1984 is not an easy read. The world it depicts is desolate, the ending bleak. Indeed, as the book relentlessly shatters every last one of its protagonist’s (and with it the reader’s) hopes, one may legitimately ask whether its gloom does...
more1984 is not an easy read. The world it depicts is desolate, the ending bleak. Indeed, as the book
relentlessly shatters every last one of its protagonist’s (and with it the reader’s) hopes, one may
legitimately ask whether its gloom does not defeat the “political purpose” that Orwell himself
called one of his reasons for writing. Doesn’t a book in which every way out of the wretchedness
is methodically walled shut discourage rather than encourage political activism? Where is the
crack where the possibility of another ending, and with it the will to resist, could take hold?
Starting out from these questions, I develop two different arguments – both heavily indebted
to the work of the German philosopher Theodor W. Adorno (who himself never wrote about
1984). At first, I argue that the above diagnosis is right, that indeed, 1984 leaves no room for
the possibility of another ending. Orwell mercilessly destroys every last glimmer of hope until
there is nothing left to hold onto, Winston’s final defeat but the logical conclusion in a logic that
is inescapable. Yet it would be wrong to conclude that because it doesn’t provide any easy
answer, 1984 involuntarily sides with the gloom. Following Adorno, I claim that the
opposite is true: that precisely by facing the horror in all its inexorability and refusing to release
the tension until the bitter end, Orwell holds on to the possibility of a better world. Drawing
mainly from Adorno’s writings on Samuel Beckett, and from his reflections on exaggeration and
normalcy, I argue that 1984 is a call to action precisely because in it, all action is stultified,
that it is by portraying a world that is all grey that Orwell saves the colors. The very worst that
1984 depicts shines a glaring light on the bad that is happening now (in Orwell’s now, and in
ours), the shock it produces a wake-up call to stand up and fight before it is too late.
In a second part, I attempt another possible reading that partially challenges the initial
diagnosis. Without disqualifying the earlier analysis, I claim that in the midst of the utter
bleakness, and of Winston’s seemingly inescapable doom, there are, in 1984, some tiny flickers
that even the ending cannot completely erase. Inspired by Adorno’s philosophy of the
nonidentical, I look at instances where – to use Adorno’s language – the nonidentical breaks
into all-consuming identity: through the look on someone’s face, the song of a bird, Winston’s
dreams, and maybe most importantly, what O’Brien contemptuously calls “human nature”
and what Winston experiences as “the mute protest in your own bones” – an “ancestral
memory that things had once been different”, and that therefore they could be again.
Orwell admittedly does a thorough job of showing how human nature can be brutalized into
submission, ancestral memory silenced. Yet by allowing these infinitely small reprieves in the
suffocating uniformity, he also shows where the cracks are, where resistance slumbers, and most
importantly, what we, in our nominally free world where Big Brother is not yet all-powerful,
must more than anything protect and strengthen: nonidentity, difference, diversity, and the ability
and will to fight for a different ending.