On more than one occasion have I read 1984 . Beginning, as you might expect, in 1984. For this reason I wasn’t terribly keen to re-read, and less keen still to blog, on the grounds that everything that could be said about this book has been said about this book. (And I am assuming that no synopsis is required here!) But, whilst I don’t undertake to stumble upon any original or startling insight, I was struck by how much of what I read was new to me. Despite my avowed familiarity.
Continue reading
Tag Archives: george orwell
Big Brother is Watching You
With a concerted effort I did finish 1984 in time for my deadline earlier today. But the pressure to do so rendered me disabilitatingly distracted, as I rushed the supermarket shop in order to return to the all important business of reading. (A poor excuse for what follows.) Which is how, as I sat reading, a very particular species of car came to park outside my house. Somewhat creepy in light of my reading matter. But they hadn’t come for me? Alas, yes. The police are knocking at the door…
Big Brother, in the form of garage forecourt surveillance cameras, had been watching me. Which was just as well given that I had forgotten to pay for my petrol.
So Good They Owned it Twice
I need to read 1984 by Tuesday. Oops. I find myself in the unfamiliar position of having a choice of copies from which to read. ”Choose the one with least pages,’ suggests the OH with an eye to the time constraint, but not terribly helpfully. As if we would have an abridged copy!
Despite the parity of word count I shall read the slightly smaller version, which may be a function of erroneous psychology, but more likely it is for the colour. The monochrome of the first may be more apt, but the red of the alternative will make a pleasing counterpoint to the drabness within.
Homage to Catalonia – George Orwell
I realise that I am beginning to look like a war junkie but, in truth, this choice owes nothing to the two preceding novels. Blame Michael Morpurgo. But I did choose to read one of his war related stories to the kids, actually making four war stories in a row, and in consequence rather negating my argument…
So the reason for Homage to Catalonia was that, having encountered the Spanish Civil war, kiddie version, I was keen to pursue this hitherto undiscovered area of history.
Laurie Lee and Hemingway were also rans; Orwell’s book was already at hand.
I had expected to find Orwell’s autobiographical account of his part in the Spanish Civil war of 1937 rather dry; particularly in comparison to Animal Farm and 1984, the sum of my Orwellian experience to date. On the contrary, this engaging novel was extraordinarily enjoyable.
The novel begins with a brief, spontaneous encounter between Orwell and an Italian whom he never meets again, but which illustrates Orwell’s tendency to naive idealism, underlaid by an acute self-awareness; that disillusionment will inevitably follow. Orwell joins the socialist militia because “in that atmosphere it seemed the only conceivable thing to do.”
Throughout the first portion of the book, which sees Orwell in active duty at the front, opposing Franco’s fascist regime, this naivety persists, in the form of the child orientated symbology with which the front is described. The respective trenches on facing mountains are too far apart to allow for effective sniping, the positions too easily defended to permit any advance, so the hostilities are mainly comprised of posturing and patrolling, of which Orwell remarks “it was not bad fun in a Boy Scoutish way.” Orwell’s description of his astonishment at the lack of organisation, and scarcity and general “badness” of the weapons is evocative of a kind of child-like, wide-eyed wonder.
I particularly liked the verbal component of the war in which the antagonists shout at each other through megaphones… and there was also a black humour to be found in such things as the “impartial bombs” which are as likely to kill the aggressor as the intended recipient.
Up to this point the novel was hugely enjoyable, (the trenches though unpleasant and dangerous, not endowed with much in the way of horror) but more likely to confuse than clarify, and I was finally forced to consult Wikipedia.
Having ploughed through a great many acronyms (with which the book itself is also lavishly supplied) and an infuriatingly obfuscatory account of the war and intra-war, it transpired, frustratingly, that Orwell had in fact presented all the salient facts in Chapter 5, but then inexplicably transplanted the whole thing to Appendix 1. A further political chapter is similarly relocated to Appendix 2. These political chapters are indeed dry, and written in a different style to the account of fighting at the front, so I suppose they were removed to improve the flow of the story. However, the situation during the Spanish Civil war was unimaginably complex, and this information is requisite to a good understanding of the novel. For the record, Orwell’s explanation of the circumstances is considerably more relevant, comprehensible, and concise than that to be found in Wikipedia…
Having finally got a grip on why the government forces are sometimes, puzzlingly, referred to as revolutionaries, the novel switches emphasis as Orwell returns to Barcelona. The fascists are forgotten by nearly everyone but Orwell as the intra-civil war between the communists, anarchists and socialists begins. The tone of the novel also changes as Orwell becomes disillusioned, and the astute political commentor appears. (Fascinating foreshadowings of Animal Farm visible throughout this part, and possibly hints of 1984.)
Ultimately Orwell is forced, albeit reluctantly, to leave Spain, in order to preserve his life. In many respects critical of the Spanish, though never without humour and affection, Orwell reflects upon his departure that although Spain must now fall to Franco, the nature of the well-intentioned (if incompetent) Spaniards must mitigate against the worst excesses of fascism.
I was much taken with this book, or possibly with Orwell, who, with his huge capacity for humanity and hope, is an immensely endearing narrator.
Animal Farm – George Orwell
I read Animal Farm, in the summer, to those of my daughters who chose to listen. One enjoyed a pleasing fable of farmyard animals, another had her political idealism crushed beyond all hope of redemption.
I think most children are born socialist; as proven by the perennial cry of, ‘it’s not fair!’ My eldest daughter was innocently delighted by the prospect of the animals’ emancipation, and then horribly crushed as she anticipated the dastardly designs of the pigs. Not having intended to politically brainwash my kids, the experience left me feeling a little less well-intentioned than the perpetrator of an Orwelllian dystopia.
What can be said about this book that has not been said already?
I didn’t think there was anything, but recently watching ‘The Devil’s Whore,’ (set in the English Civil War) the parallels of idealism corrupted by power were, in this instance also, abundantly clear. I found this interesting because, although understanding the philosophy behind Animal Farm, I have some difficulty in accepting the inevitabilty to which I believe Orwell subscribed. The argument is, at best, empirical. As the evidence continues to accumulate, I still hope that it needn’t always be so…
