Bitvis BRILJANT. Ja jag sa det. Erkänn ändå edgy att öppet gilla en kanoniserad vit snubbe!
En otrolig bonus var detta: den sista uppsatsen handlar om det engelska språkets förfall. Orwell ger en rad exempel på ord som enligt honom är asfula och borde CITAT "placeras i soptunnan där de hör hemma" (omfg). Jag känner igen de flesta ord, men ett är främmande för mig: "jackboot". Googlar det och klickar på ett av de första resultaten. Som definition står ett litterärt citat. Från - u guessed it - George maflippin' Orwell. Haha!!! COMEDY GOLD i live for this!!! Orwell HATADE detta ord! Han kallade det literal TRASH! Han ville att vi skulle stoppa det in the DUSTBIN! Istället snackade han så brett och vitt om sin avsky för ordet att ingen kunde glömma det. Det är alltså HELT hans egen förtjänst att det ens finns kvar i modernt språkbruk! Ha! Haha! Ajjjj. Sick burn universum!!

"What I have most wanted to do throughout the past ten years is to make political writing into an art. My starting point is always a feeling of partisanship, a sense of injustice. When I sit down to write a book, I do not say to myself, “I am going to produce a work of art.” I write it because there is some lie that I want to expose, some fact to which I want to draw attention, and my initial concern is to get a hearing. But I could not do the work of writing a book, or even a long magazine article, if it were not also an aesthetic experience. Anyone who cares to examine my work will see that even when it is downright propaganda it contains much that a full-time politician would consider irrelevant. I am not able, and I do not want, completely to abandon the world-view that I acquired in childhood. So long as I remain alive and well I shall continue to feel strongly about prose style, to love the surface of the earth, and to take pleasure in solid objects and scraps of useless information. It is no use trying to suppress that side of myself. The job is to reconcile my ingrained likes and dislikes with the essentially public, non-individual activities that this age forces on all of us."

What do they know of Orwell who only Animal Farm and Nineteen Eighty-Four know?
-Irving Howe

Why do one write? What is the urgency to write or what is the need to write anything at all? Does one actually have control what one is writing or there is some profound force which influences one’s consciousness or sub-consciousness to do so. Perhaps one writes to get rid of tribulations of life going in his/ her head. For, there must be some way to disburse these anxious ordeals; and what better way it could be than to write. We may say, arguably though, that an author, or any one for that matter, writes to express, to get away from the insanity which might take one over if one does not decide to flush out the thoughts boiling up in the head; one expresses the turmoil one feels in consciousness, though he may choose different ways to do it- sometimes words are simply used to render the tumult and turbulence he might be going through while sometimes words are deftly used to concoct an escapade which may indirectly covey his thoughts. Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand. For all one knows that demon is simply the same instinct that makes a baby squall for attention. Are there any innate values which shape up an author’s writing method? And what is the role of one’s upbringing, ideals hold in childhood, belief system, in motivating one to be an author. It may be said, though arguably again, that writing is a self-driven and ever evolving personal engagement but development of language is influenced and shaped by other authors one would have followed during early years; it stems from personal experience and the innate connection one bore to literature from early age.



Orwell’s essay- Why do I write- is a peculiar but reasonably specific form of writing, it’s an essay which may be quite content to raise an issue, force it on a reader’s attention, but then to ruminate and speculate, neither to orate nor pontificate; above all it will seem personal not objective, will give a sense of listening to an extended conversation by an odd but interesting individual. Orwell’s wish ‘to make political writing into an art’ led to a bold but carefully phrased claim for the originality of his essay. He proposed that everyone who writes has some form of political bias, and the more one is conscious of one’ s political bias, the more chance one has of acting politically without sacrificing one’s aesthetic and intellectual integrity. He said that one can not assess a writer’s motives without knowing something of his/ her early development. The subject matter of an author will be determined by the age he lives in, his childhood; the kind of stories authors imagine in their childhood have reflected in their styles which they adopted over the years.

