Sitting on my shelf for over 10 years was a volume I had never read. Called just George Orwell, it was the Heinemann edition of his collected novels. After reading and being impressed all over again by 1984, I took this volume up to see what Orwell’s other novels were like. I was ready for the autobiographical element, the interruption of narrative for discussion of issues that interested the author, the exact observation each book was based on. What took my breath away was the empathy and powerful emotion conveyed by the writing. Each of the books, just as in 1984, was deeply disturbing and moving.
Orwell’s first published novel was Burmese Days, which came out in 1935, obviously based on his experiences in the Indian Imperial Police. It’s the tragedy of Flory, an administrator in Upper Burma, a man passionately interested in music and literature forced into close and humiliating promiscuity with a group of bored, insensitive middle class officials whose main activity is drinking, and who keep their self respect by demeaning the native people under their care. Flory, an intensely lonely man, falls in love with an unsuitable woman who comes to reject him because he is not like all the others, and destroys himself. The observation of the effect that imperialism had on rulers and ruled is exactly observed. Orwell always wrote from personal observation, and was careful to generalise only from this material, which puts him in a class quite separate from most intellectuals. I found the climax of the tale very disturbing. The evil prosper and the good are punished, as in the Somerset Maugham story and that’s how you know there’s a good bit of fact among the fiction.
A Clergyman’s Daughter was published in 1936, an incredibly exact observation of a particular type of the rural clergy which Orwell had obviously studied at first hand. As well as a picture of life in a small rural community, it is also a creditable attempt to understand the frustrations and numbing sense of duty that motivate Dorothy Hare, the rector’s daughter of the title. A sure psychological study, with perhaps a too convenient plot device to throw Dorothy into the society of the destitute of London, A Clergyman’s Daughter has much to say on the role of gossip in small towns, the many faces of selfishness and the fact that so many people deny themselves any chance at all in life.
Keep the Aspidistra Flying, published 1937, is yet another slice of Orwell’s life, the story of a would-be writer and could-be Eric Blair called Gordon Comstock who turns his back on the chance of making his way in an advertising agency and embraces poverty in the form of tending a seedy second hand bookshop after bringing out a slender volume of affected poetry which falls dead from the press. Gordon annoys his few remaining friends and his lover, and irritated this reader at least, by adopting a self righteous air of complaint and rancour throughout the length of the book. Work in a bookshop was something that Orwell did but thankfully he was never a sniveller as is Gordon.
Coming Up for Air, 1939, is in many ways Orwell’s best novel. It is in three parts, the first a scathing description of suburbia, the second a lyrical evocation of an earlier, more provincial Britain much closer to nature, and the third a comical/tragical story of how the hero fares in trying to recapture this past. One is reminded that Orwell was not just an ernest social critic but a satirist, not just a depicter of ‘ordinary’ life but a poet. As usual all these elements are mixed in together, which is what makes Orwell so distinctive a writer, but also so great a writer.
Animal Farm, 1945, is a classic fable which tells the sad story of how every revolution contains the seed of the next one, because a successful revolutionary is also a reactionary. Although based on Stalin’s takeover of the Russian Revolution, every country in the world has a similar story, of idealistic politicians who have to ‘compromise’, of how dreams give way to ‘practicalities’, of how revered figures are really motivated by egotism, of how big a sinner the most admired saint is. The biggest trap is happiness, because the animals are better off under Napoleon – depending on how you define ‘better off’.
1984 (1949) describes a world where people are controlled by a modern version of the Roman Empire’s bread and circuses, and where the controlling members of that society are themselves controlled by someone or something called Big Brother, through television screens in every room which both supervise and condition behaviour. Those who worry about government databases which contain too much information about citizens, or devices which track their activities on the internet, will worry even more after they read it. It is, of course, overstated, a nightmare, but also an exact description of a tendency which is quite prevalent in our own society. It contains the despairing thought that any man can be controlled by any other, simply because he is only an animal with nerve ends and neuroses, and control simply means finding what torture to use, as was the case with the Catholic Church’s Inquisition. It is not about Stalin, nor is it science fiction, but a description of life in every country of the world today, and a warning of how people can become less than human.
How surprising that George Orwell, after excelling as a social critic, a reviewer, an essayist and as it turned out as an autobiographer, should also be a major novelist as well, a man who wrote about himself and the world he knew in such a way that the issues he touched on can be seen to be just as important for us as they were for him.