“We’re nothing more than dust jackets for books, of no significance otherwise.”

It has been brought to my attention that a modern literary great, Ray Bradbury, died this last Tuesday at the age of 91. I only ever read one of his books, but he's on my summer reading list (which gets progressively longer every time I go into a bookstore, library, or the King's English website) and I've been wanting to read "Something Wicked This Way Comes" for the longest time.

Of all the books I read in middle school, the one that really sticks out that I had not read previously is Bradbury's most well-known book, Fahrenheit 451. I simultaneously loved that book, and was really really scared of it. As someone who has allegedly been reading since the age of 3 or 4, I cannot imagine a world without books, without print, without words on a page and the smell of adhesive and ink. Burning books is repulsive to me (Nazis anyone?), and I am as likely to burn a book as I am to eat another person for dinner. That is to say, not likely at all.

Fahrenheit 451 has popped in and out of my life at different times, in different ways. The most memorable instance, besides reading the book itself, was in high school during my AP Lit class.

The subject came up because we were reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, or rather, my teacher was reading it to us (go figure) with a slightly obnoxious, folksy twang of a Southern accent that managed to be both endearing and patronizing. At one point she asked the class if any of us had read Fahrenheit 451. I raised my hand; I think I may have been the only one. She explained the concept of memorizing a book for the sake of preserving it that Bradbury uses in his story (spoiler alert) and she said,

"After giving it a lot of thought, I decided that if the world ever were to turn into a world like the one Bradbury depicts, I would memorize Huck Finn."

Voracious reader that I am, I immediately started thinking of all the books I would want to save. It was a long list, and I think it took me a couple years before I decided on Harper Lee's To Kill A Mockingbird. I know I mentioned my obsession with Atticus in my imaginary dinner post, but the obsession extends to the book itself. Why?

Because (and this is just my personal opinion) I think it epitomizes the Human Novel. It has innocence and ignorance, corruption and bravery, hubris and potential in equal parts; and if that doesn't sum up humanity in six words I don't know what does. Well, perhaps innocence is the most debatable of those descriptive words, but look at the other five and I'm sure you'll find something about humanity to match up with those other words. That's kind of the reason I love Atticus so much, in him I see the person every human has the potential of being. I guess that's to say, the kind that has a conscience, the kind that sees wrong and doesn't close his eyes or turn the other way. The kind that defends...I hesitate to say "right," because that makes him sound like Superman or something. He's not. He's only human. But in defending Tom Robinson, he is defending "right" in a sense. Or rather, he's defending against "wrongs" even though he knows the chance of winning against society is slim. He speaks up because he knows what is really the "right" thing to do in that circumstance (Of course, it could be argued that his insistence to defend Robinson was selfish, because look at the danger he put himself and his two kids in; but all things considered, I think his kids learned more important moral lessons from Atticus taking those risks. That's what made the biggest difference in their lives. Imagine what the story would have been like if Atticus hadn't defended Tom, and you'd realize how silly that argument sounds).

So that's my most important book. Even though, by some classifications (looking at you, AP English exams) it's "for children" and therefore not a legitimate book to write essays about on the test.

Idiots.

That having been said, there are a million other books out there that would be worth memorizing. I imagine my friend Melly would memorize The Bell Jar, my mom would memorize Night, Dad would memorize ALL THE SHAKESPEARE, Sahara would memorize Water for Elephants or maybe The Ladies Auxiliary, Gardner would memorize the Grapes of Wrath, and Tanner would memorize Percy Jackson or something similar.

I feel sorry in advance for the person who memorizes the Unabridged Les Miserables.

But, honestly? Thank the Lord there is the Unabridged Les Miserables. Thank the Lord for every copy of Dickens, Wilde, Bronte, Austen, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Poe, Twain, Lee, Shakespeare, Tolstoy, and Plath out there. Thank the Lord that the list of important authors extends beyond the ones that I just listed, far into the hundreds and thousands. Thank the Lord for books. Even if you hate them, you need them. Society needs them. Even the silliest, worst books represent some sort of facet of humanity as the big, flawed, silly conglomeration that it is.

That being said, some of the silliest and worst books are best left alone once they have been created. Or they should be read very sparingly, and only specifically in order to remind us of our foibles and idiocy (I haven't actually said the Twilight Saga, but I know you're all thinking it).

(Oops. I just said it, and I'm not taking it back).

So here's to Ray Bradbury. And reading. Let's just keep on reading, folks.

& that's elementary.