Third-person, limited omniscient; follows Montag’s point of view, often articulating his interior monologues

Part III: Burning Bright

Twenty million Montags running, running like an ancient flickery Keystone Comedy, cops, robbers, chasers and the chased, hunters and hunted, he had seen it a thousand times.
This is an allusion to the Keystone Cops, a series of silent films made in the 1910s featuring slapstick stories about policemen.
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.
This is an allusion to Ecclesiastes 3 from the Bible.
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.
This is an allusion to the Book of Revelation from the New Testament of the Bible.


Style
Style
The writing style of Fahrenheit 451 is lyrical and descriptive. Bradbury’s poetic prose makes frequent use of similes, metaphors, and personification. For instance, near the end of the novel when Montag is floating downriver, the narrator describes the river as “mild and leisurely, going away from the people who ate shadows for breakfast and steam for lunch and vapors for supper.” Here the narrator employs figurative language to describe the spiritually malnourished city dwellers who subsist on nothing but illusions and meaningless entertainments—that is, on “shadows,” “steam,” and “vapors.”
Bradbury’s lyrical and adjective-heavy writing style enriches the story, endowing it with symbolic meaning. For example, Fahrenheit 451 contains a thematic preoccupation with fire. Fire appears throughout the novel, but the symbolic meaning of fire undergoes a transformation over the course of the story. Bradbury’s use of figurative language plays an important role in this transformation. At the beginning of the book, fire symbolizes the pleasure of destruction:

With the brass nozzle in his fists, with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in his head, and his hands were the hands of some amazing conductor playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to bring down the tatters and charcoal ruins of history.

Bradbury uses one long, breathless sentence to capture the violent pleasure of setting the world on fire. Fire becomes at once an emblem of danger (the “great python”) and a mark of artistry (the “amazing conductor”). By the end of the novel, however, fire becomes a symbol not for destruction, but for life. Near the book’s conclusion, Bradbury provides an image of the sun as its own source of flame, and hence as a symbol for self-knowledge and internal drive: “And what lights the sun? Its own fire. And the sun goes on, day after day, burning and burning.” Burning no longer destroys. Instead, the perpetual fire of the sun keeps the world alive.