English Literature books summary

he may have committed facecrime, the unconscious betrayal of unorthodox

opinions via facial expressions or tics.

Parsons tells Winston another horrid story about his disgusting

children, and they are signalled to return to work.

Chapter 6

Summary:

Winston is writing in his diary about an encounter he had three years

ago with a prostitute. The memory is embarrassing and difficult for him,

and he feels an almost irresistible urge to scream obscenities or burst out

into some violent action to relieve his tension.

Of course he doesn't give in to the urge, and steels himself to

continue writing. His writing is interlaced with the memory of Katharine,

his wife, to whom he would technically still be married‹unless she were

dead‹although they are separated, because the Party does not permit

divorce. Katharine was physically attractive but, Winston soon discovered,

completely brainwashed by the Party, even in matters of sex. According to

the Party, there should be no pleasure in sex, which was an act intended to

beget children for the future of the Party. Katharine bought into this

ideology to the point where sex was an outright unpleasant act for Winston;

since no children were conceived, the couple were allowed to separate.

Perhaps because of his experience with Katharine, Winston believes that

none of the women in the Party have retained their natural sex drive.

Winston continues to write about his experience with the prostitute,

who had led him into a dark room with a bed. When he turned up the light,

he discovered to his horror that the woman was old, at least 50. But he

proceeded anyway.

Despite having gotten it all out, Winston does not feel any less

inclined to shout obscenities.

Chapter 7

Summary:

Once again Winston is writing in his diary. "If there is hope," he

writes, "it lies in the proles." Winston reasons that the proles are so

numerous that if they simply woke up they could bring down the Party. But

would they ever wake up? He remembers a day when he had been walking and

heard a great cry of anger; in hope, he hurried to the spot to see what was

happening. As it turned out, a stall that had been selling saucepans had

run out, and the disappointed women were momentarily united in their

despair. But, to Winston's disgust, rather than remaining united and

surging up against the source of their misery, they turned on each other

instead, fighting over the pans.

Winston reflects on the Party's attitude toward the proles, itself an

exercise in doublethink: while the Party claims to have liberated the

proles from the horrendous bonds of capitalism, it also teaches that the

proles are inferior and must be kept in line with a few simple rules. But

in general, the Party leaves the proles alone, to live as they have always

lived, outside of the Party's strict moral and behavioral dictates.

What Winston is not sure of is whether life before the Revolution was

really that much worse than it is in 1984. He looks at a children's history

book which he has borrowed from Mrs. Parsons, reading a passage about life

before the Revolution, when most people were poor and miserable, and all

money and power were concentrated into the hands of a very few evil persons

known as capitalists. Yet he can never be sure how much of it is lies; he

only has an instinctive feeling in his bones that life doesn't have to be

as miserable as it is, and that there must have been something better at

one time. Life, in fact, not only belies the constant stream of Party

propaganda, it does not even approach the Party's avowed ideal of a

militarily ordered society in which every moment of every day is a

triumphant struggle for the principles of Ingsoc.

Considering the regular erasure of the past, Winston once again

recalls the one time (mentioned earlier) when he had held concrete evidence

of the falsification of history. In the mid-1960s, three of the last

surviving original leaders of the Revolution, Jones, Aaronson and

Rutherford, had been arrested, vanished temporarily, and then had returned

to make spectacular confessions of treachery. Afterwards, they had been

pardoned, reinstated in the Party and given hollow but important-sounding

positions.

Winston had seen them in the Chestnut Street Cafe with a mixture of

fascination at how they embodied history and terror at the certainty of

their imminent destruction. No one sat near them; they sat alone at a table

with an untouched chessboard and glasses of gin. Winston noticed that

Rutherford, once a strong man, looked as though he were breaking up before

his eyes.

