1984 by George Orwell
My writing ability multiplied manifold cannot play second fiddle to Orwellian portrayal. So, I am not reviewing the book here. I am here to congratulate Orwell and join him in the belligerent satisfaction of outsizing all literary yardsticks of evocative portrayals. Dystopian novel it is; but, the dystopia is so intense that a person not in excruciating physical pain and with reasoning ability intact will call our world a utopia. Emotional pain does not count because that can be treated (unlearnt).
The book paints a world that is a brick kiln of emotions. Everything other than body and brain is vaporized. That is the fate of the citizenry of Oceania. The book denigrates dignity of emotion. Whoever believes in that idea has messed up with his organism.
The book explodes continuously, and you cannot but blink uncontrollably. Towards the end, it felt I was reading the book with closed eyes. The horror of the portrayal is so disturbing that you stop empathising with Winston, the protagonist. He is denied his emotional core, and in its place is planted a tarry brick of sensations.
The novel is treading on the brink of emotional precipice. You are bound to fall. But before you do, you must watch leaping out of you the idea of eternity of love and loyalty, of hope, of promise, of human ties---like rats deserting a sinking ship. When you fall, you are devoid of any inner decoration. If not effaced, your being is charred to half its essence.
There are other aspects to the novel: Newspeak, Goldstein's book or the book, reality control. Don't judge Orwell by the contents of this book; the book helps the author avoid being preachy first hand. All said and done, George Orwell has sopped up the reader's awe of literature that's emotive. Do authors still deal with emotions? Maybe, they do for its therapeutic value.
The book paints a world that is a brick kiln of emotions. Everything other than body and brain is vaporized. That is the fate of the citizenry of Oceania. The book denigrates dignity of emotion. Whoever believes in that idea has messed up with his organism.
The book explodes continuously, and you cannot but blink uncontrollably. Towards the end, it felt I was reading the book with closed eyes. The horror of the portrayal is so disturbing that you stop empathising with Winston, the protagonist. He is denied his emotional core, and in its place is planted a tarry brick of sensations.
The novel is treading on the brink of emotional precipice. You are bound to fall. But before you do, you must watch leaping out of you the idea of eternity of love and loyalty, of hope, of promise, of human ties---like rats deserting a sinking ship. When you fall, you are devoid of any inner decoration. If not effaced, your being is charred to half its essence.
There are other aspects to the novel: Newspeak, Goldstein's book or the book, reality control. Don't judge Orwell by the contents of this book; the book helps the author avoid being preachy first hand. All said and done, George Orwell has sopped up the reader's awe of literature that's emotive. Do authors still deal with emotions? Maybe, they do for its therapeutic value.
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