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Fahrenheit 451
Pathfinders · 7th–9th
Granger says people, unlike the Phoenix, can remember what they did and so may one day stop building funeral pyres. After this morning's bombs, is there good reason to believe him?
The tension Before the bombs Montag cannot picture Mildred's hands “doing anything at all” and feels nothing for her; as they fall he finds “I remember. Chicago.” and “That’s where we met!”, and the Ecclesiastes comes back “perfect without trying”.
How a war that lasts an instant, a memory that comes back under the bombs and a breakfast fire test Granger’s hope that people can remember what they did.
At five in the morning Montag walks south along the river with the book people and asks why they trust him. The look of him is enough, a man answers; he has not seen himself in a mirror lately, and the city does not care enough about a few men with verses in their heads to chase them. Montag searches the old men’s tired faces for a sign of triumph and finds none; they are sure of nothing but the books behind their eyes. Someone says not to judge a book by its cover, and they laugh quietly. Jets shriek over the city. Montag says his wife is back there, and that he does not miss her or feel much of anything; something must be wrong with him. Granger tells him about his grandfather, a sculptor always busy with his hands, and says he cried not for the man but for the things he did. Montag cannot remember anything about Mildred; he cannot see her hands doing anything at all. He asks himself what he gave the city: ashes. Granger passes on his grandfather’s rule, that the difference between a lawn-cutter and a real gardener is in the touching, and his warning that when we forget how close the wilderness is, it will come in and get us. Montag cries “Look!” and the war begins and ends in an instant. He cries out to Faber, to Clarisse, who is dead, and to Mildred, and pictures her at her talking walls, seeing her own empty face before the building comes down. The blast throws the men flat. Lying in the dust, Montag remembers Chicago, where he and Millie met, and then the Ecclesiastes comes back to him whole. In the silence he thinks of walking the roads and taking the world into himself. Granger, swearing and in tears, says the city is flat and wonders how many were surprised. The men light a small fire and cook bacon in silence. Granger tells of the Phoenix, which burns itself up and is born again from the ashes, over and over; people do the same, he says, but they can remember the foolish things they did, and some day they may stop building funeral pyres. He tells them they are not important, that when lonely people ask, they can say they are remembering, and that first they will build a mirror-factory and take a long look. The men walk north, upstream, with Montag in front. He searches his memory for something to offer: a time to break down and a time to build up, and then the tree of life, whose leaves were for the healing of the nations. That one he will save for noon, when they reach the city.
Before reading, ask the student what a person leaves behind when they die, and let them make a list. Read aloud to “Nothingness.” and stop: ask what Montag means by “Ashes.”, and leave it open. Read on through “That’s where we met! I remember now. Chicago. A long time ago.” and stop again. Name the bombing plainly, in a sentence, and do not linger on it; ask only what Montag has just found, and leave it open. Read on to “We pick up a few more people that remember, every generation.” and leave a silence; do not say whether Granger is right, because the last written question asks the student to judge it. Then read to the end without stopping. Do not make the ending simply hopeful or simply bleak: the men are tired and unsure, and Granger speaks of funeral pyres as well as remembering. Do not skip Montag’s admission that he feels nothing for Mildred. Do not say that Mildred certainly died as Montag pictures it, what becomes of Faber, what the men will find in the city, that the cycle is over, or who the enemy is.
Retell The student tells the reading back in three parts. First the walk: “Why do you trust me?”, the tired faces, the joke about covers, “My wife’s back there.”, Montag’s admission that he feels nothing, Granger’s grandfather and the things he did, Mildred’s hands, “Ashes.”, the gardener and the lawn-cutter, the rocket films and “Stuff your eyes with wonder”. Then the bombs, in a sentence or two: “Look!”, the cry to Faber, Clarisse and Mildred, Mildred as Montag pictures her, the blast, “I remember. Chicago.”, and the Ecclesiastes. Last the morning: the silence, Granger at the river, the breakfast fire, the Phoenix, the mirror-factory, the walk north with Montag in front, and the verse he saves for noon. Ask for three or four sentences for each part, in order.