A song came over the telescreen: "Under the spreading chestnut tree/ I

sold you and you sold me:/ There lie they, and here lie we/ Under the

spreading chestnut tree." The three men remained motionless, but Winston

saw that Rutherford's eyes were full of tears, and suddenly noticed that

both Aaronson and Rutherford had broken noses.

Shortly after this, they were re-arrested and executed after a second

trial. Five years later, in about 1973, Winston was at his work when among

his assignment-related documents he found part of a page from an earlier

edition of the Times, dated about 10 years earlier, showing a photograph of

Jones, Aaronson and Rutherford at a Party function in New York. At their

trials, the men had confessed to have been in Eurasia consorting with the

enemy on that very date. Clearly the confessions were untrue. Though this

was not in itself surprising, the existence of this piece of paper was

concrete evidence of the Party's action.

Winston carefully calmed himself, then disposed of the evidence

through the memory hole. If it had happened today, he thinks, he would have

kept the photograph; somehow the fact of its existence, the fact that he

had held it in his hand, is reassuring to him. But he knows that because

the past is continually rewritten, the photograph today might not even be

evidence.

Winston does not understand why such an effort is being made to

falsify the past (i.e. the long-term goal). Perhaps, he thinks, he is

crazy; this does not scare him, though. What scares him is that he might be

wrong in thinking the past unchangeable. He picks up the book and looks at

the picture of B.B. on the frontispiece. In a sort of despairing fear,

Winston thinks to himself that the Party will eventually claim that 2 + 2 =

5, and that you would have to believe it; and again he is tormented by the

fear that they might, after all, be right.

But abruptly, his belief in common sense reasserts itself, and he

somehow feels that he is writing his diary to O'Brien. Defiantly, he

defends the truth of the obvious, writing, "Freedom is the freedom to say

that two plus two make four. If that is granted, all else follows."

Chapter 8

Summary:

Winston is walking through the streets, taking a risk in missing his

second evening at the Community Centre in three weeks, but having been

unable to pass up the lovely evening air. He has been walking aimlessly

through the streets, observing the people and their surroundings, which are

equally dilapidated. Identifiable as a Party member by his blue overalls,

he is watched warily by the inhabitants, and reflects that it would be

dangerous to run into the patrols here, since it could draw you to the

Thought Police's attention.

Suddenly there is a commotion and people start bolting indoors;

Winston is warned by a passerby that a bomb is about to fall. He throws

himself down to protect himself against the blast. The bomb falls 200

meters away on a group of houses. He approaches the site and comes upon a

severed human hand, which he kicks into the gutter before turning into a

side street to avoid the crowd.

Winston passes a group of men who are arguing about the Lottery, which

is the one public event the proles really attend to and sink their energy

and powers of calculation into. However, as Winston knows, the big prizes

are awarded to fictitious persons, and only small sums are actually paid

out by the Ministry of Plenty.

Winston walks into a neighborhood which seems familiar; after a short

while he recognizes it as the area where he had purchased his diary,

penholder and ink. He pauses, and sees an old man entering a pub across the

alley. He is suddenly seized with the impulse to try and find out from this

old man what life was like before the Revolution.

He hurries into the pub, creating a bit of a pause in activity, and,

after witnessing an argument between the old man (who demands a pint) and

the barman (who only deals in liters and half-liters), Winston buys the old

man a beer. They sit in a noisy corner near a window and Winston tries to

get the old man to tell him about the past. However, the man latches onto

details that are too small to prove to Winston one way or another whether

the Party histories are true or false.

Winston leaves, thinking sadly that even now, when there are survivors

of the pre-Revolution days, it is impossible to find out whether the big

picture had changed for better or worse. He walks on, not thinking where he

is going, until he stops and realizes that he is outside the junk-shop

where he had bought the diary.

After some hesitation, he judges it safer to enter the shop than

loiter outside of it, and starts to talk with the proprietor, Mr.

