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George Orwell, born Eric Arthur Blair (1903–1950) was a teacher, novelist and journalist. He also served his country, including in the Home Guard during the Second World War. He later became the literary editor of the Tribune and wrote for the Observer and Manchester Evening News. The author of nine books, Orwell is best known for the allegorical Animal Farm (1945) and dystopian satire 1984 (1949). They have gone on to become two of the most influential books of the twentieth century.
‘Orwell was there long, long before me, “ripping the lid off” fine dining and depicting, in unsparing terms, the filth, the language, the subculture, the complete disconnect between what was seen in the dining room and what happened behind the kitchen doors…Down and Out in Paris and London changed my life.’ from Anthony Bourdain’s introduction in this edition
‘The truth in chapters of real life…Extraordinary confessions.’ New Statesman
‘Unforgettable…A masterpiece: the most extraordinary series of vignettes, sketched with terrifying precision, of life deep in the greasy underbelly of destitution.’ Sunday Express
203 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1933
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‘Salope! Salope! How many times have I told you not to squash bugs on the wallpaper? Do you think you’ve bought the hotel, eh? Why can’t you throw them out of the window like everyone else? Putain! Salope!’ The woman on the third floor: ‘Vache!’
Quarrels, and the desolate cries of street hawkers, and the shouts of children chasing orange-peel over the cobbles, and at night loud singing and the sour reek of the refuse-carts, made up the atmosphere of the street.
It was a very narrow street—a ravine of tall, leprous houses, lurching towards one another in queer attitudes, as though they had all been frozen in the act of collapse. All the houses were hotels and packed to the tiles with lodgers, mostly Poles, Arabs and Italians.
At the foot of the hotels were tiny bistros, where you could be drunk for the equivalent of a shilling. On Saturday nights about a third of the male population of the quarter was drunk. There was fighting over women, and the Arab navvies who lived in the cheapest hotels used to conduct mysterious feuds, and fight them out with chairs and occasionally revolvers.
At night the policemen would only come through the street two together. It was a fairly rackety place. And yet amid the noise and dirt lived the usual respectable French shopkeepers, bakers and laundresses and the like, keeping themselves to themselves and quietly piling up small fortunes. It was quite a representative Paris slum.