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theyhadvanishedforayearormore,sothatonedidnotknow
whethertheywerealiveordead,andthenhadsuddenlybeen
broughtforthtoincriminatethemselvesintheusualway.They
hadconfessedtointelligencewiththeenemy(atthatdate,too, Nineteen eighty-four
the enemy was Eurasia), embezzlement of public funds, the
murderofvarioustrustedPartymembers,intriguesagainstthe
leadership of Big Brother which had started long before the
Revolution happened, and acts of sabotage causing the death George Orwell
of hundreds of thousands of people. After confessing to these
things they had been pardoned, reinstated in the Party, and
given posts which were in fact sinecures but which sounded
important. All three had written long, abject articles in ‘The
Times’, analysing the reasons for their defection and promis-
ingtomakeamends.
Some time after their release Winston had actually seen all
three of them in the Chestnut Tree Cafe. He remembered the
sort of terrified fascination with which he had watched them
outofthecornerofhiseye.Theyweremenfarolderthanhim-
self,relicsoftheancientworld,almostthelastgreatfiguresleft
overfromtheheroicdaysoftheParty.Theglamouroftheun-
dergroundstruggleandthecivilwarstillfaintlyclungtothem.
Hehadthefeeling,thoughalreadyatthattimefactsanddates
were growing blurry, that he had known their names years
earlier than he had known that of Big Brother. But also they
were outlaws, enemies, untouchables, doomed with absolute
certainty to extinction within a year or two. No one who had
oncefallenintothehandsoftheThoughtPolice everescaped
in the end. They were corpses waiting to be sent back to the
grave.
Therewasnooneatanyofthetablesnearesttothem.Itwas
notwiseeventobeseenintheneighbourhoodofsuchpeople.
Theyweresittinginsilencebeforeglassesoftheginflavoured
with cloves which was the speciality of the cafe. Of the three,
itwasRutherfordwhoseappearancehadmostimpressedWin- 1949
ston. Rutherford had once been a famous caricaturist, whose
80
provingthatpeopletodayhadmorefood,moreclothes,better
houses, better recreations–that they lived longer, worked
shorter hours, were bigger, healthier, stronger, happier, more
intelligent, better educated, than the people of fifty years ago.
Notawordofitcouldeverbeprovedordisproved.TheParty
claimed, for example, that today 40 per cent of adult proles
were literate: before the Revolution, it was said, the number
had only been 15 per cent. The Party claimed that the infant
mortalityratewasnowonly160perthousand,whereasbefore
the Revolution it had been 300–and so it went on. It was like
a single equation with two unknowns. It might very well be
thatliterallyeverywordinthehistorybooks,eventhethings
that one accepted without question, was pure fantasy. For all
heknewtheremightneverhavebeenanysuchlawastheJUS
PRIMAE NOCTIS, or any such creature as a capitalist, or any
suchgarmentasatophat.
Everythingfadedintomist.Thepastwaserased,theerasure
wasforgotten,theliebecametruth.Justonceinhislifehehad
possessed–AFTERtheevent:thatwaswhatcounted–concrete,
unmistakable evidence of an act of falsification. He had held
it between his fingers for as long as thirty seconds. In 1973,
it must have been–at any rate, it was at about the time when
heandKatharinehadparted.Butthereallyrelevantdatewas
sevenoreightyearsearlier.
Thestoryreallybeganinthemiddlesixties,theperiodofthe
great purges in which the original leaders of the Revolution
werewipedoutonceandforall.By1970noneofthemwasleft,
exceptBigBrotherhimself.Alltheresthadbythattimebeen
exposedastraitorsandcounter-revolutionaries.Goldsteinhad
fled and was hiding no one knew where, and of the others, a
fewhadsimplydisappeared,whilethemajorityhadbeenexe-
cutedafterspectacularpublictrialsatwhichtheymadeconfes-
sionoftheircrimes.Amongthelastsurvivorswerethreemen
namedJones,Aaronson,andRutherford.Itmusthavebeenin
1965 that these three had been arrested. As often happened,
79
ing the Pope’s toe. There was also something called the JUS
PRIMAENOCTIS,whichwouldprobablynotbementionedin
atextbookforchildren.Itwasthelawbywhicheverycapital-
ist had the right to sleep with any woman working in one of
Contents
hisfactories.
