When I decided to read 1984 from Orwell, I didn’t expect this much. The beginning is slow, with some plots that are there just to goad your mind into reading it further. Moreover, you keep reading, hoping that the world is going to change, or the flowers will start blossoming.
And then the twist came. I was so convinced that something would change that, giving that nothing changed end actually surprised me. I got angry. Why can’t someone think for himself? What kind of society is that which marks the individuals as heretics? Why can’t there be freedom?
„Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four. If
that is granted, all else follows.“
These words resonated through me whole time while I was reading it. I understand now. There are two kinds of freedom a human being has – freedom to be a human and the freedom of speech. What is a human being when you take humanity from him? That is what makes us different from animals. One should not let this be taken from him.
Society must obey the laws. Those are the rules we must follow in order to live together. In the world of “Nineteen-eighty four|” there is only one rule – you must obey them. You don’t have the freedom. You are not individual. You are just a cell of a larger organism called the Party. Luckily, for us, we are too human for this to happen.
The end of the book was very painful for me. I felt sorry for the only person who sees the Party for who (or is it whom, I tend to get confused with this one) they truly are. They torture him; make him believe that two and two are five, that he is wrong, insane; that his memory is not accurate, only an imagination. And at the end, they make him betray the person he loves.
‘’Under the spreading chestnut tree
I sold you and you sold me“
I have to admit – I didn’t really understand this line when I first read it. Why did those men cried when they heard it? I think that Orwell just didn’t want us to understand them until the end. They are the core of the whole book. It hit me in the end. It was a reminder for the fallen ones.
Actually, it brought tears to my eyes. Well played Orwell, well played.
You know what’s bothering me actually? I like reading books. I have a fine collection in my queue, just waiting for me to read them. And all of them are classics – H. G. Wells „War of the worlds“, Robert Louis Stevenson „The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde“, and again H. G. Wells „The Time machine“. And it bothers me when people look at me and say: “Oh, great, just another one who started reading classics. We are past that already, we know everything.” Just save it. There is no need to mock me because I didn’t read these books until now. Remember that you were like me once.