Another similarity - and another way that the people seem as mechanical as the hound - is that neither seem to have any feelings. Since the hound is only a machine, it obviously has no feelings. It feels so sorrow or guilt as it chases its prey. It feels no sorrow or guilt in killing its prey. It feels nothing. But the people in this futuristic society are also like that: they have no feelings either. Neither Montag nor Mildred can recall how they met or whether they loved the other. When Montag tries to re-kindle their marriage by sharing his books with Mildred, she simply calls the firemen on her husband. Later in the story, we meet a few of Mildred's friends. They talk about how their children hate them or how many husbands they have had. There seems to be no
In writing the short novel Fahrenheit 451 I thought I was describing a world that might evolve in four or five decades. But only a few weeks ago, in Beverly Hills one night, a husband and wife passed me, walking their dog. I stood staring after them, absolutely stunned. The woman held in one hand a small cigarette-package-sized radio, its antenna quivering. From this sprang tiny copper wires which ended in a dainty cone plugged into her right ear. There she was, oblivious to man and dog, listening to far winds and whispers and soap opera cries, sleep walking , helped up and down curbs by a husband who might just as well not have been there. This was not fiction.