Charrington. Winston wanders through the shop, and his attention is caught

by a glass paperweight with a coral inside. Captivated by its beauty,

Winston buys it for $4.00 and puts it into his pocket. The man, cheered by

the money, invites Winston to see an upstairs room. It is a bedroom

furnished with old-fashioned furniture, but most importantly, with no

telescreen. Winston feels a nostalgic security, almost a familiarity with

the room, and the thought flashes through his mind that it might be

possible to rent this room‹though he immediately abandons the notion.

The proprietor shows Winston an engraving of an old church which had

been bombed long ago, St. Clement's Dane. He quotes an old nursery rhyme:

"Oranges and lemons,' say the bells of St. Clement's, You owe me three

farthings,' say the bells of St. Martin's"; he doesn't remember the rhyme

in full, but he does recall the ending: "Here comes a candle to light you

to bed, Here comes a chopper to chop off your head." He talks a little

about the churches in the rhyme; Winston wonders when they had been built,

to what era they belonged.

Winston doesn't buy the engraving, but stays to talk a bit with Mr.

Charrington, seeming somehow to hear the bells of the nursery rhyme in his

head (though he has never actually heard church bells ringing as far as he

remembers). As he leaves, he decides to return to the shop after a month or

so, to buy things and talk to Charrington and maybe rent the room...

He is roused horribly from his reverie by seeing the girl with dark

hair walking towards him. She looks directly at him, then continues on her

way. Paralyzed, Winston realizes that she must be spying on him‹why else

should she be there? He walks in the wrong direction with a pain in his

gut, then turns, and considers killing her with the paperweight. But he

abandons the idea, as well as every other one he considers for trying to

safeguard himself. He simply goes home.

Once there, he takes out his diary but doesn't write anything for a

while as he struggles with his fear and the paralysis it has brought upon

him. He tries to open the diary, to think of O'Brien, but his mind is on

the torture that inevitably falls between capture by the Thought Police and

death (both of which are certain once you have committed thoughtcrime).

He recalls his dream, where O'Brien said that they would meet "in the

place where there is no darkness"; this place, he believes, is the imagined

future. But the face of B.B. drifts into his mind, pushing out O'Brien.

Winston takes a coin out of his pocket, and looks at it, trying to fathom

B.B.'s smile; the three Party slogans ring through his head.

Part 2

Chapter 1

Summary:

On his way to the lavatory one morning, Winston encounters the girl

with dark hair in the corridor. Her right arm is in a sling. As she

approaches, she suddenly trips and falls on her arm, and cries out in pain.

Although Winston regards her as a dangerous enemy, he also feels sorry for

her and helps her up. As he does so, she very discreetly slips a small

piece of paper into his hand, surprising him greatly.

Though he is fired with curiosity, Winston knows he cannot look at the

piece of paper for a while. He goes back to his desk and tosses the slip

casually among the other papers there. As he works, he speculates that the

note could either be some sort of threat or summons or trap from the

Thought Police, or‹and this excites him‹a message from some sort of

underground organization like the Brotherhood.

When he finally gets the chance to look at the note, he is astounded,

because it reads "I love you."

This naturally throws him into an agitation for the rest of the

morning. During lunch he is not even allowed the luxury of temporary

solitude, as Parsons immediately shows up to bore him with details of Hate

Week preparations. After lunch, Winston immerses himself in his work, and

goes to the Community Centre in the evening; he is waiting to be alone in

bed to think.

At last he is alone, and he begins to think about how to meet her. It

would be impossible to repeat that morning's method. He cannot follow her

home because it would entail waiting around outside the Ministry, which

would be bound to be noticed. Sending a letter would be impossible as mail

is routinely opened. The only solution is to sit at a table with her in the

canteen, somewhere in the middle of the room as far as possible from the

telescreens, amidst a buzz of conversation in which the brief exchange of a

few words could go unnoticed.