How could you tell how much of it was lies? It MIGHT be
true that the average human being was better off now than
he had been before the Revolution. The only evidence to the PARTONE 5
contrarywasthemuteprotestinyourownbones,theinstinc-
tive feeling that the conditions you lived in were intolerable Chapter1 6
and that at some other time they must have been different. It
Chapter2 24
struckhimthatthetrulycharacteristicthingaboutmodernlife
was not its cruelty and insecurity, but simply its bareness, its
Chapter3 33
dinginess, its listlessness. Life, if you looked about you, bore
no resemblance not only to the lies that streamed out of the Chapter4 42
telescreens, but even to the ideals that the Party was trying
to achieve. Great areas of it, even for a Party member, were Chapter5 53
neutralandnon-political,amatterofsloggingthroughdreary
jobs,fightingforaplaceontheTube,darningaworn-outsock, Chapter6 68
cadgingasaccharinetablet,savingacigaretteend.Theidealset
Chapter7 74
upbythePartywassomethinghuge,terrible,andglittering–a
world of steel and concrete, of monstrous machines and ter-
Chapter8 86
rifying weapons–a nation of warriors and fanatics, marching
forward in perfect unity, all thinking the same thoughts and
shouting the same slogans, perpetually working, fighting, tri- PARTTWO 108
umphing, persecuting–three hundred million people all with
thesameface.Therealitywasdecaying,dingycitieswhereun- Chapter1 109
derfedpeopleshuffledtoandfroinleakyshoes,inpatched-up
nineteenth-century houses that smelt always of cabbage and Chapter2 121
bad lavatories. He seemed to see a vision of London, vast and
Chapter3 131
ruinous, city of a million dustbins, and mixed up with it was
a picture of Mrs Parsons, a woman with lined face and wispy
Chapter4 141
hair,fiddlinghelplesslywithablockedwaste-pipe.
He reached down and scratched his ankle again. Day
Chapter5 152
and night the telescreens bruised your ears with statistics
78 3
Chapter6 162 Winston reached down and cautiously scratched his vari-
coseulcer.Ithadbegunitchingagain.Thethingyouinvariably
Chapter7 166 camebacktowastheimpossibilityofknowingwhatlifebefore
theRevolutionhadreallybeenlike.Hetookoutofthedrawer
Chapter8 174
acopyofachildren’shistorytextbookwhichhehadborrowed
fromMrsParsons,andbegancopyingapassageintothediary:
Chapter9 186
In the old days (it ran), before the glorious Revolution,
London was not the beautiful city that we know today. It
PARTTHREE 231 was a dark, dirty, miserable place where hardly anybody had
enough to eat and where hundreds and thousands of poor
Chapter1 232 people had no boots on their feet and not even a roof to
sleep under. Children no older than you had to work twelve
Chapter2 246 hours a day for cruel masters who flogged them with whips
if they worked too slowly and fed them on nothing but stale
Chapter3 267
breadcrusts and water. But in among all this terrible poverty
there were just a few great big beautiful houses that were
Chapter4 281
lived in by rich men who had as many as thirty servants to
look after them. These rich men were called capitalists. They
Chapter5 289
were fat, ugly men with wicked faces, like the one in the
Chapter6 294 pictureontheoppositepage.Youcanseethatheisdressedin
a long black coat which was called a frock coat, and a queer,
shiny hat shaped like a stovepipe, which was called a top hat.
