The first thing to know about this novel is that the author gained the full support and blessing of the Orwell Estate to write this feminist retelling of 1984 from the perspective of Julia. Newman is faithful to the original, but also expands the original narrative in amazing, thoughtful, and satisfying ways. Expect more homage than pastiche.
The writing is bright, crisp, and engaging. Where Orwell's 1984 appears black and white in its purposefully bleak depiction of state-enforced drudgery, Newman's 1984 seems to be in full color. The author presents forced conformity in vibrant, alive, human terms, and introduces elements of rebellion and resistance early on. This is the 1984 I would have enjoyed having as a companion piece when we read Orwell in high school.
There are many subtleties the reader may glean from the narrative. The description of the "plot machinery" for books is immediately reminiscent of Chatbot GPT, a thread connecting the original story to today's concerns about AI. We can actually well imagine the idea of a machine that writes books.
The focus, of course, is about how the story changes when we flip the view from Winston to Julia, and what can we learn from seeing the same story from a different center? How might we have underestimated Julia? This version of Julia is capable and daring. She fiercely protects her individuality from homogenization, and she knows how to game the system. One gets the impression that there is no problem that she cannot solve, no dare she would back down from. She is Hell on Wheels in an environment which believes both that Hell has been eradicated, and that all fire and ambition have been excised from society.
Julia sees the absurdity of the roles the people play: working hard to affect blank faces, as if pretending to be robots, while relying on robots to randomize their work, and displaying fake effusive enthusiasm for the state.
Again, drawing subtle parallels to modern day, the author implies comparison of Inner Party members to the Billionaire Class, those who try to convince us that they've reached positions of power due to their ingenuity and skills, rather than their inherited wealth and access to nepotism. In contrast, Julia does have actual skills, and she knows how to use them to her advantage, how proximity to power can be leveraged.
As crafty, intelligent, and savvy as Julia is, she is as vulnerable to fear as anyone else under such constant surveillance and forced enthusiasm compliance. Early in the novel, the author relates an episode, which quickly rockets from mild concern to heart-hammering frightening consequences. It's clear that no amount of bravado can prepare one to witness the brutality of jack-booted thugs invested with authority.
Julia experienced a devastatingly painful betrayal very early in her life, so no level of tough exterior can insulate her from the fear that it might happen again. It's as if her subconscious is engaged in prescient foreshadowing. This is another example of how Newman's version of 1984 both expands on the core principles of the original, and widens the view. Not only do we get the benefit of valuable backstory, but also we see many more groups of people represented: people of color, various ages of people, gay people. These folks seem to have been missing in Oceania before. We even see a little of the stories of the wounded veterans of the useless wars being waged continuously.
The author demonstrates that the powerful always pit one group against another as a form of deflection. The hypocrisy of political boogeyman-making is added to the hypocrisy of oligarchy packaging itself as egalitarianism. Capitalists and communists, the privileged and the poor, the East and the West, all demonize each other to their own detriment, never thinking to join forces against the real troublemakers of the world.
The beauty of Newman's version of 1984 is that the author includes a shocking number of people flouting the cult-like rules, and loads of clandestine activities of all kinds. Humanity resists both oppression and repression. The greatest displays of passion are those which require a bit of risk. In this story, Julia further reflects this boldness in one other important way: she engages in emancipated sex. We are accustomed to seeing female characters who incorporate sex in pursuit of a relationship, in search of love, or even as a tool of revenge or jealousy. Julia has no need of such pretenses or moral justifications. She has sex for the simplest reason of all: because she wants to. Society has names for a woman like that, and most are pejorative. If a man wants to engage in serial affairs, unencumbered by obligation or responsibility, he is called a "Ladies' Man," a "Playa," or at worst, maybe a Lothario. He is not called a slut, a whore, or a nymphomaniac. (Only recently has society come up with "man whore" which is also unsatisfying. It's like saying female serial killer.)
