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1984

Автор Джордж Оруэлл

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Дата написания1948-12-31

Язык книгиen

Возрастное ограничение16+

Жанры

зарубежная фантастика историческая фантастика классика фантастики социальная фантастика

Темы

альтернативная историяантиутопияфилософская фантастикапсихологическая фантастикапремия «Великое Кольцо»

Описание

В романе Джордж Оруэлл описывается тоталитарное общество Океании, где партия контролирует мысли и язык. Главный герой, Винстон Смит, начинает тайно вести дневник, встречает Джулию и пытается сопротивляться системе, но в итоге поддается её манипуляциям.

Главный конфликт / проблема

Внутренний конфликт Винстона против тоталитарной партии и его попытки сохранить свободу мысли в условиях постоянного надзора и манипуляций

Ключевые идеи

Постоянный надзор и контроль через телекраны
Манипуляция историей и реальностью Министерством Правды
Двойное мышление и подавление мыслей
Тайный дневник как акт непокорности
Уничтожение слов как способ ограничения мысли
Язык как инструмент контроля и пропаганды
Партия использует детей‑спайков для наблюдения
Партийная политика уничтожает сексуальное удовольствие и превращает брак в инструмент воспроизводства.
Надежда на революцию находится в простолюдинов, которые могут подняться, если осознают свою силу.
История и память подвержены манипуляциям, и даже старики не могут дать объективного сравнения прошлого и настоящего.
Трудности тайных встреч в условиях всевидящей системы.
Секретные каналы коммуникации и планирование побега.

Вывод

Винстон в итоге подчиняется идеологии партии, демонстрируя, как власть разрушает индивидуальность и превращает сопротивление в бессмысленную борьбу

Кому полезна

Люди, интересующиеся политической философией и историей тоталитаризма
Те, кто изучает влияние языка на мышление
Критически мыслящие читатели, ищущие уроки о свободе и контроле

Главные темы

Тоталитаризм и контроль над мыслями
Механизмы языкового подавления
Индивидуальность против коллективной власти
Любовь и сопротивление в условиях страха

Персонажи

Винстон Смит — 39‑летний человек с варикозной язвой, живущий под постоянным надзором, начинает вести тайный дневник как акт непокорности. Молодой партийный работник, который тайно сомневается в идеалах партии и ищет правду. Скептически относится к партии, ищет способы сопротивления, испытывает романтические чувства к Джулии. Уставший, разочарованный, но стремящийся к правде и свободе, постепенно поддаётся манипуляциям, теряет физическую силу и ум, но в конце принимает идеологию партии.
Джулия — Хитрая, смелая, умеет скрываться от системы, готова к риску. Работает в Pornosec, знает местность, открыто критикует партийную идеологию, готова нарушать правила ради удовольствия. Практичная, но верная идеям свободы, помогает Уинстону читать книгу.
О'Брайен — Член партии, к которому Винстон адресует дневник. Холодный и расчётливый, он использует боль и психологические манипуляции, чтобы «исцелить» Уинстона. Показывает Уинстону, как власть и контроль работают, и заставляет его принять идеологию.
Гольдстайн — Представитель идеологии сопротивления, его книга раскрывает истину о системе.
Сайм — Убежденный сторонник идеологии, убеждает Винстона в необходимости уничтожения слов.
Парсонс — Обсуждает субсидии, детей‑спайков и демонстрирует лояльность к партии.
О'Брен — Могучий, но с загадочным характером, возможно, союзник Винстона.
Ampleforth — Скромный и незаинтересованный, но может стать препятствием. Представляет типичного обычного преступника, который не боится говорить, но не имеет глубокого понимания партийной идеологии.
Wilsher — Беспокойный молодой человек, который случайно вмешивается в попытку Винстона встретиться с Джулией.
Чаррингтон — Старик, который рассказывает Винстону о жизни до революции.
Девушка с темными волосами — Сидит рядом с Винстоном и внимательно следит за ним, создавая ощущение наблюдения.
Миссис Парсонс — Старше 30, живёт в соседнем подъезде, помогает Винстону с ремонтом.