APPENDIX. 305 This was the uniform of the capitalists, and no one else was
allowed to wear it. The capitalists owned everything in the
ThePrinciplesofNewspeak 306
world, and everyone else was their slave. They owned all the
land, all the houses, all the factories, and all the money. If
anyonedisobeyedthemtheycouldthrowthemintoprison,or
they could take his job away and starve him to death. When
anyordinarypersonspoketoacapitalisthehadtocringeand
bow to him, and take off his cap and address him as ‘Sir’. The
chiefofallthecapitalistswascalledtheKing,and—-
Butheknewtherestofthecatalogue.Therewouldbemen-
tion of the bishops in their lawn sleeves, the judges in their
ermine robes, the pillory, the stocks, the treadmill, the cat-o’-
nine tails, the Lord Mayor’s Banquet, and the practice of kiss-
4 77
lifethatappearedtobenaturaltothem,asortofancestralpat-
tern.Theywereborn,theygrewupinthegutters,theywentto
workattwelve,theypassedthroughabriefblossoming-period
ofbeautyandsexualdesire,theymarriedattwenty,theywere
middle-aged at thirty, they died, for the most part, at sixty.
Heavy physical work, the care of home and children, petty
quarrels with neighbours, films, football, beer, and above all,
gambling, filled up the horizon of their minds. To keep them
in control was not difficult. A few agents of the Thought Po-
lice moved always among them, spreading false rumours and
marking down and eliminating the few individuals who were
judged capable of becoming dangerous; but no attempt was
PART ONE
made to indoctrinate them with the ideology of the Party. It
was not desirable that the proles should have strong political
feelings. All that was required of them was a primitive patri-
otism which could be appealed to whenever it was necessary
tomakethemacceptlongerworking-hoursorshorterrations.
Andevenwhentheybecamediscontented,astheysometimes
did,their discontentled nowhere,becausebeing without gen-
eralideas,theycouldonlyfocusitonpettyspecificgrievances.
The larger evils invariably escaped their notice. The great ma-
jority of proles did not even have telescreens in their homes.
Even the civil police interfered with them very little. There
was a vast amount of criminality in London, a whole world-
within-a-world of thieves, bandits, prostitutes, drug-peddlers,
and racketeers of every description; but since it all happened
among the proles themselves, it was of no importance. In all
questions of morals they were allowed to follow their ances-
tralcode.ThesexualpuritanismofthePartywasnotimposed
uponthem.Promiscuitywentunpunished,divorcewaspermit-
ted. For that matter, even religious worship would have been
permittediftheproleshadshownanysignofneedingorwant-
ingit.Theywerebeneathsuspicion.AsthePartysloganputit:
‘Prolesandanimalsarefree.’
76
general despair broke down into a multitude of individual
quarrels.Itappearedthatoneofthestallshadbeensellingtin
saucepans. They were wretched, flimsy things, but cooking-
pots of any kind were always difficult to get. Now the supply
Chapter 1
had unexpectedly given out. The successful women, bumped
and jostled by the rest, were trying to make off with their
saucepans while dozens of others clamoured round the stall,
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were strik- accusing the stall-keeper of favouritism and of having more
ingthirteen.WinstonSmith,hischinnuzzledintohisbreastin saucepanssomewhereinreserve.Therewasafreshoutburstof
an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the yells. Two bloated women, one of them with her hair coming
glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough down, had got hold of the same saucepan and were trying to
topreventaswirlofgrittydustfromenteringalongwithhim. tear it out of one another’s hands. For a moment they were
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At bothtugging,andthenthehandlecameoff.Winstonwatched
one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, them disgustedly. And yet, just for a moment, what almost
had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous frightening power had sounded in that cry from only a few
face,morethanametrewide:thefaceofamanofaboutforty- hundredthroats!Whywas itthat theycould nevershout like
five,withaheavyblackmoustacheandruggedlyhandsomefea- thataboutanythingthatmattered?