Orwell proposed that there are four main motives for writing, at any rate for writing prose- egoism, aesthetic enthusiasm, historical impulse and political purpose, though degree of these motives may vary from one author to another and even in one author their proportions may vary from time to time. The desire to be talked about, to be remembered after death- which satisfies our ego- are quintessential to writers. Orwell said that serious writers are on the whole more vain and self- centered, though less interested in money. So, if not money then what they entices them- is fame not a manifestation of ego? Desire to share an experience which one feels is valuable but aesthetic motive is, what Orwell felt, very feeble in a lot of writers; perception of beauty in words and their arrangements is one of the prime motives to write. The other motive he talked about is historical importance – desire to see things as they are, to find out facts and store them up for the use of posterity. The role of history and historian has changed over the years, as philosopher and historian Foucault sought to critically examine the seemingly straight forward questions and the responses they had inspired. He directed his most sustained skepticism toward those responses—among them, race, the unity of reason or the psyche, progress, and liberation—He directed his most sustained skepticism toward those responses—among them, race, the unity of reason or the psyche, progress, and liberation. But those were ages of imperialism that probably that has affected the thought process of the intellectuals then. Orwell maintained that no book is genuinely free from political bias, the opinion that art should have nothing to do with politics is itself a political attitude.

The great mass of human beings are not acutely selfish. After the age of about thirty they abandon individual ambition- in many cases, indeed, they almost abandon the sense of being individuals at all- and live chiefly for others, or are simply smothered under drudgery. But there is also the minority of gifted, willful people who are determined to live their own lives to the end, and writers belong in this class.



There is another problem, perhaps subtler, which is of language and it may take too long to discuss; Orwell said that of later years he tried to write less picturesquely and more exactly. By the time one perfected any style of writing one has always outgrown it. Orwell developed language of satire as he progressed through his career; he was fully conscious of what he was doing during writing Animal Farm, to fuse political purpose and artistic purpose into one whole. Satire- laughter of free man- is like meditation wherein stories are written without any reference to any political power, it is an imaginative satire for the targets to become wider over time. A good cap fits many heads or can be made to do so with only a little stretching. He deliberately chose to write in the plain style for the very reason that he thought it the best way to reach the common reader and to convey truths. As he felt that the common man was the best hope for civilization, rather than proletarian man or aristocracies or elites of any kind.

Orwell’s great skill lies in using the essay as a mode of expression are part of his cult of the ordinary, his faith in common sense and common man. His plain style also reveals an metaphysical intensity about the value of ordinary things, a kind of secular pietism.

«All writers are vain, selfish and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives there lies a mystery. Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand. For all one knows that demon is simply the same instinct that makes a baby squall for attention. And yet it is also true that one can write nothing readable unless one constantly struggles to efface one's own personality. Good prose is like a window pane. I cannot say with certainty which of my motives are the strongest, but I know which of them deserve to be followed. And looking back through my work, I see that it is invariably where I lacked a political purpose that I wrote lifeless books and was betrayed into purple passages, sentences without meaning, decorative adjectives and humbug generally».

أفضلهم:
-كتب جيدة رديئة
-كوب لطيف من الشاي
-لير، تولستوي، والبهلول

"It is bound to be a failure, every book is a failure"

Neste ensaio, que está disponível para download gratuito na página da Fundação Orwell, o autor debruça-se sobre o seu percurso enquanto escritor desde a infância até à idade adulta e sobre as razões que o levaram a escrever.
Orwell fornece-nos um retrato bastante pessoal da luta que é escrever um livro, mas também da responsabilidade que representa.
Para quem se interessa por estas questões de escrita criativa, irá por certo gostar deste pequeno texto.

"Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist or understand."

On a related theme to the other Orwell essay I read recently, 'Why I Write' was a quick but enjoyable, and moderately insightful, read. I need to read more Orwell.

I give all this background information because I do not think one can assess a writer’s motives without knowing something of his early development. His subject-matter will be determined by the age he lives in ­– at least this is true in tumultuous, revolutionary ages like our own – but before he ever begins to write he will have acquired an emotional attitude from which he will never completely escape. It is his job, no doubt, to discipline his temperament and avoid getting stuck at some immature stage, or in some perverse mood: but if he escapes from his early influences altogether, he will have killed his impulse to write.

...no book is genuinely free from political bias. The opinion that art should have nothing to do with politics is itself a political attitude.

In a peaceful age I might have written ornate or merely descriptive books, and might have remained almost unaware of my political loyalties.

I feel that way. And it was extremely interesting to read that Orwell, the premier political novelist, did too.

I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls,
And woke to find it true;
I wasn’t born for an age like this;
Was Smith? Was Jones? Were you?