Imitate the author After copying, the student writes two sentences built like the first passage, about something much bigger than people: a long sentence that piles things up with “and”, gives two things to remember, each after “that”, and ends on two ways something could happen; and a sentence with “he said” or “she said” set in the middle that gives its reason with “for”. Then three sentences built like the second, about a small, ordinary task done after something hard: a sentence held together by “and” twice; a sentence with two motion words and a sound; and a short, plain last sentence.
Debate Take sides on the last written question. First make two lists together. Reasons to believe Granger: Montag, who said “I can’t remember anything”, finds “I remember. Chicago.” under the bombs; the Ecclesiastes comes back “perfect without trying”; Granger promises only “some day” and “a few more people that remember, every generation”; the men walk on to say aloud what they remember, and Montag chooses a verse “for the healing of the nations”. Reasons to doubt him: “the war began and ended in that instant”; Granger admits “even when we had the books on hand, a long time ago, we didn’t use what we got out of them”; the Phoenix burns itself up “over and over”; the men who remember are few, tired and “sure of nothing”. One side argues each, with a reason and a line from the reading, then they switch. No side may say what the men will find in the city, that Mildred certainly died, or that the cycle is over.
Purpose Close on where the book stops. Montag has found the verse he wants, the tree of life whose leaves “were for the healing of the nations”, and he does not say it yet: “that’s the one I’ll save for noon. For noon…” The last words are “When we reach the city.” Ask why Bradbury ends the book on the way, with the verse still unsaid and the city not yet reached. Leave it there: do not say what the men will find, or whether anyone will listen.
Easier Read aloud together from “Granger looked into the fire.” to the end of Granger’s Phoenix speech, “We pick up a few more people that remember, every generation.” Talk through what the Phoenix does and what Granger says people have that the bird never had, in the student’s own words, without saying whether he is right. Then answer the last written question aloud, starting from Montag’s “I remember. Chicago.”
On level Talk through the six discussion questions in order, then have the student write answers to the three written questions in complete sentences: a claim, evidence from two different parts of the reading, and an answer to the strongest objection.
Harder Ask the student to write the last written question as an argument: a claim, the strongest reason against it, and an answer to that reason. Then give them a puzzle from the reading itself. Granger’s grandfather says to change something “into something that’s like you after you take your hands away”. After the blast, Montag thinks of taking the world in the other way: “while none of it will be me when it goes in, after a while it’ll all gather together inside and it’ll be me.” Ask whether these are the same idea turned around, and which one the book people are living. The answer must use only this reading and must not say what happens next.
1. The men are saving their books for later readers, “some with clean and some with dirty fingers.” Who has the dirty fingers?Inference
What it asks It asks the student to picture the readers the men are waiting for. Walking south along the river in the dark, Montag tries to see “the old faces he remembered from the firelight, lined and tired.” “He was looking for a brightness, a resolve, a triumph over tomorrow that hardly seemed to be there.” He had expected them “to glow as lanterns glow, with the light in them. But all the light had come from the camp fire”. “They weren’t at all certain” that what they carried would make the future glow; “they were sure of nothing save that the books were on file behind their quiet eyes, the books were waiting, with their pages uncut, for the customers who might come by in later years, some with clean and some with dirty fingers.” Then someone says “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” and they laugh quietly. Only a little earlier, Montag asked “Why do you trust me?” and was told, “The look of you’s enough.” The student decides who has dirty fingers, and why the men keep the books for them too. It takes up one part of the last written question: Granger’s hope rests on “a few more people that remember, every generation”, and the men do not get to choose who those people will be. Do not call the men hopeless or triumphant; the page makes them neither.
Ordinary working people. Dirty fingers are hands that do things, like the grandfather’s, who “was always busy with his hands”. The books are not only for a clean, careful few, and men who laugh at judging a book by its cover will not judge a reader by his hands.
some with clean and some with dirty fingers
Don’t judge a book by its cover
People who have done harm, even burned books. Montag is one: a fireman, and the men trust him on his face alone. They cannot pick their readers, so they keep the books for anyone who might change, the way Montag did.
The look of you’s enough.
the customers who might come by in later years
A strong answer A strong response might say the dirty fingers are working people, hands that do things like the grandfather’s, and that men who laugh at “Don’t judge a book by its cover” will not judge a reader by his hands either. Another might say they are people who have done harm, firemen even, and point to Montag, trusted because “The look of you’s enough.” A careful answer may notice that the men are “sure of nothing save that the books were on file behind their quiet eyes”, and may ask whether keeping a book for a stranger is itself a kind of hope.