Julia is in control of her liasons, deciding on whom, when, and where, and she is unburdened by guilt or shame. She seizes real agency in an otherwise stifling environment. Her only concerns are about not getting caught, and about whether the sex will be good enough to justify the risk. It's almost a cost/benefit analysis, the way she's separated sex from emotional attachment. Winston, on the other hand, has more complicated motivations. He initially associates Julia with the State, and conflates his desire for her with his desire to screw the system. It's a little disturbing, the rage he funnels into his trysts with Julia. It sets up a harbinger of dangerous collision.
The narrative continues to zip along with ever-increasing indulgent highs, and equally increasing and unsettling lows, like a roller coaster that picks up speed in the turns. Then suddenly, with a jolt, we find ourselves firmly and uncomfortably in Julia's shoes. She has made impossible choices before, and now it seems she will have to do so again, partially because one impossible choice always opens up a door for another. It is this predicament which shatters our illusions about truth, goodness, and sacrifice.
Julia undergoes a hands-on education in the supremacy and surprising complexity of hate. It is the main driver of everything that happens, if you think about it. A cursory look around will confirm it. Love, compassion, empathy, sympathy, those are all well behind the leader in the race to rebuild society. And it is always being rebuilt. In this context, Peace isn't real. You must always be at war, one way or another. It solidifies the us vs. them, creates opportunities to shape public opinion, and focuses discontent on a group other than the powerful. First there was Sun Tzu's The Art of War; now we have The Art of Hate. It was always there. We just didn't recognize our own invisible institutional manifesto.
Ironically, with his misanthropy and misogyny, Winston probably could have learned to deeply hate, too. But, he is too far removed from actual discomfort to align with revolutionaries. He is all bluster, more interested in complaining than taking any action to change anything. He's the annoying political centrist, and quite unfeeling about the plight of others. Due to his casual acts of cruelty, it becomes easier for Julia to hate Winston. But, it does not get easier to play her role. Julia can feel how slipping into hate is a kind of erasure, a gradual loss of self. As Julia experiences the increasingly deleterious effects of hate saturation, the city prepares for Hate Week. (Lest we feel superior to this concept, ask yourself if you've ever seen a Hate Parade. You have, even if you didn't call it that.)
The author takes us inside the atmosphere of a people hyped up and manipulated into being violently angry at their perceived enemies. The power of gathering together to protest, or even riot, is an intoxicating heady atmosphere, one that Julia revels in. At this point, Julia still has not fully committed to the idea of hate; it intrigues her more than it entices her. She observes what one might call punishment addicts, people who can't get enough of hate and don't think that bad actors are getting enough of what's coming to them. These anger obsessives have lost their sense of self-awareness and are incapable of recognizing instances of projection or deflection. This may well be the author's social commentary on current cult-like followings. Hidden within that message is another warning: against Eugenics, which is always a feature of autocratic regimes. Newman's illustration of this authoritarian government is realistic: so repressive that it disappears dissenters, and tries to control every aspect of citizen life, down to their very thoughts.
As we approach the climactic tensile point we already know is coming, the writing becomes both more taut and somehow richer in depth. The philosophical questions become more boiled down and more desperate. Whom do you trust when there are cruel liars on all sides? The answer is obvious: no one. The system is unreliable, and therefore, untenable. Unfortunately, this does not preclude suffering. If the torture scenes in Room 101 traumatized you the first time, they will do so again in this one. It's an amazing symmetry to witness the torture of both Winston and Julia, to see that famous critical moment played out in detail.
The wild card would be the ending. If you could wrap up the story any way you wanted, what would you choose? I won't give anything away, except to say that Julia is resilient, smart, and brave, and that the ending is satisfying in ways you had not expected. This is the kind of book you re-read to see what you might have missed.
Thank you to NetGalley and to Mariner Books, an imprint of Harper Collins, for providing an early copy of this novel for review.