Winston stopped reading, chiefly in order to appreciate the fact that he was reading, in comfort and safety. He was alone: no telescreen, no ear at the keyhole, no nervous impulse to glance over hisshoulder or cover the page with his hand. The sweet summer air played against his cheek. From somewhere far away there floated the faint shouts of children; in the room itself there was no sound except the insect voice of the clock. He settled deeper into the armchair and put up his feet on the fender. It was bliss, it was eternity. Suddenly, as one sometimes does with a book of which one knows that one will ultimately read and reread every word, he opened it at a different place and found himself at the third chapter. He went on reading:
—George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four, 1949
Being familiar with NINETEEN EIGHTY-FOUR as I am, I really suggest that Winston savor this moment.
Have you ever read Zamyatin’s “We”? It’s a major precedent to 1984—I believe Orwell openly cited it as inspiration—but with much more Russian mysticism instead of English realism.
I love “We”, which, along with Samuel Butler’s “Erewhon”, I consider the greatest dystopian novel ever written.
I’ve become a pretty big fan of Orwell is recent years, but it’s actually more for his earlier, pre-“Animal Farm” work. “Keep the Aspidistra Flying” is a great book. And “Homage to Catalonia” is obviously a non-fiction masterpiece.
I like “Nineteen Eighty-Four” a lot too. Though, I remember reading a funny anecdote about Martin Amis, who apparently gave up on the novel because the phrase “ruggedly handsome features” appears on the first page (which made him conclude that Orwell was a second-rate writer). He did return to the novel eventually, however, and admitted that it improves. Ha!