Pretty much sums it up

...the more one is conscious of one’s political bias, the more chance one has of acting politically without sacrificing one’s aesthetic and intellectual integrity.

The job is to reconcile my ingrained likes and dislikes with the essentially public, non-individual activities that this age forces on all of us.

Again, applicable to me in a lot of ways. One has a racial duty. But one also wants the joy of total creative freedom, to follow the whims and winds of one's imagination without worrying about the political connotations or costs.

All writers are vain, selfish, and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives there lies a mystery. Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist or understand. For all one knows that demon is simply the same instinct that makes a baby squall for attention. And yet it is also true that one can write nothing readable unless one constantly struggles to efface one’s own personality. Good prose is like a windowpane.

My own feeling is that, while it is obviously true that all writing must in some sense reflect the opinions of the author, this is not always something explicit or even straightforward. For instance, a writer may find himself encoding certain ideas and tropes in his work that he himself does not adhere to, merely because they are prevalent in the culture. I found myself doing this a lot when I first started out. I look back at some of my earlier work and cringe, not just because of bad writing, but because of how politically correct it often is.

Aiming to change the world through writing is laudable (depending on exactly how one is trying to change it). My ideals are very different from Orwell's, though I do wonder how which side he would fall on, if he saw the world as it is today. I suspect, in terms of moral sentiment, despite his 'democratic socialism', he was at heart an old-fashioned middle-class Englishman). But I'm just not sure that fiction is the best way to do it, in most cases.

Stephen King, in On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, discussed the process of writing (for 'gardener' or 'pantser'-type writers, anyway), as being like an archaeologist uncovering the bones of a dinosaur. There is that sense of not so much creating something from scratch but discovering something that is already there; a kind of skeleton of story, which it is your job to re-flesh. I feel very strongly that when one is writing a story, one isn't completely 'making it up', as if one could do whatever one wanted without consequences. There is something, maybe an upsurge from the vast ocean of the unconscious, that pulls one's pen in certain directions, that delivers certain scenes, characters, settings, plot points and so on, to one's desk already fully-formed. One can call it the muse or the inner voice, or what have you, but it is something in a sense outside of oneself, or so deep within oneself that it amounts to the same thing. And I wish to be true to that, to follow that inward star, that hidden pole, wherever it leads; to let the narrative take whatever shape its own invisible structure seems to compel, rather than trying to brutalise so as to make it fit a certain ideological schema. One does not want to run the risk of one's writing becoming one-dimensional and didactic, without room for complexity, ambiguity, or, indeed, humanity. Even if in principle one agrees with the author's viewpoint (which, for me, is vanishingly rare), an author tract is still obnoxious.

So I do think there is something to be said for an attitude, if not of conscious and deliberate apoliticism, than a considered and prudent rejection of conscious and deliberate politicism, in fiction. I also feel a strong attraction to escapist writing, escapism being the heart of fantasy. After all, all the greatest right-wing writers of the twentieth century are most celebrated (and beloved by readers from across the political spectrum) for works that carry no conscious political program at all; that are in fact essentially apolitical, in that they were not written with political considerations in mind, even if they naturally have political implications. Lovecraft and Tolkien would not have the stature they have in our culture if they had been propagandists like Orwell. Probably this is a cowardly and self-indulgent stance to take in the present time of fatal civilisational crisis. But I do intend also to write expressly and consciously political works (this site is my main forum for doing so at the moment, funnily enough), but this will be in the form of nonfiction: essays and so forth. I prefer not to cross the streams of entertainment and propaganda, even if Orwell insists, erroneously, they are one and the same.

لماذا أكتب ؟ - جورج أورويل

هي مجموعة من المقالات المكتوبة تسعة عشر مقالة.. نشرت ما بين 1931 – 1952 وجمعت في هذا الكتاب وأعطيت عنواناً هو عنوان أحد المقالات.

من دون شك، العنوان مضلل.. ولا يمكن إختزال الكتاب بهذه المقالة.. فالمقالات الموجودة تتنوع ما بين حكايات عن أحداث من ذاكرة أورويل، ومقالات نقدية، وأخرى سياسية بالطبع، وبعض الخواطر حتى !

كما هو متوقع من أورويل بأسلوبه الساخر يسرد لنا تارة، وينقد تارة أخرى، ويقدم لنا طروحاته السياسية وليس في ذلك ما هو جديد.

