers. With slurred speech that never detracted from his message, he implored us not to write a novel until we hit 40. Oh, good, I thought, I can procrastinate somemore. “Write all the lousy stuff out of you,” he urged, fist pointing in the air. You betcha mister, I’m tearing it up.
At 86 years of age, he is still going strong. Last week alone, he told us, he wrote poems, essays, short stories, planned a library visit with Laura Bush and a meeting with Mayor Villaraigosa and Governor Schwarzenegger to discuss monorails. If that wasn’t enough, he is also writing a sequel to Dandelion Wine and is in talks with Hollywood about screenplays for Martian Chronicles and Fahrenheit 451. To which he emphatically offered, “Hollywood is crap! My God, we’ll be on Mars before we make the goddamned film!”
He talked for an hour with verve and punch, belting out plenty of goddamns and Jesus Christs. One of his quotes, in particular, grabbed hold, “Beware of the intellect, it can’t help you,” and so, having none, I was awash with tremendous relief.
Censorship has been a topic of late in various forms here on Ojai Post and with all the goings on in our government lately, I was really proud to get Ray Bradbury’s signature on my book. I’ve had my nose in it ever since, amazed at how it has stood the test of time and will no doubt continue to endure. I was struck by a passage he added as an afterword several years after its original publication in the early fifties when he was just 33 years old. He talked about the irony of the censorship he himself has experienced throughout his writing career. To which he responded:
“In sum, do not insult me with the beheadings, finger-choppings or the lung-deflations you plan for my works. I need my head to shake or nod, my hand to wave into a fist, my lungs to shout or whisper with. I will not go gently onto a shelf, degutted, to become a non-book.
All you umpires, back to the bleachers. Referees, hit the showers. It’s my game. I pitch, I hit, I catch. I run the bases. At sunset I’ve won or lost. At sunrise, I’m out again, giving it the old try.
And no one can help me. Not even you.”
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Comments (5)
Lisa, you sell yourself short. :) Loved the writeup - what a great experience.
Comment #1 Posted by: Tyler | June 26, 2006 04:09 PM
Beautiful write-up. While I don't agree with teaching only "The Classics" or "The Canon" in school, there is a lot to be said for the genius of writers like Bradbury, Steinbeck, Vonnegut, Orwell. We could learn a lot about ourselves by diving into their work with barriers and denials down.
Comment #2 Posted by: Heather | June 27, 2006 08:09 AM
Saw John Grogan of Marley & Me speak Tuesday night. Last night, saw Erica Jong - life changing for me, truly inspiring.
Comment #3 Posted by: Lisa Snider | June 29, 2006 11:29 AM
Lisa, I love the way you write and thank you for sharing your experience with Ray Bradbury. I had the honor of attending a speech he gave in the 70's while I was attending Fullerton College. I was inspired by him! Afterwards, he invited the audience to stay for questions and answers. I'm still surprised at how few actually stayed. It seemed like only 20 but may have been 50. I wish I could remember the questions I asked him or the answers he gave, but unfortunately, those memories have left me. What I do remember is how much I liked this man, not necessarily for his writing (which I do love) but for who he was as a human being!
Comment #4 Posted by: Coleen Ashly | July 2, 2006 10:44 AM
How brave that you were amongst those who sayed on for Q&A with Bradbury! It can be intimidating to pose a question to an author of such esteem, and whether you can remember what was asked or answered, more important was the impression you were left with. Thank you so much for your words.
Comment #5 Posted by: Lisa Snider | July 3, 2006 09:12 AM