Nineteen Eighty Four : Big Brother is Watching You!
The Classic Novel 1984 By George Orwell
By setting his novel nearly forty years ahead of the time he was writing it, George Orwell was giving a warning about the future. As he constantly emphasized when writing about Nineteen Eighty Four, it was not to be taken as a prophecy but as a picture of what could happen if not actively prevented. The sense of unease is established immediately in the first sentence by the clocks striking thirteen; this is later explained by the fact that a twenty-four hour clock is in use, but the sinister associations of thirteen, and the tradition that a clock striking thirteen is a sign that something is wrong, set the atmosphere from the beginning. The following paragraphs establish the harsh dullness of the physical conditions of life, the constant sense of being watched via the telescreen, and the overriding force of Big Brother’s image. The physical appearance of Big Brother very strongly suggests Stalin, as do many of the elements of his regime and his methods of keeping power. Goldstein’s appearance is modelled on Trotsky, and in his role as the former subordinate whose differences of political theory later made him his former leader’s enemy, there are also clear similarities with Trotsky (whose origin, like Goldstein’s, was Jewish). Yet the character of Goldstein also draws on elements of the life of Andres Nin, who had been the leader of the POUM in Spain, with whom Orwell had fought. Nin came to believe that Stalin had betrayed the principles of the revolution, and he was killed by Russian agents; as Goldstein was said to have done, he left a document setting out his political beliefs and principles.
An Extract from Nineteen Eighty Four
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-five, 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 current 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.
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