Цитаты

Война – мир, Свобода – рабство, Невежество – сила.
ДОБРО ВОЗМОЖНО БОЛЬШОГО БРАТА
Одиннадцатое издание не будет содержать ни одного слова, которое станет устаревшим до 2050 года.
Весь смысл Newspeak – сузить диапазон мыслей? В конце концов мы сделаем мыслительный преступник буквально невозможным, потому что не будет слов, в которых его можно выразить.
Свобода — это свобода говорить, что два плюс два равно четыре.
I love you.
«Винстон, если ты видишь меня среди толпы, не подходи, просто оставайся рядом».
«Я не хочу чистоты, я хочу, чтобы все были испорчены до костей».
"Never go home the same way as you went out," she said, as though enunciating an important general principle.
"I could have stood it if it didn't."

Сводка по автору из Wikidata

1903–1950. George Orwell. английский писатель и публицист (1903—1950)

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George Orwell 1984

One

I

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.

The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a colored poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a meter wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black mustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. Big Brother Is Watching You, the caption beneath it ran.

Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which had something to do with the production of pig iron. The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable. The instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off completely. He moved over to the window: a smallish, frail figure, the meagerness of his body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the Party. His hair was very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by coarse soap and blunt razor blades and the cold of the winter that had just ended.

Outside, even through the shut window pane, the world looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no color in anything except the posters that were plastered everywhere. The black-mustachio'd face gazed down from every commanding corner. There was one on the house front immediately opposite. Big Brother Is Watching You, the caption said, while the dark eyes looked deep into Winston's own. Down at street level another poster, torn at one corner, flapped fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and uncovering the single word INGSOC. In the far distance a helicopter skimmed down between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a bluebottle, and darted away again with a curving flight. It was the Police Patrol, snooping into people's windows. The patrols did not matter, however. Only the Thought Police mattered.

Behind Winston's back the voice from the telescreen was still babbling away about pig iron and the overfulfillment of the Ninth Three-Year Plan. The telescreen received and transmitted simultaneously. Any sound that Winston made, above the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by it; moreover, so long as he remained within the field of vision which the metal plaque commanded, he could be seen as well as heard. There was of course no way of knowing whether you were being watched at any given moment. How often, or on what system, the Thought Police plugged in on any individual wire was guesswork. It was even conceivable that they watched everybody all the time. But at any rate they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted to. You had to live—did live, from habit that became instinct—in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized.

Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen. It was safer; though, as he well knew, even a back can be revealing. A kilometer away the Ministry of Truth, his place of work, towered vast and white above the grimy landscape. This, he thought with a sort of vague distaste—this was London, chief city of Airstrip One, itself the third most populous of the provinces of Oceania. He tried to squeeze out some childhood memory that should tell him whether London had always been quite like this. Were there always these vistas of rotting nineteenth-century houses, their sides shored up with balks of timber, their windows patched with cardboard and their roofs with corrugated iron, their crazy garden walls sagging in all directions? And the bombed sites where the plaster dust swirled in the air and the willow herb straggled over the heaps of rubble; and the places where the bombs had cleared a larger patch and there had sprung up sordid colonies of wooden dwellings like chicken houses? But it was no use, he could not remember: nothing remained of his childhood except a series of bright-lit tableaux, occurring against no background and mostly unintelligible.

The Ministry of Truth—Minitrue, in Newspeak[1]—was startlingly different from any other object in sight. It was an enormous pyramidal structure of glittering white concrete, soaring up, terrace after terrace, three hundred meters into the air. From where Winston stood it was just possible to read, picked out on its white face in elegant lettering, the three slogans of the Party:

WAR IS PEACE

FREEDOM IS SLAVERY

IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH.

The Ministry of Truth contained, it was said, three thousand rooms above ground level, and corresponding ramifications below. Scattered about London there were just three other buildings of similar appearance and size. So completely did they dwarf the surrounding architecture that from the roof of Victory Mansions you could see all four of them simultaneously. They were the homes of the four Ministries between which the entire apparatus of government was divided: the Ministry of Truth, which concerned itself with news, entertainment, education, and the fine arts; the Ministry of Peace, which concerned itself with war; the Ministry of Love, which maintained law and order; and the Ministry of Plenty, which was responsible for economic affairs. Their names, in Newspeak: Minitrue, Minipax, Miniluv, and Miniplenty.

The Ministry of Love was the really frightening one. There were no windows in it at all. Winston had never been inside the Ministry of Love, nor within half a kilometer of it. It was a place impossible to enter except on official business, and then only by penetrating through a maze of barbed-wire entanglements, steel doors, and hidden machine-gun nests. Even the streets leading up to its outer barriers were roamed by gorilla-faced guards in black uniforms, armed with jointed truncheons.