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1984
nineteen eighty-four a novelGeorge Orwell

NINETEEN EIGHTY-FOUR

RICARTHURBLAIRwas born in British India in 1903, the son of a Civil Servant working in the Opium Department. He attended Eton, but his family could not pay for university, so in 1922 he joined the Indian Imperial Police. He came to hate imperialism, and when he returned to England in 1927 he decided to resign and become a writer. In the spring of 1928, he moved to Paris, hoping to make a living as a freelance writer. His lack of success reduced Blair to taking menial jobs as a dishwasher for a few weeks, principally in a fashionable hotel (the Hotel X), which he later described in his fi rst book,

Down and Out in Paris and

London. Ill and penniless, he moved back to England in 1929. Writing what became Burmese Days, he made frequent forays into tramping as part of what had by now become a book project on the life of the poorest people in so ciety.

Blair completed

Down and Out

in 1932, and it was published early the next year. Blair adopted the pen name George Orwell just before

Down and Out

was published. In early 1936, Orwell was commissioned to write an account of poverty among the working class in the depressed areas of northern Engla nd, which appeared in 1937 as

The Road to Wigan Pier.

He was taken into many

houses, simply saying that he wanted to see how people lived. Soon after completing his research for the book, Orwell married Eileen O"Shaughn essy. In December 1936, Orwell travelled to Spain to fi ght for the Republican side against Fascists. Orwell sympathetically describes the egalitarian spiri t of revolutionary Barcelona when he arrived in

Homage to Catalonia.

His experiences, in particular his and his wife"s narrow escape from the Communist purges in Barcelona in June 1937, made him a life-long anti-Stalinist an d a fi rm believer in what he termed Democratic Socialism. Orwell took a job at the BBC Eastern Service in 1941, supervising broadc asts to India aimed at stimulating Indian interest in the war effort. He was wel l aware that he was engaged in propaganda, and wrote that he felt like "an or ange that"s been trodden on by a very dirty boot". Despite the good salary, he resigned in September 1943. In 1944, Orwell fi nished his anti-Stalinist allegory Animal Farm. The royalties from Animal Farm were to provide Orwell with a comfortable income for the fi rst time in his adult life. During 1945, while Orwell was sick in Cologne, Eileen died in Newcastle during surgery. For the next four years Orwell mixed journalistic work with writing his best-known work,

Nineteen Eighty-Four,

which was published in 1949. In October 1949, shortly before his death, he married Sonia Brownell.

GEORGE ORWELL

Nineteen Eighty-Four

Title: Nineteen Eighty-Four

Author: George Orwell (pseudonym of Eric Blair) (1903-1950) A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook, typeset by readng.com eBook No.: 0100021.txt

Language: English

Date fi rst posted: August 2001

Date most recently updated: August 2001

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PART ONE

Chapter 1

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him. The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-fi ve, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric curr ent was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran. Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of fi gures which had something to do with the production of pig-iron. The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable. The instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off completely. He moved over to the window: a smallish, frail fi gure, the meagreness of his body merely emphasized by the blue over- alls which were the uniform of the party. His hair was very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by coarse soap and blunt razor blades and the cold of the winter that had just ended. Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered everywhere. The black- moustachio"d face gazed down from every commanding corner. There was one on the house-front immediately opposite. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption said, while the dark eyes looked deep into Winston"s own. Down at street level another poster, torn at one corner, flapped fi tfully in the wind, alternately covering and uncovering the single word INGSOC. In the far distance a helicopter skimmed down between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a bluebottle, and darted away again with a curving flight. It was the police patrol, snooping into people"s windows. The patrols did not matter, however. Only the

Thought Police mattered.

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