tures.Winstonmadeforthestairs.Itwasnousetryingthelift. Hewrote:
Evenatthebestoftimesitwasseldomworking,andatpresent Untiltheybecomeconscioustheywillneverrebel,anduntil
the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was aftertheyhaverebelledtheycannotbecomeconscious.
part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The That, he reflected, might almost have been a transcription
flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine fromoneofthePartytextbooks.ThePartyclaimed,ofcourse,
and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, to have liberated the proles from bondage. Before the Revolu-
resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite tiontheyhadbeenhideouslyoppressedbythecapitalists,they
thelift-shaft,theposterwiththeenormousfacegazedfromthe hadbeenstarvedandflogged,womenhadbeenforcedtowork
wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that inthecoalmines(womenstilldidworkinthecoalmines,asa
the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS matteroffact),childrenhadbeensoldintothefactoriesatthe
WATCHINGYOU,thecaptionbeneathitran. age of six. But simultaneously, true to the Principles of dou-
Insidetheflatafruityvoicewasreadingoutalistoffigures blethink, the Party taught that the proles were natural inferi-
which had something to do with the production of pig-iron. orswhomustbekeptinsubjection,likeanimals,bytheappli-
Thevoicecamefromanoblongmetalplaquelikeadulledmir- cation of a few simple rules. In reality very little was known
ror which formed part of the surface of the right-hand wall. abouttheproles.Itwasnotnecessarytoknowmuch.Solong
Winstonturnedaswitchandthevoicesanksomewhat,though astheycontinuedtoworkandbreed,theirotheractivitieswere
the words were still distinguishable. The instrument (the tele- withoutimportance.Lefttothemselves,likecattleturnedloose
screen, it was called) could be dimmed, but there was no way upon the plains of Argentina, they had reverted to a style of
6 75
ofshuttingitoffcompletely.Hemovedovertothewindow:a
smallish, frail figure, the meagreness of his body merely em-
phasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the
party. His hair was very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his
Chapter 7
skinroughenedbycoarsesoapandbluntrazorbladesandthe
coldofthewinterthathadjustended.
Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world
‘Ifthereishope,’wroteWinston,‘itliesintheproles.’ looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were
If there was hope, it MUST lie in the proles, because only whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun
thereinthoseswarmingdisregardedmasses,85percentofthe was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no
populationofOceania,couldtheforcetodestroythePartyever colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered
begenerated.ThePartycouldnotbeoverthrownfromwithin. everywhere. The black-moustachio’d face gazed down from
Its enemies, if it had any enemies, had no way of coming to- every commanding corner. There was one on the house-front
getherorevenofidentifyingoneanother.Evenifthelegendary immediately opposite. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU,
Brotherhoodexisted,asjustpossiblyitmight,itwasinconceiv- the caption said, while the dark eyes looked deep into Win-
able that its members could ever assemble in larger numbers ston’s own. Down at street level another poster, torn at one
thantwosandthrees.Rebellionmeantalookintheeyes,anin- corner, flapped fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and
flexionofthevoice,atthemost,anoccasionalwhisperedword. uncovering the single word INGSOC. In the far distance a
Buttheproles,ifonlytheycouldsomehowbecomeconscious helicopter skimmed down between the roofs, hovered for an
of their own strength. would have no need to conspire. They instantlikeabluebottle,anddartedawayagainwithacurving
neededonlytoriseupandshakethemselveslikeahorseshak- flight.Itwasthepolicepatrol,snoopingintopeople’swindows.
ingoffflies.IftheychosetheycouldblowthePartytopiecesto- The patrols did not matter, however. Only the Thought Police
morrowmorning.Surelysoonerorlateritmustoccurtothem mattered.