The next week is torture for Winston: the girl disappears for three

days, during which time he cannot stop thinking about her and worrying that

she has been vaporized or that she has changed her mind. She reappears, but

Winston is unable to sit with her in the canteen, though he tries. The next

day he succeeds, and they form a plan to meet that evening in Victory

Square.

In the Square, Winston sees the girl but must wait until more people

have gathered so as to speak with her unnoticed. Fortunately, the passing

of a convoy of Eurasian prisoners allows Winston and the girl to lose

themselves in a massive crowd of onlookers. They squeeze next to one

another to watch, and the girl subtly gives Winston detailed directions to

a place where they can meet on Sunday afternoon.

They continue to watch the prisoners, and right before they must part,

the girl squeezes Winston's hand.

Chapter 2

Summary:

It is Sunday afternoon. Winston is out in the country after what

sounds like an almost pleasant journey by train. He is early, and comes

across a thick patch of bluebells; he stoops to pick some, and the girl

arrives. She leads him expertly through the woods to a hidden clearing.

They talk a little, then start to kiss, but Winston feels no physical

desire yet because his disbelief and proud joy are too strong.

The girl, Julia, doesn't seem to mind; she sits up and they start to

talk some more. She is brassy and rebellious, even producing some

wonderfully tasty black-market chocolate, though she goes out of her way to

present a fanatically devout front in order to stay safe. She is young, and

Winston doesn't understand why she should be attracted to him; she explains

that it was something in his face, that she could tell he didn't belong,

that he hated the Party.

They leave the clearing and walk around, coming finally to the edge of

the wood. There, Winston has a gradual shock: he recognizes the landscape

as the Golden Country of his dreams. As if to prove it, he asks Julia if

there is a stream nearby, and she replies that there is.

A thrush lands nearby and starts to sing, its song startling in the

stillness. The song is beautiful, original, never quite the same, and

Winston watches and listens with awe. What, he asks himself, makes the bird

sing, if there is no other bird around to listen or respond? Gradually,

however, Winston stops thinking and simply feels the beauty of it. At this

point he kisses Julia and feels that he is ready to make love.

They hasten back to the clearing. Julia turns to him, and just as in

his dream, she defiantly tears off her clothes and flings them aside.

Before doing anything, Winston takes her hands and asks her: has she done

this before? Yes, quite a lot. With Party members? Always, though never

with Inner Party members. Winston is filled with joy at the thought that

the Party is at its foundation corrupt. He tells Julia that he hates purity

and goodness and that he desires corruption; she responds that she ought to

suit him just fine. His final question: does she enjoy the act of sex

itself? When she replies, "I adore it," Winston's last hope is fulfilled,

and they make love.

They fall asleep. Winston awakens first to reflect that their act has

been a political one, "a blow struck against the Party."

Chapter 3

Summary:

Julia arranges the details of her and Winston's departures from the

clearing, using her practical sense (which Winston feels he lacks) and her

thorough knowledge of the countryside around London. They never return to

the clearing, as it turns out, and only once more that month succeed in

making love, inside the ruins of a church.

As they meet during the evenings, they "talk by instalments," as Julia

puts it‹their conversation cuts in and out mid-sentence according to the

relative levels of safety in their surroundings. Once during a walk, a bomb

falls near them, and Winston, thinking the plaster-whitened Julia is dead,

kisses her‹to discover that she is alive and he is coated in plaster too.

Meetings are dangerous and difficult to coordinate as their schedules

rarely coincide. Julia is astonishingly busy with Party activities; her

view is that as long as you keep up appearances and obey the small rules,

you could transgress the bigger ones. She even convinces Winston to

volunteer as a part-time munition worker.

Julia is 26, and works on the machinery in the Fiction Department,

literally churning out novels like any other mass-produced commodity. She

has established such a good character for herself that she had even been

selected to work in Pornosec, the division of the department dedicated to

producing cheap pornography for the proles. Her first affair was at age

sixteen; her view of life is simply that it is an eternal struggle between

you and the Party over whether or not you can have a good time.

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