2. After Granger’s story about his grandfather, Montag says, “Poor Millie, poor Millie.” What does he mean by “poor”?Tone
What it asks It asks the student to hear one word. Montag tells Granger, “It’s strange, I don’t miss her, it’s strange I don’t feel much of anything”. “Even if she dies, I realized a moment ago, I don’t think I’ll feel sad. It isn’t right. Something must be wrong with me.” Granger answers with his grandfather, a sculptor who “was always busy with his hands”, and says, “I suddenly realized I wasn’t crying for him at all, but for the things he did.” “The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on.” Montag walks in silence. “Millie, Millie,” he whispers. “Millie.” Then: “My wife, my wife. Poor Millie, poor Millie. I can’t remember anything. I think of her hands but I don’t see them doing anything at all.” They “just hang there at her sides or they lie there on her lap or there’s a cigarette in them, but that’s all.” The student decides what “poor” means here: sorrow for her, or a judgment of her life. It takes up one part of the last written question: what Montag feels for Mildred before the bombs, which the bombs will answer with a memory. Do not skip his admission that he feels nothing; this question stands on it.
Pity, and the first grief. Granger mourned what his grandfather did. Montag tries the same with Mildred and finds hands that did nothing, and he is sorry for a life that never got to touch anything. That is a feeling, where a minute ago he had none.
I wasn’t crying for him at all, but for the things he did.
Poor Millie, poor Millie.
A verdict, not grief. “Poor” names how empty her life was, and he still cannot find anything of her to miss. He measures her by the grandfather and finds nothing there.
I can’t remember anything.
They just hang there at her sides
A strong answer A strong response might hear pity and the start of grief: Granger mourned “the things he did”, and when Montag tries the same with Mildred he cannot see her hands “doing anything at all”, so “Poor Millie” is sorrow for a life that never touched anything. Another might hear a verdict: “poor” names how empty her life was, and he still says “I can’t remember anything.” A careful answer may notice that he whispers “Millie” three times before he speaks, and may ask whether a man who feels nothing would say her name that way.
3. When Montag asks himself what he gave the city, the answer is “Ashes.” By the grandfather’s rule about touching, what kind of mark is that?Moral reasoning
What it asks It asks the student to test Montag’s answer against the grandfather’s rule. “Montag turned and glanced back.” He asks himself, “What did you give to the city, Montag?” The answer: “Ashes.” “What did the others give to each other?” “Nothingness.” Then Granger, looking back with him, gives his grandfather’s rule: “Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said.” “Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die”. “It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away.” “The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching”. “The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.” Ashes are a change Montag’s hands made, so the student decides what kind of mark they are: a mark like him, or no mark at all. It takes up one part of the last written question: Granger’s Phoenix rises out of ashes, and the student first weighs what ashes are. Do not say the cycle Granger names is over.
A mark like him, and that is the horror. Burning changed things, and what it left was like him: empty. By the grandfather’s rule the fireman did leave something behind, and it is ashes.
so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away
Ashes.
No mark at all. Burning is not touching; it is the lawn-cutter’s work done with fire. A gardener makes something that grows and lasts, and ashes are what is left when a thing is gone. Montag left nothing, which is why the answer hurts.
The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.
Nothingness.
A strong answer A strong response might argue that ashes are a mark like Montag, and that this is the horror: the rule asks only that you change something “into something that’s like you”, and what Montag’s work left was as empty as he feels. Another might argue they are no mark at all: burning is not the gardener’s “touching”, and “The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all”; ashes are what is left when a thing is gone. A careful answer may set “Ashes” beside “Nothingness”, and may notice that by the end of the reading Granger is talking about a bird that “sprang out of the ashes”.