أعجبتني حكاية الشنق والفيل.. وكانتا بداية أكثر من ممتازة.. لكن الأمر اختلف بعد ذلك.. فقد انتقل أورويل إلى المقالات النقدية والتي تفاوتت من تقديم آراء نقدية إلى توزيع اتهامات مجانية للكتاب.. وجدتُ تحليله لحالة هنري ميللر مثيرةً للإهتمام.. ومن دون شك جعلني أقدم موقع روايته "مدار السرطان" في قائمتي للقراءة. لكن، وفي ذات الوقت وجدتُ القسم الثاني من هذه المقالة بعيداً جداً.. عن موضوع المقالة وهو هنري ميللر اللهم في آخر بضعة كلمات ! ولا أدري لماذا أقدم أورويل على مثل هذا الطرح الهزلي في هذا القسم. فهو يختلف تماماً عن القسم الأول والثالث.. واللذان لو اكتفا بهما لوصلت أفكاره بشكل جيد.. وأشد تأثيراً.. مقاله في توين وسويفت لم يثيرا إهتمامي.. بشكل عام لأنني وبشكل عام لا أميل إلى نوعية الأدب اللذان ينتميان إليه. ثم يأتي دور تولستوي لنجد أورويل يتخذ موقفاً إنجليزياً تقليدياً للذود عن شيكسبير.. وكنتُ سأحترم ذلك لولا أنه عمد إلى تناول شخص تولستوي واتهامه بالحقد والغرور والعجرفة.. رغم أنه يمكن للقاريء أن يقول ذات الأمر بخصوص الغرور والعجرفة.. عن أورويل في مقالاته النقدية.

كما هي العادة مع أورويل، يوجد الكثير من السياسة في مقالاته. وهي لا تخرج عن آرائه المعروفة في الإشتراكية الديمقراطية وكما هي العادة كذلك.. فهي تدل على ثقافة عالية ومعرفة عميقة في علوم السياسة. ومنها نجد أن السياسة كانت الأساس الذي قدم أورويل فيه نقده إلى ويلز.. فويلز برأي أورويل هو رجل خيالي حالم.. لا يمكنه تناول الأنظمة الشمولية بجدية فهي بالنسبة إليه ليست سوى شبح لا يمكن له أن يخيف. وبالتالي فهو على عكس أورويل غير قادر على تقدير مدى خطورة هتلر على سبيل المثال.

أعجبني أكثر ما يكون ذكريات طفولة أورويل في المقال المعنون "لماذا أكتب ؟" رغم أنني لا أتفق معه كثيراً في الأسباب التي يقول بأنها أسباب الكتابة. إلا أنني وجدتُ تلك الذكريات حميمة وصادقة إلى حد بعيد.

حسناً، أورويل له موقف صريح ضد الإستبداد. من لا يعرف ذلك. وقد عاش حياة لا بأس بها من الفقر والعوز.. مما ضاعف شعوره بالإحتقار لكل من يسعى إلى السلطة ويرى فيه مثالاً على الإستبداد والأنظمة الشمولية. ونرى بعض مواقف طفولته كتعرضه للضرب على كونه كان يعاني من سلس البول الليلي.. حين كان في المدرسة. ونرى ذلك ربما في سخطه على شخص تولستوي فيما بعد. فشخصية تولستوي من تلك الشخصيات التي قد تثير شخصاً كأورويل بسهولة. فهذا الرجل قوي الشخصية.. وصاحب النفوذ والأرستقراطي والذي كان يملك الأطيان والممتلكات والأنفس التي لا يملك شخص كأورويل بأن يتخيل.. ثم يقرر فيما بعد التخلي عن ذلك كله. إنه شخص لم يكن يتوانى عن ضرب خدمه والتحدث عمن يشاء بالتقريع بلسانه السليط.. على من يراهم أصحاب الفن المزيف. ولذلك فإن من غير الممكن أن يتعامل شخص كأورويل ببساطة مع نقد تولستوي لشيكسبير.. فنجد أورويل يوظف كل قدراته في مقاومة الاستبداد والتسلط.. ضد تولستوي كما رأينا.

