I know, I’m late to the party.
Somehow I had managed to get to my forties without reading any Orwell. Seeking to remedy this, I ordered a book to be picked up at my local library: 1984.
Except, it wasn’t what I wanted. It was what I ordered, granted, but not what I wanted. There is no way it can be called a blonde moment, and hopefully we can’t put it down to age, but what I meant to order was Animal Farm. But anyway, 1984 it was.
It’s a good book, but I don’t have to tell you that, seeing as though you’ve all already read it. Somehow Orwell made that bleak, totalitarian world attractive enough for me to finish it within a few days.
There are some things that we take for granted in popular culture today, without ever being aware of their source: I have never watched a single episode of Big Brother, but I have seen several episodes of Room 101. I knew of the link to the book of the former, but not of the latter.
The book ends with little hope on offer, as O’Brien tells Smith:
If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face-forever.
And, in underlining further future plans, he informs him that they are going to abolish the orgasm. That’s going too far.
Stop the world-I want to get off.