todoit?Andyet—-! Behind Winston’s back the voice from the telescreen was
He remembered how once he had been walking down a still babbling away about pig-iron and the overfulfilment of
crowded street when a tremendous shout of hundreds of the Ninth Three-Year Plan. The telescreen received and trans-
voices women’s voices–had burst from a side-street a little mitted simultaneously. Any sound that Winston made, above
wayahead.Itwasagreatformidablecryofangeranddespair, thelevelofaverylowwhisper,wouldbepickedupbyit,more-
a deep, loud ‘Oh-o-o-o-oh!’ that went humming on like the over, so long as he remained within the field of vision which
reverberation of a bell. His heart had leapt. It’s started! he themetalplaquecommanded,hecouldbeseenaswellasheard.
had thought. A riot! The proles are breaking loose at last! Therewasofcoursenowayofknowingwhetheryouwerebe-
When he had reached the spot it was to see a mob of two or ingwatchedatanygivenmoment.Howoften,oronwhatsys-
three hundred women crowding round the stalls of a street tem,theThoughtPolicepluggedinonanyindividualwirewas
market, with faces as tragic as though they had been the guesswork. It was even conceivable that they watched every-
doomedpassengersonasinkingship.Butatthismomentthe bodyallthetime.Butatanyratetheycouldpluginyourwire
74 7
whenevertheywantedto.Youhadtolive–didlive,fromhabit oflustandterror.Hewaspainfullyconsciousoftheriskhehad
that became instinct–in the assumption that every sound you takenincominghere.Itwasperfectlypossiblethatthepatrols
madewasoverheard,and,exceptindarkness,everymovement would catch him on the way out: for that matter they might
scrutinized. be waiting outside the door at this moment. If he went away
Winstonkepthisbackturnedtothetelescreen.Itwassafer; withoutevendoingwhathehadcomeheretodo—-!
though,ashewellknew,evenabackcanberevealing.Akilo- It had got to be written down, it had got to be confessed.
metreawaytheMinistryofTruth,hisplaceofwork,towered What he had suddenly seen in the lamplight was that the
vast and white above the grimy landscape. This, he thought womanwasOLD.Thepaintwasplasteredsothickonherface
with a sort of vague distaste–this was London, chief city of that it looked as though it might crack like a cardboard mask.
Airstrip One, itself the third most populous of the provinces Therewerestreaksofwhiteinherhair;butthetrulydreadful
of Oceania. He tried to squeeze out some childhood memory detail was that her mouth had fallen a little open, revealing
that should tell him whether London had always been quite nothingexceptacavernousblackness.Shehadnoteethatall.
likethis.Weretherealwaysthesevistasofrottingnineteenth- Hewrotehurriedly,inscrabblinghandwriting:
century houses, their sides shored up with baulks of timber, WhenIsawherinthelightshewasquiteanoldwoman,fifty
their windows patched with cardboard and their roofs with yearsoldatleast.ButIwentaheadanddiditjustthesame.
corrugated iron, their crazy garden walls sagging in all direc- Hepressedhisfingersagainsthiseyelidsagain.Hehadwrit-
tions?Andthebombedsiteswheretheplasterdustswirledin tenitdownatlast,butitmadenodifference.Thetherapyhad
the air and the willow-herb straggled over the heaps of rub- not worked. The urge to shout filthy words at the top of his
ble;andtheplaceswherethebombshadclearedalargerpatch voicewasasstrongasever.
andtherehadsprungupsordidcoloniesofwoodendwellings
likechicken-houses?Butitwasnouse,hecouldnotremember:
nothingremainedofhischildhoodexceptaseriesofbright-lit
tableauxoccurringagainstnobackgroundandmostlyunintel-
ligible.