توجد بعض المقالات الخفيفة كمقال العلجوم والذي يحمل فيه دعوة للتمتع بالطبيعة وأن الحضارة والتقدم لا يعني أن ننسى متعة الطبيعة.. وهي لفتة خفيفة لطيفة، وكما هو الحال.. مع مقال الشاي.. والذي أعلم أن البعض يراه مقالاً سياسياً.. لكنني لم أره كذلك. لفتني كلامه أيضاً عن مراجع الكتب ذلك المسكين الذي يضطر لمدح ما لا يستحق من الكتب من أجل المال.

وأخيراً، تلك المقالة الغريبة عن غاندي.. والذي يتحدث فيه عن ملخص لحياة غاندي السياسية والشخصية حتى وفاته مقدماً آراءه فيها.. وحقيقةً، كنتُ أتوقع بأن رجلاً من غاندي لا بد أنه سيكسب احترام واعجاب أورويل.. بسبب مواقفه ضد الإمبريالية.. لكننها نجد ينتقد آراء غاندي غير الإنسانية كقوله أنه يتوجب على اليهود الإنتحار كي يشدوا انتباه العالم لمأساتهم مع هتلر.. وكلامه كذلك عن ضرورة عدم تقديم تنازلات في مقابل البقاء على قيد الحياة.. وهذه التنازلات كأن يصرف النظر عن أكل أهله لمنتجات الحيوان كي لا يموتوا جوعاً ! والأهم من ذلك كله هو أن غاندي كان مبشراً لمقاومة لا عنيفة للوجود البريطاني في الهند. وأنه قد قطف ثمارها عام 1946 والتي نتج عنها استقلال الهند. رغم أن الهند كانت قد استقلت نعم، لكنها سقطت في أتون الحرب الأهلية بين الهندوس والمسلمين.. وهذه الحرب كانت مجرد المقدمة فقط لثلاثة حروب خاضتها الدول التي تشظت إليها الهند فيما بعد؛ الهند، باكستان، وبنغلادش. وكان أحد أهم نتائج تلك الحرب الأهلية الأولى.. هي إغتيال غاندي. هل كان غاندي مفيداً حقاً للإنجليز بسبب سياسة اللا عنف التي كان يتبناها حسب كلام أورويل ؟ لا أدري حقيقةً.. لكنني أجد هذا الكلام مثيراً للإهتمام إلى حد ما.

باختصار، أجد هذا الكتاب حسب تعبير أورويل من الكتب الرديئة الجيدة.. فهو كتاب مسلٍ.. تقرأه لتزجية بعض الوقت الممتع.. لكن عقلك سيرفض أخذه على محمل الجد.

When I was a child, I loved Animal Farm. As I got older, I found and fell for 1984. A grown man of 30 now, I find that the more I read Orwell, the more I appreciate the author. His depth of thought and logic really shine through in Why I Write. He explains himself, his socialist world view, his writing style, and takes on the Nazis. Easy read, simple, concise, beautiful.

The most interesting essay was about the state of capitalism in 1940, especially in light of the war and the rise of fascism vs what he thought would be an inevitable switch to socialism if UK was to win the war. Scary to see the outcry against the system back then (commenting on how it hadn't changed much since the 1800s) when it is exactly the same system now...

Yay for capitalism!

Overall rating: 4.5 stars.

As much as I love the Penguin Great Minds Collection, I feel the title here is a little misleading – only the first 10 pages out of 120 are the ‘Why I Write’ essay, so about 8% of the book. As a result, I’ll be reviewing the four essays individually, since I feel that’s the most precise approach (and because it’s difficult to assess essays on such different subjects as a collected whole).

n  Why I Writen ★★★★

“So long as I remain alive and well I shall continue to feel strongly about prose style, to love the surface of the earth, and to take pleasure in solid objects and scraps of useless information. It is no use trying to suppress that side of myself. The job is to reconcile my ingrained likes and dislikes with the essentially public, non-individual activities that this age forces on all of us.” (p.9)

I was expecting this to be the majority of the book, when it turned out to be quite short, but it still said everything that I would have thought necessary to say. Orwell’s writing, according to Orwell, has the primary motivation you would expect – political concerns – but it was surprising and revealing to know that his writing had a much more ‘literary’ inclination before he decided to focus on political direction. Like a lot of left-wing writers, he clearly decided accessibility was more important than artistry, and I suspect that’s partially responsible for the enduring popularity of his work (even with classics, the works that are easiest to read reach the widest audience).

