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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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Winston turned round abruptly. He had set his features into the expression of quiet optimism which it was advisable to wear when facing the telescreen. He crossed the room into the tiny kitchen. By leaving the Ministry at this time of day he had sacrificed his lunch in the canteen, and he was aware that there was no food in the kitchen except a hunk of dark-colored bread which had got to be saved for tomorrow's breakfast. He took down from the shelf a bottle of colorless liquid with a plain white label marked VICTORY GIN. It gave off a sickly, oily smell, as of Chinese rice-spirit. Winston poured out nearly a teacupful, nerved himself for a shock, and gulped it down like a dose of medicine.

Instantly his face turned scarlet and the water ran out of his eyes. The stuff was like nitric acid, and moreover, in swallowing it one had the sensation of being hit on the back of the head with a rubber club. The next moment, however, the burning in his belly died down and the world began to look more cheerful. He took a cigarette from a crumpled packet marked VICTORY CIGARETTES and incautiously held it upright, whereupon the tobacco fell out onto the floor. With the next he was more successful. He went back to the living room and sat down at a small table that stood to the left of the telescreen. From the table drawer he took out a penholder, a bottle of ink, and a thick, quarto-sized blank book with a red back and a marbled cover.

For some reason the telescreen in the living room was in an unusual position. Instead of being placed, as was normal, in the end wall, where it could command the whole room, it was in the longer wall, opposite the window. To one side of it there was a shallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and which, when the flats were built, had probably been intended to hold bookshelves. By sitting in the alcove, and keeping well back, Winston was able to remain outside the range of the telescreen, so far as sight went. He could be heard, of course, but so long as he stayed in his present position he could not be seen. It was partly the unusual geography of the room that had suggested to him the thing that he was now about to do.

But it had also been suggested by the book that he had just taken out of the drawer. It was a peculiarly beautiful book. Its smooth creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, was of a kind that had not been manufactured for at least forty years past. He could guess, however, that the book was much older than that. He had seen it lying in the window of a frowsy little junk shop in a slummy quarter of the town (just what quarter he did not now remember) and had been stricken immediately by an overwhelming desire to possess it. Party members were supposed not to go into ordinary shops ("dealing on the free market," it was called), but the rule was not strictly kept, because there were various things such as shoelaces and razor blades which it was impossible to get hold of in any other way. He had given a quick glance up and down the street and then had slipped inside and bought the book for two dollars fifty. At the time he was not conscious of wanting it for any particular purpose. He had carried it guiltily home in his brief case. Even with nothing written in it, it was a compromising possession.

The thing that he was about to do was to open a diary. This was not illegal (nothing was illegal, since there were no longer any laws), but if detected it was reasonably certain that it would be punished by death, or at least by twenty-five years in a forced-labor camp. Winston fitted a nib into the penholder and sucked it to get the grease off. The pen was an archaic instrument, seldom used even for signatures, and he had procured one, furtively and with some difficulty, simply because of a feeling that the beautiful creamy paper deserved to be written on with a real nib instead of being scratched with an ink pencil. Actually he was not used to writing by hand. Apart from very short notes, it was usual to dictate everything into the speakwrite, which was of course impossible for his present purpose. He dipped the pen into the ink and then faltered for just a second. A tremor had gone through his bowels. To mark the paper was the decisive act. In small clumsy letters he wrote:

April 4th, 1984.

He sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had descended upon him. To begin with, he did not know with any certainty that this was 1984. It must be round about that date, since he was fairly sure that his age was thirty-nine, and he believed that he had been born in 1944 or 1945; but it was never possible nowadays to pin down any date within a year or two.

For whom, it suddenly occurred to him to wonder, was he writing this diary? For the future, for the unborn. His mind hovered for a moment round the doubtful date on the page, and then fetched up with a bump against the Newspeak word doublethink. For the first time the magnitude of what he had undertaken came home to him. How could you communicate with the future? It was of its nature impossible. Either the future would resemble the present, in which case it would not listen to him, or it would be different from it, and his predicament would be meaningless.

For some time he sat gazing stupidly at the paper. The telescreen had changed over to strident military music. It was curious that he seemed not merely to have lost the power of expressing himself, but even to have forgotten what it was that he had originally intended to say. For weeks past he had been making ready for this moment, and it had never crossed his mind that anything would be needed except courage. The actual writing would be easy. All he had to do was to transfer to paper the interminable restless monologue that had been running inside his head, literally for years. At this moment, however, even the monologue had dried up. Moreover, his varicose ulcer had begun itching unbearably. He dared not scratch it, because if he did so it always became inflamed. The seconds were ticking by. He was conscious of nothing except the blankness of the page in front of him, the itching of the skin above his ankle, the blaring of the music, and a slight booziness caused by the gin.

Suddenly he began writing in sheer panic, only imperfectly aware of what he was setting down. His small but childish handwriting straggled up and down the page, shedding first its capital letters and finally even its full stops: