George Orwell: The Essential Works of George Orwell

George Orwell

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Novels Novels Table of Contents

Burmese Days Burmese Days (1934) Table of Contents I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI XXII XXIII XXIV XXV

A Clergyman’s Daughter A Clergyman’s Daughter (1935) Table of Contents CHAPTER I I II III IV V VI CHAPTER II I II III IV V VI VII CHAPTER III I II CHAPTER IV I II III IV V VI CHAPTER V I II

Keep the Aspidistra Flying Keep the Aspidistra Flying (1936) Table of Contents I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII

Coming Up for Air

Animal Farm

1984

Poetry

Awake! Young Men of England

Kitchener

Our Hearts Are Married, But We Are Too Young

The Pagan

Poem from Burma (aka Suggested by a Tooth Paste Advertisement)

The Lesser Evil

Romance

Summer-like for an Instant

The Italian Soldier Shook My Hand

Sometimes in the Middle Autumn Days

A Dressed Man and a Naked Man

On a Ruined Farm Near the His Master's Voice Gramophone Factory

Ironic Poem about Prostitution

A Happy Vicar I Might Have Been (aka A Little Poem)

Reflections on War and Society

Spilling the Spanish Beans

Not Counting Niggers

Prophecies of Fascism

Wells, Hitler and the World State

Looking Back on the Spanish War

Who Are the War Criminals?

Future of a Ruined Germany

Revenge is Sour

You and the Atomic Bomb

Notes on Nationalism

Catastrophic Gradualism

Freedom of the Park

How the Poor Die

In Front of Your Nose

Thoughts on England

Democracy in the British Army

The Lion and the Unicorn: Socialism and the English Genius

Antisemitism in Britain

In Defence of English Cooking

Decline of the English Murder

Politics and the English Language

Views on Literature, Art & People

In Defence of the Novel

Notes on the Way

Charles Dickens

Charles Reade

Inside the Whale

Literature and Totalitarianism

The Art of Donald McGill

Rudyard Kipling

W. B. Yeats

Mark Twain—the Licensed Jester

Raffles and Miss Blandish

Arthur Koestler

Benefit of Clergy: Some Notes on Salvador Dali

Good Bad Books

Nonsense Poetry

In Defence of P. G. Wodehouse

Politics vs. Literature: An Examination of Gulliver’s Travels

Confessions of a Book Reviewer

The Prevention of Literature

Lear, Tolstoy and the Fool

Writers and Leviathan

Reflections on Gandhi

Book Reviews

Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler

Personal Record by Julien Green

The Totalitarian Enemy by Franz Borkenau

Landfall by Nevil Shute and Nailcruncher by Albert Cohen

The Development of William Butler Yeats by V. K. Narayana Menon

Miscellaneous Writings

A Farthing Newspaper

The Spike

New Words

Boys’ Weeklies and Frank Richards’s Reply

Poetry and the Microphone

The Sporting Spirit

A Good Word for the Vicar of Bray

A Nice Cup of Tea

Pleasure Spots

Riding Down from Bangor

Some Thoughts on the Common Toad

James Burnham and the Managerial Revolution

Autobiographical Works

A Hanging

Down and Out in Paris and London

Bookshop Memories

Shooting an Elephant

The Road to Wigan Pier

Homage to Catalonia

Marrakech

Why I Write

Books vs. Cigarettes

Such, Such Were the Joys

As I Please

Table of Contents

(1934)

Table of Contents

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

This desert inaccessible

Under the shade of melancholy boughs.

As You Like It

Table of Contents

U Po Kyin, Sub-divisional Magistrate of Kyauktada, in Upper Burma, was sitting in his veranda. It was only half-past eight, but the month was April, and there was a closeness in the air, a threat of the long stifling midday hours. Occasional faint breaths of wind, seeming cool by contrast, stirred the newly-drenched orchids that hung from the eaves. Beyond the orchids one could see the dusty, curved trunk of a palm tree, and then the blazing ultramarine sky. Up in the zenith, so high that it dazzled one to look at them, a few vultures circled without the quiver of a wing.

Unblinking, rather like a great porcelain idol, U Po Kyin gazed out into the fierce sunlight. He was a man of fifty, so fat that for years he had not risen from his chair without help, and yet shapely and even beautiful in his grossness; for the Burmese do not sag and bulge like white men, but grow fat symmetrically, like fruits swelling. His face was vast, yellow and quite unwrinkled, and his eyes were tawny. His feet—squat, high-arched feet with the toes all the same length—were bare, and so was his cropped head, and he wore one of those vivid Arakanese longyis with green and magenta checks which the Burmese wear on informal occasions. He was chewing betel from a lacquered box on the table, and thinking about his past life.

It had been a brilliantly successful life. U Po Kyin’s earliest memory, back in the ’eighties, was of standing, a naked pot-bellied child, watching the British troops march victorious into Mandalay. He remembered the terror he had felt of those columns of great beef-fed men, red-faced and red-coated; and the long rifles over their shoulders, and the heavy, rhythmic tramp of their boots. He had taken to his heels after watching them for a few minutes. In his childish way he had grasped that his own people were no match for this race of giants. To fight on the side of the British, to become a parasite upon them, had been his ruling ambition, even as a child.

At seventeen he had tried for a Government appointment, but he had failed to get it, being poor and friendless, and for three years he had worked in the stinking labyrinth of the Mandalay bazaars, clerking for the rice merchants and sometimes stealing. Then when he was twenty a lucky stroke of blackmail put him in possession of four hundred rupees, and he went at once to Rangoon and bought his way into a Government clerkship. The job was a lucrative one though the salary was small. At that time a ring of clerks were making a steady income by misappropriating Government stores, and Po Kyin (he was plain Po Kyin then: the honorific U came years later) took naturally to this kind of thing. However, he had too much talent to spend his life in a clerkship, stealing miserably in annas and pice. One day he discovered that the Government, being short of minor officials, were going to make some appointments from among the clerks. The news would have become public in another week, but it was one of Po Kyin’s qualities that his information was always a week ahead of everyone else’s. He saw his chance and denounced all his confederates before they could take alarm. Most of them were sent to prison, and Po Kyin was made an Assistant Township Officer as the reward of his honesty. Since then he had risen steadily. Now, at fifty-six, he was a Sub-divisional Magistrate, and he would probably be promoted still further and made an acting Deputy Commissioner, with Englishmen as his equals and even his subordinates.