Specifically, Orwell cites four main motivations to write: egoism, aestheticism, historical impulse, and political purpose (he admits an early partiality to the first three – his relationship with the fourth is obvious). Can there really be only four motivations? The most obvious omission is monetary, whether we consider it primarily people writing to make a living, or under the impression that they’ll get rich from it. Orwell does acknowledge this motivation, though: he says it’s ‘feeble’, since writing is hardly a ‘get rich quick scheme’ for the average worker bee, the fame and wealth of the most prominent writers (especially J.K. Rowling today), especially where accompanied by a ‘rags to riches’ narrative, may deliver the false impression that ‘anyone’ can be shot to stardom by writing.

And perhaps egoism is linked to political purpose (believing your views are the right ones and that everyone else should follow them). Historically speaking, the factor of ‘historical impulse’ can also be egoistic: I love the inclusion of this factor, which is too often overlooked when so many canonical works stemmed from this motivation, but the earliest examples (Herodotus and other ancient historians) would open their works with a claim to superiority over all preceding historical writers, in style, method, and subject matter altogether. It can also turn philosophical when we see recurring themes in history (in fact, even here, the Trotskyists accused of plotting with Franco (p.9) reminds me a little of the Cuban Five case). By extension, egoism could also be linked to aestheticism, since it presupposes that the writer believes they can create a beautiful work of art. With or without this, I’m inclined to think aesthetic enthusiasm is a more considerable motivator than Orwell makes out, especially in literary fiction and similar genres, and I think all writers must have a strain of egoism, not only to sit down and make their own thoughts permanent on paper, but to demand thenceforth that they be printed en masse for other people pay for the privilege of reading them.

I also have doubts about some of the comments that lead on from the main points: he says, for instance (p.5) that people give up their ambitions after 30, but this can’t be the case, especially not for politicians! I thought this was a strange inclusion, unless he’s actually joking and I’ve missed it. They’re not all ‘gifted’ either, as he describes them, but probably are ‘wilful’ as a collective. Some of the specific examples of notorious people, on the other hand, could have done with citations (Eugene Aram? Austin Seven? Duggie? Apparently a philologist and murderer immortalised in a ballad and novel, a then-popular car model, and a nickname for a well-known bookmaker, respectively. Maybe I’m just clueless, but other more obvious references, like Lord Halifax, are cited.)

I also question whether, as he says, political and historical motivations wane in a ‘peaceful age’ – what is a peaceful age? When is a peaceful age? Is there ever a peaceful age? Obviously Orwell lived through highly tumultuous times in the 30s and 40s, so perhaps to him the Edwardian period beforehand would have seemed tranquil by comparison, but I still doubt that targets for politically motivated writing could fade away entirely when we’ve never in human history had a truly ‘peaceful’ time. He somewhat reconciles us with the limitations of his view by conceding that the impulse to write is partly mysterious – I think this is an important point. Many writers have talked about the unspecified ‘need’ or impulse to write, and not all of them are aesthetically motivated.

It was great to see Orwell’s own motivations laid out on the page, and I consider his self-analysis very accurate, although, while his general view of writers is revealing in its own way, I don’t find it universally applicable. Although Orwell’s earlier writing was considerably more flowery, the more direct, ‘stripped-down’ style of his major works has its own artistic merit. (His own admission of loneliness and making up stories at a young age is also one a lot of writers can relate to.) The potential in combination of artistic appeal and political undertone should not be overlooked: by making his writing a pleasurable aesthetic experience, Orwell appeals, views in hand, to a far wider audience than he could have anticipated (perhaps a more modern, ‘popcorn’ example of this would be, again, J.K. Rowling). As he says himself, though, this can be a difficult balance when construction and language depend on the priority of the writing: you have to kill your darlings to master good political writing, his editor complained that he’d once “turned a good book into journalism”: in terms of primary motive, he’d shown his hand, and it wasn’t necessarily a good thing to be so honest. Ultimately, the perfect balancing act is probably not possible, writers tend to be of a disposition prone to overthinking it, and Orwell concludes that “every book is a failure” at the end of the day – words to live by.

n  The Lion and the Unicorn: Socialism and the English Geniusn ★★★★☆

I've run out of room in this review, but you can read my thoughts here.

