A Book About Burning Books Analysis

A Book About Burning Books? Isn’t that hypocritical? There is an aspect of children that never ceases to astonish me: their curiosity. It is quite admirable in a way, often we find ourselves wishing for youth again. A time when questions were still yet unanswered, the world more friendly, and atrocities yet learned or seen. As we get older, we stop asking the questions of children, we fall fate to a contentedness, we learn, we fail, and we drudge through our lives contently accepting the truths handed to us. Children, on the other hand, see phenomenons and ask that ever so important question: why? However, the question does not simply stop there, as I am sure we have all held a conversation with a toddler and felt the frustration of this over-repeated question, but why? By the 8th grade, my grievances for that silly question were already laid to rest, I spent long, daily, and drawn hours sitting being told the

Democracy? Protection. Books? To learn. America? Land of the free. Communism? Slavery. Handed these facts, among countless others, slowly I fell into the routine. They dressed them as truth and bound me to respect them or fail, thus grudgingly leaving my childhood curiosity and falling victim to the world of true or false. I longed for the days of my childhood, where curiosity held a higher status quo in my life than what happened to be on the lunch menu that day. But those days lurked in the past, it seemed. The days of the countless childhood inquisitions remained a muddy dream I once dreamt long ago, when my mind was still fresh with sleep and yet awoken with the cruel ambience of life complimented the drudgery of school. But then, I stumbled upon a book,