4. As the bombs fall, Montag pictures Mildred at her walls. Why does he picture her seeing “her own face reflected there”?Inference
What it asks It asks the student to look at a picture Montag makes, not one he sees. As the bombs drop he sees her “in her hotel room somewhere”, leaning toward the walls where the family “said nothing of the bomb”. The page is careful: Montag “saw or felt, or imagined he saw or felt the walls go dark in Millie’s face”, and in his picture “she saw her own face reflected there, in a mirror instead of a crystal ball, and it was such a wildly empty face, all by itself in the room, touching nothing, starved and eating of itself, that at last she recognized it as her own”. The student decides why his mind gives her that sight. It takes up one part of the last written question: what it means to see yourself at last, the long look in a mirror Granger will later want for everyone. Do not say Mildred certainly died this way; the page says he “imagined he saw or felt”, and no one in the reading can know. Name the bombing plainly and do not linger on it.
It is his verdict on her life. He could not say what was wrong with her; now he sees it, a face “touching nothing”, the opposite of the grandfather’s busy hands. His mind puts in her face what he has felt about her all along.
such a wildly empty face, all by itself in the room, touching nothing
starved and eating of itself
It is a mercy, or a wish. In his picture she is not only struck down; for one moment she wakes, and sees, and knows herself. He gives her the thing he wanted for her, the thing he is learning himself.
at last she recognized it as her own
in a mirror instead of a crystal ball
A strong answer A strong response might say the picture is Montag’s verdict on her: the face is “wildly empty”, “touching nothing”, which is what he could not put into words when he could not picture her hands doing anything. Another might say it is a mercy: in his picture “at last she recognized it as her own”, so he lets her wake once, “in a mirror instead of a crystal ball”. A careful answer may notice that he only “imagined he saw or felt” this, and may ask whose face Montag is really looking at, since he was told at the start, “You haven’t seen yourself in a mirror lately.”
5. Granger wonders how many knew the war was coming, and then how many were surprised. How could a person know and still be surprised?Moral reasoning
What it asks It asks the student to pull apart two of Granger’s questions. Early in the reading Granger already says, “The cities won’t do well in the next few days”. When the blast is over, Granger rises, “swearing, swearing incessantly under his breath, tears dripping from his face.” He goes down to the river to look upstream. “It’s flat,” he says at last. “City looks like a heap of baking-powder. It’s gone.” And a long time after that: “I wonder how many knew it was coming? I wonder how many were surprised?” Granger’s grandfather warned, “When we forget how close the wilderness is in the night, my grandpa said, some day it will come in and get us, for we will have forgotten how terrible and real it can be.” In Montag’s picture of the city, the walls “said nothing of the bomb”. The student decides how knowing and being surprised can go together. It takes up one part of the last written question: Granger’s hope rests on “We know”, and on keeping it “around where we can see it”, so the student first asks what knowing is worth when it is not kept in view. Do not say whether Granger’s hope holds. Do not say who the enemy is or why the war was fought; the reading never says.
They knew it and forgot it. Knowing a fact is not the same as keeping it in view, and the grandfather warned that people forget “how terrible and real it can be”. The walls helped them forget: they talked all day and “said nothing of the bomb”.
for we will have forgotten how terrible and real it can be
said nothing of the bomb
Even the ones who knew were surprised, Granger among them. He said the cities “won’t do well”, and still he rises swearing with tears on his face. Knowing a thing will come does not get you ready for how it feels when it does. His question may be about himself.
The cities won’t do well in the next few days
swearing, swearing incessantly under his breath, tears dripping from his face
A strong answer A strong response might say people knew and forgot: the grandfather warned that “we will have forgotten how terrible and real it can be”, and the walls “said nothing of the bomb”, so a fact everyone knew was never kept in view. Another might say that even those who knew were surprised, and point to Granger, who said “The cities won’t do well in the next few days” and still rises “swearing incessantly under his breath, tears dripping from his face.” A careful answer may notice that Granger’s hope later rests on knowing, “We know the damn silly thing we just did”, and may ask whether knowing is enough if it does not stay “where we can see it”.
6. Montag says “Yes” to a time to break down and a time to build up, and still asks himself, “What else?” Why is the tree of life the verse he saves for noon?Character
What it asks It asks the student to weigh what Montag chooses to offer. Walking ahead of the men, he wonders “what could he offer on a day like this, to make the trip a little easier?” The Ecclesiastes comes first: “To everything there is a season. Yes. A time to break down, and a time to build up. Yes. A time to keep silence and a time to speak. Yes, all that. But what else. What else? Something, something…” Then Revelation: “And on either side of the river was there a tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month; And the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.” “Yes, thought Montag, that’s the one I’ll save for noon. For noon…” “When we reach the city.” The student decides why this verse, and why he holds it back. It takes up one part of the last written question: Montag is one of those who will speak, and what he chooses to say shows what he hopes for. Treat the verses as words Montag chooses, not as decoration. Do not say what the men will find in the city, or that anyone there will listen; the book ends before they arrive.