n  A Hangingn ★★★★★

“It is curious, but till that moment I had never realised what it means to destroy a healthy, conscious man. When I saw the prisoner step aside to avoid the puddle, I saw the mystery, the unspeakable wrongness, of cutting a life short when it is in full tide. This man was not dying, he was alive just as we were alive…He and we were a party of men walking together, seeing, hearing, feeling, understanding the same world; and in two minutes, with a sudden snap, one of us would be gone – one mind less, one world less.” (pp.97-8)

Unfortunately, I don’t have as much to contribute to a review at this point: I have experience writing, and have lived in England my whole life, but I’ve never witnessed a hanging, so I can’t contribute my own perspective in the same way as I have. My response will have to focus more on the piece itself, and rather less on the issue of its subject matter.

There’s a stark lack of interest here in the ‘crime and punishment’ aspect of the subject: there’s no reference to the crime (whatever he did, we aren’t told), nor on framing him as a criminal. The focus is entirely on the prisoner, the executioners, and carrying out the punishment itself. They manhandle and frog-march the prisoner, gripping to him despite his frailty, treating him as a threat despite his helplessness. Once he’s been dehumanised by his fellow man, the dog is the only one who recognise him, greeting him as a friend and prompting another severe response by the guards. For his own part, the prisoner is never accorded the right to speak or act of his own volition, except when he steps aside to avoid the puddle in his path, revealing his surviving consciousness of everyday behaviours and the irony of the situation, removing the life of a healthy man, fundamentally no different from the others present.

I’ve always wondered why people are executed first thing in the morning: apparently it results from a combination of legal requirements, minimisation of turmoil for the victim, avoidance of public protest, and time for the aftermath. Here, we are introduced to an eerie atmosphere and ominous mood, with “a sickly light, like yellow tinfoil” illuminating the yard, followed by the feeling of almost unbelievable relief once breakfast arrives and it’s all over – despite the overwhelming finality of the act, the hanging itself is brief, and the onlookers spend the majority of the day preoccupied with lighter things, the execution quickly forgotten. I associated this release of tension with the feeling that the ‘job’ is done, the same way colleagues might go out for a drink together after a day’s work, but a friend of mine interpreted that they wished to forget the horror of the execution by focusing on other things (a bit like the conviviality of the reception after the ordeal of a funeral service). Orwell leaves us on this note: even after the most extreme punishment, life goes on, at least for those not subjected to execution themselves. We allow ourselves to treat human life as negligible once we legislate and formalise taking it away.

n  Politics and the English Languagen ★★★★☆

“Since you don’t know what Fascism is, how can you struggle against Fascism? One need not swallow such absurdities as this, but one ought to recognise that the present political chaos is connected with the decay of language, and that one can probably bring about some improvement by starting at the verbal end…Political language…is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind. One cannot change this all in a moment, but one can at least change one’s own habits, and from time to time one can even…send some worn-out and useless phrase…into the dustbin where it belongs.” (p.120)

Here Orwell considers the major faults of his contemporaries in the use of English, the murkiness introduced by newer linguistic trends, and the dangers of political language used for rhetorical and opportunistic ends.

First I think I should consider Orwell’s most specific linguistic complaints.

Thankfully many of the worn-out metaphors he cites (p.106) are either obsolete or have fallen into the ‘dead’ category (i.e. they’re so ubiquitous that the image presented does not register). On the other hand, it’s possible that if such a piece were written today, new metaphors would form the same gripe. (Mixed metaphors, then and now, can be highly entertaining, but generally fail to make serious writing evocative.) Orwell is very direct about his interpretation: it shows that they are “not interested in what they are saying”, though I would think this most applies to metaphors whose subjects don’t fit, rather than commonality. However, I don’t agree with all his points about diction and word choice: I hardly think words like ‘basic’ and ‘primary’ can be considered pretentious diction – I can see where Orwell is coming from, but he takes it too far on some points.