The Ministry of Truth–Minitrue, in Newspeak [Newspeak
wastheofficiallanguageofOceania.Foranaccountofitsstruc-
ture and etymology see Appendix.]–was startlingly different
fromanyotherobjectinsight.Itwasanenormouspyramidal
structureofglitteringwhiteconcrete,soaringup,terraceafter
terrace, 300 metres into the air. From where Winston stood it
wasjustpossibletoread,pickedoutonitswhitefaceinelegant
lettering,thethreeslogansoftheParty:
WARISPEACE
FREEDOMISSLAVERY
IGNORANCEISSTRENGTH
8 73
Butluckilynochildappeared,andintheendsheagreedtogive TheMinistryofTruthcontained,itwassaid,threethousand
uptrying,andsoonafterwardstheyparted. roomsabovegroundlevel,andcorrespondingramificationsbe-
Winston sighed inaudibly. He picked up his pen again and low.ScatteredaboutLondontherewerejustthreeotherbuild-
wrote: ings of similar appearance and size. So completely did they
Shethrewherselfdownonthebed,andatonce,withoutany dwarf the surrounding architecture that from the roof of Vic-
kind of preliminary in the most coarse, horrible way you can tory Mansions you could see all four of them simultaneously.
imagine,pulledupherskirt.I—- TheywerethehomesofthefourMinistriesbetweenwhichthe
He saw himself standing there in the dim lamplight, with entire apparatus of government was divided. The Ministry of
the smell of bugs and cheap scent in his nostrils, and in his Truth,whichconcerneditselfwithnews,entertainment,educa-
heart a feeling of defeat and resentment which even at that tion,andthefinearts.TheMinistryofPeace,whichconcerned
moment was mixed up with the thought of Katharine’s white itself with war. The Ministry of Love, which maintained law
body,frozenforeverbythehypnoticpoweroftheParty.Why and order. And the Ministry of Plenty, which was responsi-
did it always have to be like this? Why could he not have a ble for economic affairs. Their names, in Newspeak: Minitrue,
woman of his own instead of these filthy scuffles at intervals Minipax,Miniluv,andMiniplenty.
ofyears?Butarealloveaffairwasanalmostunthinkableevent. The Ministry of Love was the really frightening one. There
ThewomenofthePartywereallalike.Chastitywasasdeepin- werenowindowsinitatall.Winstonhadneverbeeninsidethe
grainedinthemasPartyloyalty.Bycarefulearlyconditioning, MinistryofLove,norwithinhalfakilometreofit.Itwasaplace
bygamesandcoldwater,bytherubbishthatwasdinnedinto impossible to enter except on official business, and then only
them at school and in the Spies and the Youth League, by lec- bypenetratingthroughamazeofbarbed-wireentanglements,
tures, parades, songs, slogans, and martial music, the natural steel doors, and hidden machine-gun nests. Even the streets
feeling had been drivenout of them. His reasontold him that leading up to its outer barriers were roamed by gorilla-faced
theremustbeexceptions,buthisheartdidnotbelieveit.They guardsinblackuniforms,armedwithjointedtruncheons.
wereallimpregnable,asthePartyintendedthattheyshouldbe. Winstonturnedroundabruptly.Hehadsethisfeaturesinto
Andwhathewanted,moreeventhantobeloved,wastobreak the expression of quiet optimism which it was advisable to
downthatwallofvirtue,evenifitwereonlyonceinhiswhole wearwhenfacingthetelescreen.Hecrossedtheroomintothe
life.Thesexualact,successfullyperformed,wasrebellion.De- tinykitchen.ByleavingtheMinistryatthistimeofdayhehad
sire was thoughtcrime. Even to have awakened Katharine, if sacrificedhislunchinthecanteen,andhewasawarethatthere
he could have achieved it, would have been like a seduction, was no food in the kitchen except a hunk of dark-coloured
althoughshewashiswife. breadwhichhadgottobesavedfortomorrow’sbreakfast.He
But the rest of the story had got to be written down. He took down from the shelf a bottle of colourless liquid with a
wrote: plain white label marked VICTORY GIN. It gave off a sickly,
Iturnedupthelamp.WhenIsawherinthelight—- oilysmell,asofChineserice-spirit.Winstonpouredoutnearly
After the darkness the feeble light of the paraffin lamp had ateacupful,nervedhimselfforashock,andgulpeditdownlike
seemedverybright.Forthefirsttimehecouldseethewoman adoseofmedicine.
