1984 by George Orwell

“Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will you be capable of love, or friendship, or joy of living, or laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or integrity. You will be hollow. We shall squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you with ourselves.”- Big Brother makes Winston a promiseI’ve spent the last four months reading this book, not because I’m a slow reader or the story is complicated to follow. No, this book just scares the hell out of me. It’s uncomfortable and relentless, timely (as ever!) and disturbing. But that’s been said before, and the true wonder of 1984 comes in the gift it gives to the reader personally. Like the dreaded Room 101 in which Winston faces his gravest fear, Orwell’s transcendent work signifies something different for each reader, and in turn defeating the very mental apocalypse it foretells. To me, 1984 represents blind self delusion at it’s most dangerous, an attribute everyone of us can use to dignify horrific actions, no matter the side. I have faith that upon reading it again this work could show me a different part of myself, which all great art inevitably achieves.

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