He wants something past the seasons. Ecclesiastes says things turn and turn again, breaking down and building up, much like Granger’s Phoenix. The tree of life bears fruit “every month” and heals; it is a promise, not a wheel.
A time to break down, and a time to build up.
yielded her fruit every month
He chooses for his listeners. What he asks is what will “make the trip a little easier”, and men who have just watched a city fall need healing more than a lesson. He saves it for the moment it can do the most good.
to make the trip a little easier
for the healing of the nations
A strong answer A strong response might say Montag wants something past the turning seasons: Ecclesiastes gives “A time to break down, and a time to build up”, and he answers “Yes, all that” and still asks “What else?”, while the tree of life “yielded her fruit every month” and its leaves heal. Another might say he chooses for his listeners: he wants what will “make the trip a little easier”, and tired men who have just watched a city fall need “the healing of the nations” more than a lesson about seasons. A careful answer may notice that he saves the verse instead of saying it, and may ask what noon means to him.
1. Walking with Granger, Montag says of his wife, “I can’t remember anything.” What brings back “Chicago” once the bombs fall?
What it asks It asks the student to explain a return. Before the bombs, Montag says, “Poor Millie, poor Millie. I can’t remember anything.” Granger has just talked of mourning the dead for the things they did. As the bombs drop, Montag cries out to Faber, Clarisse and Mildred, pictures Mildred at her walls, and falls flat. Then: “I remember. Montag clung to the earth. I remember. Chicago. Chicago, a long time ago. Millie and I. That’s where we met! I remember now. Chicago. A long time ago.” Then he thinks, “I remember, I remember, I remember something else.” The Ecclesiastes comes: “quick now, quick, before it gets away, before the shock wears off, before the wind dies”, and the words “were perfect without trying and there was no Denham’s Dentifrice anywhere, it was just the Preacher by himself”. And perhaps the broadcasting stations “went first into oblivion.” The student decides what brings the memory back. Write a claim with evidence, in complete sentences, and answer the strongest case for another reading. It takes up one part of the last written question: Granger’s hope rests on people who remember, and here a man who could not remember, remembers. Do not say Mildred certainly died; Montag only pictures it. Do not say the memory is the same as grief; the page gives a memory, not a stated feeling.
The silence. Talk and chatter had filled every quiet place, and once it went dark there was room. The verses came “perfect without trying” only when nothing else was talking.
there was no Denham’s Dentifrice anywhere, it was just the Preacher by himself
went first into oblivion
The loss. With Mildred about to be lost, Montag reaches for her and finds the one thing he has: where they met. Losing a thing makes you grab hold of it, and he grabs the verses the same way.
Millie and I. That’s where we met!
quick now, quick, before it gets away
A strong answer A strong response takes a position and tests it. A student might argue that silence brought it back: once the stations perhaps “went first into oblivion”, there was “no Denham’s Dentifrice anywhere, it was just the Preacher by himself”, and the words came “perfect without trying”. Another might argue that loss brought it back: with Mildred about to be lost, he reaches for her and finds “Millie and I. That’s where we met!”, and he holds the verses the same way, “quick now, quick, before it gets away”. A careful answer may notice that Mildred comes back before the book does, and may ask whether a man has to remember a person before he can remember anything else.
2. The men carry books in their heads, but Granger wants to “build a mirror-factory first”. Why start with mirrors and not books?
What it asks It asks the student to weigh Granger’s first plan. After the Phoenix, Granger says, “And hold on to one thought: You’re not important. You’re not anything. Some day the load we’re carrying with us may help someone.” He admits, “But even when we had the books on hand, a long time ago, we didn’t use what we got out of them. We went right on insulting the dead.” When lonely people ask what the men are doing, “you can say, We’re remembering.” Then: “Come on now, we’re going to go build a mirror-factory first and put out nothing but mirrors for the next year and take a long look in them.” Mirrors run through the reading. When Montag asks “Why do you trust me?”, a man in the dark tells him, “You haven’t seen yourself in a mirror lately.” And in Montag’s picture, Mildred’s walls become “a mirror instead of a crystal ball” and show her “such a wildly empty face”. The student decides why men who carry books would start with mirrors. Write a claim with evidence, in complete sentences, and answer the strongest case for another reading. It takes up one part of the last written question: Granger’s hope is that people will keep what they did where they can see it, and a mirror is one way to see. Do not say what the men will find in the city, or that the cycle is over.