properly.Hehadtakenasteptowardsherandthenhalted,full
72 9
Instantlyhisfaceturnedscarletandthewaterranoutofhis vorce,butitratherencouragedseparationincaseswherethere
eyes.Thestuffwaslikenitricacid,andmoreover,inswallowing werenochildren.
it one had the sensation of being hit on the back of the head Katharine was a tall, fair-haired girl, very straight, with
witharubberclub.Thenextmoment,however,theburningin splendidmovements.Shehadabold,aquilineface,afacethat
hisbellydieddownandtheworldbegantolookmorecheerful. one might have called noble until one discovered that there
HetookacigarettefromacrumpledpacketmarkedVICTORY was as nearly as possible nothing behind it. Very early in her
CIGARETTESandincautiouslyhelditupright,whereuponthe married life he had decided–though perhaps it was only that
tobacco fell out on to the floor. With the next he was more heknewhermoreintimatelythanheknewmostpeople–that
successful. He went back to the living-room and sat down at she had without exception the most stupid, vulgar, empty
a small table that stood to the left of the telescreen. From the mind that he had ever encountered. She had not a thought in
table drawer he took out a penholder, a bottle of ink, and a her head that was not a slogan, and there was no imbecility,
thick, quarto-sized blank book with a red back and a marbled absolutely none that she was not capable of swallowing if
cover. the Party handed it out to her. ‘The human sound-track’ he
Forsomereasonthetelescreenintheliving-roomwasinan nicknamed her in his own mind. Yet he could have endured
unusualposition.Insteadofbeingplaced,aswasnormal,inthe livingwithherifithadnotbeenforjustonething–sex.
end wall, where it could command the whole room, it was in Assoonashetouchedhersheseemedtowinceandstiffen.
the longer wall, opposite the window. To one side of it there To embrace her was like embracing a jointed wooden image.
was a shallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and And what was strange was that even when she was clasping
which, when the flats were built, had probably been intended him against her he had the feeling that she was simultane-
toholdbookshelves.Bysittinginthealcove,andkeepingwell ously pushing him away with all her strength. The rigidity of
back,Winstonwasabletoremainoutsidetherangeofthetele- her muscles managed to convey that impression. She would
screen,sofarassightwent.Hecouldbeheard,ofcourse,butso lietherewithshuteyes,neitherresistingnorco-operatingbut
longashestayedinhispresentpositionhecouldnotbeseen. SUBMITTING.Itwasextraordinarilyembarrassing,and,after
Itwaspartlytheunusualgeographyoftheroomthathadsug- awhile,horrible.Buteventhenhecouldhavebornelivingwith
gestedtohimthethingthathewasnowabouttodo. herifithadbeenagreedthattheyshouldremaincelibate.But
Butithadalsobeensuggestedbythebookthathehadjust curiouslyenoughitwasKatharinewhorefusedthis.Theymust,
takenoutofthedrawer.Itwasapeculiarlybeautifulbook.Its shesaid,produceachildiftheycould.Sotheperformancecon-
smooth creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, was of a kind tinuedtohappen,onceaweekquiteregularly,wheneveritwas
thathadnotbeenmanufacturedforatleastfortyyearspast.He notimpossible.Sheevenusedtoremindhimofitinthemorn-
couldguess,however,thatthebookwasmucholderthanthat. ing,assomethingwhichhadtobedonethateveningandwhich
Hehadseenitlyinginthewindowofafrowsylittlejunk-shop mustnotbeforgotten.Shehadtwonamesforit.Onewas‘mak-
inaslummyquarterofthetown(justwhatquarterhedidnot ingababy’,andtheotherwas‘ourdutytotheParty’(yes,she
nowremember)andhadbeenstrickenimmediatelybyanover- had actually used that phrase). Quite soon he grew to have a
whelming desire to possess it. Party members were supposed feelingofpositivedreadwhentheappointeddaycameround.
not to go into ordinary shops (‘dealing on the free market’, it
10 71