One point I must strongly disagree on, regardless of linguistic changes over the years, is his opposition to foreign loan words – they add an educated air to a piece, which perhaps Orwell resents, but may provide a considered nuance or reference to the writer’s point in context, and not all foreign words or phrases have direct English equivalents (especially German compound words, which would generally form the clunky, semi-nonsensical phrases which Orwell also finds objectionable). Any failure to understand from the less educated can be remedied with a footnote or, in today’s world, even a Google search. Orwell complains they are ‘vague’ where I would argue quite the opposite. Unlike many classic authors, Orwell had no linguistic background himself, and as an ancient historian myself I can’t help but notice his anti-classical tendencies, which I fear may have clouded his perspective on this issue. Ultimately, I feel that complex language is what allows people to gain eloquence and education from what they read – there’s no harm in one or two points in a written work that need looking up, and indeed, I find myself in that place with some of Orwell’s more dated references. Anyone who can parse out a foreign loan word will understand it, and others can simply learn it, in the same way everyone works to broaden their vocabulary and cultural understanding. I fear that those who are unwilling to do this have little business reading such literature in the first place, at least not before they’ve accustomed themselves to that level.

I agree that there is significant social damage caused when language is allowed to dissolve. This essay places much emphasis on the ‘overcomplicating’ of writing by Orwell’s contemporaries, as a way of waffling (i.e. saying a lot while saying nothing), or to obfuscate whatever point is actually being made. I fear I may also be guilty of overphrasing myself (indeed, even in these reviews), especially with regard to verbal phrases, which I would argue accord delicacy to writing and are not redundant, but I will have to be wary of this from now on. However, I fear he may have let his hatred of the intelligentsia get in the way here: a lot of his complaints are typical of academic and/or theoretical writing. That’s not to say this area is above criticism: the sweeping statements accompanied by theoretical terms can give an air of authority where none is warranted, while allowing the author to leave their remarks unexplained: the onus ends up on you, the reader, to justify the statement yourself, or to feel stupid if you don’t understand or are inclined to disagree. This is most true when the critic is an expert or intellectual authority figure.

However, that’s not to say all writing need be totally direct: I feel general statements are fine, as long as you elaborate on what you actually mean. This seems to me the best way to make your overarching point clearly while avoiding glibness, a higher level of expression used while, as Orwell would say, saying what you actually mean. It also allows room for theoretical discussions to take place – just because an argument is not expressed in wholly ‘concrete’ terms doesn’t mean it is meaningless; again, I worry this prejudice may be linked to Orwell’s hatred of academics.

However, I must put my particular gripes aside and focus on the true subject of this piece: political language. On this issue Orwell’s points have aged rather better, and I think most readers will find him sound regardless of their own views going in. I see how triumphant language (including the word ‘triumphant’) can be used politically for self-glorification, and the same tactic used to vilify the chosen ‘enemy’. However, this is not always unwarranted if political leaders wish to alert the public to the real dangers at stake. For instance, people have probably overused the term ‘fascism’, then and now, but one culprit is the actual pertinence of the ideology and its appeal, then and now. It’s true that people ‘twist’ weightier words like this, and do the same thing on the other end with ‘democracy’ and ‘freedom’, easily according their writing a powerful rhetorical verve while invoking concepts with no objective shared meaning in their audience. (Conversely, the euphemistic renaming of atrocities and outrages, p.115, is equally worrying for the opposite end.) On this point, where such serious issues are at stake, I’m more inclined to agree with his earlier call for specificity (p.111). There’s certainly the risk of trying too hard to seem lofty, either in formal academic writing or messages to the general public, and, just as he warns others, he should be careful not to over-generalise – this is the area where his points are by far the most effective.

Although I obviously don’t agree with all his points, no one can deny that Orwell’s English works. Few writers compete with him for clarity and direction, and his style certainly falls in line with his socialistic goal of accessibility and appeal to a general audience. Reading this piece, I felt that some of his complaints must be even more pertinent today, but perhaps we better remember the elegant writers of the past, and bear witness ourselves to deteriorating standards today, resulting in an imbalanced view. What we can gain most from this piece is a reminder of the true purpose of language – not to aggrandise the speaker, or twist the truth of a matter, but to express ourselves, communicate with one another, and, above all, to find the strength gained from mutual understanding.

The power of a pen and a mind unapologetically free.

It had been long since I read something by Orwell and I somehow craved for an honest prose.

Such an encounter with Orwell was like sitting with him face to face and letting him describe all he thought while writing his masterpieces. A much needed confrontation with a writer as raw as him.

“When I sit down to write a book, I do not say to myself, 'I am going to produce a work of art.' I write it because there is some lie that I want to expose, some fact to which I want to draw attention, and my initial concern is to get a hearing.”