People must see what they did before books can help. The books were there before and no one used them; a long look in a mirror is how you stop doing what you cannot see yourself doing.
we didn’t use what we got out of them
take a long look in them
A mirror cuts people down to size. Granger’s one thought is that no one is important, and a year of mirrors would teach it. Men who stop thinking themselves important stop insulting the dead.
You’re not important. You’re not anything.
We went right on insulting the dead.
A strong answer A strong response takes a position and tests it. A student might argue that people must see what they did before books can help: “even when we had the books on hand, a long time ago, we didn’t use what we got out of them”, so the first work is to “take a long look” at ourselves. Another might argue that the mirrors are for humility: Granger’s one thought is “You’re not important. You’re not anything.”, and a year of looking would teach it. A careful answer may raise the strongest objection, that a mirror shows only what is there, and that in Montag’s picture Mildred’s mirror showed her “such a wildly empty face” and nothing more, and may ask whether a mirror can help someone who has nothing yet to see.
3. Granger says people, unlike the Phoenix, can remember what they did and so may one day stop building funeral pyres. After this morning's bombs, is there good reason to believe him?
What it asks This is the last question the student meets, and it gathers the earlier ones: who has the “dirty fingers” the men keep their books for; what Montag means by “Poor Millie”; what kind of mark the ashes he gave the city are, by the grandfather’s rule; why he pictures Mildred seeing her own face; how a person could know the war was coming and still be surprised; why he saves the tree of life for noon; what brings the memory of Chicago back; and why Granger would start with mirrors. Now the student judges Granger’s hope against the morning. Granger looks into the breakfast fire and says, “Phoenix.” The bird “built a pyre and burned himself up. He must have been first cousin to Man.” “But every time he burnt himself up he sprang out of the ashes”. “And it looks like we’re doing the same thing, over and over, but we’ve got one damn thing the Phoenix never had. We know the damn silly thing we just did.” “as long as we know that and always have it around where we can see it, some day we’ll stop making the goddam funeral pyres and jumping into the middle of them. We pick up a few more people that remember, every generation.” Against it: “the war began and ended in that instant”, and Granger himself says “even when we had the books on hand, a long time ago, we didn’t use what we got out of them.” For it: a man who could not remember his wife thinks “I remember. Chicago.”, and the verses come “perfect without trying”. The student writes a judgment with evidence, in complete sentences, and answers the strongest objection. Do not settle the question for the student, and do not call the ending simply hopeful or simply bleak. Do not say Mildred certainly died, what becomes of Faber, what the men will find in the city, that the cycle is over, or who the enemy is.
Yes, some reason. The morning itself shows remembering at work: Montag, who felt nothing, finds Chicago and the Ecclesiastes under the bombs, and the men walk on to say aloud what they remember. Granger promises little, only “some day” and “a few more people”, and the morning keeps that small promise.
We pick up a few more people that remember, every generation.
I remember. Chicago.
Not yet. The war took an instant, and Granger admits that having the books did not stop the burning before. Knowing what you did is not the same as stopping; the men who remember are a few tired walkers, and the bombs fell anyway.
we didn’t use what we got out of them
the war began and ended in that instant
A strong answer A strong response takes a position and tests it. A student might argue there is good reason: this very morning a man who “can’t remember anything” about his wife finds “Chicago” under the bombs, the verses come “perfect without trying”, and Granger promises only what he can see, “a few more people that remember, every generation.” Another might argue there is not, or not yet: “the war began and ended in that instant”, and Granger admits “we didn’t use what we got out of them” even when the books were on hand, so knowing has not stopped the pyres before. A careful answer may grant both, may notice that the men answer the fallen city by lighting a small fire to cook breakfast, and may ask whether a fire that feeds people is what remembering looks like.