I just finished reading
Down and Out in Paris and London, George Orwell's first published novel, based not in small part on the author's own experiences. Orwell's prose was riveting, and (disturbingly) felt very fresh--I can easily see some young upstart writer publishing this today as investigative journalism, with companion clips on YouTube. If you can stomach this sort of writing (think borderline
The Jungle by Upton Sinclair), then I highly recommend you track this brief novel down and devour it.
For lack of energy, I'd just like to share a few passages that particularly spoke to me (the pages are now nice and dog-eared):
I think one should start by saying that a plongeur is one of the slaves of the modern world. Not that there is any need to whine over him, for he is better off than many manual workers, but still, he is no freer than if he were bought and sold. His work is servile and without art; he is paid just enough to keep him alive; his only holiday is the sack. He is cut off from marriage, or, if he marries, his wife must work too. Except by a lucky chance, he has no escape from his life, save into prison. At this moment there are men with university degrees scrubbing dishes in Paris for ten or fifteen hours a day. One cannot say that is is mere idleness on their part, for an idle man cannot be a plongeur; they have simply been trapped by a routine which makes thought impossible. If plongeurs thought at all, they would long ago have formed a union and gone on strike for better treatment. But they do not think, because they have no leisure for it; their life has made slaves of them.He goes on, of course, in the wonderful essay form of debate in which Orwell excelled, arguing about how so much of this modern slavery is devoted to inefficient, wasteful work that merely serves to perpetuate the distribution of power. Orwell was, of course, quite the left leaning socialism during much of his time as a writer. These views in turn were shaped and altered by experiences in the Spanish Civil War (I'll be tackling
Homage to Catalonia soon), but, at least at the time of this work, he was solidly on the left. So as his argument in this section moves on, he presents readers with an unsettling (but truthful) accusation:
Fear of the mob is a superstitious fear. It is based on the idea that there is some mysterious, fundamental difference between rich and poor... But in reality, there is no such difference. The mass of the rich and poor are differentiated by their incomes and nothing else, the average millionaire is only the average dishwasher, dressed in a new suit. Change places, and handy dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Everyone who has mixed on equal terms with the poor knows this quite well. But the trouble is that intelligent, cultivated people, the very people who might be expected to have liberal opinions, never do mix with the poor. For what do the majority of educated people know about poverty? ...From this ignorance, a superstitious fear of the mob results quite naturally. the educated man pictures a horde of submen, wanting only a day's liberty to loot his house, burn his books, and set him to work minding a machine or sweeping out a lavatory. 'Anything,' he thinks, 'any injustice, sooner than let that mob loose.' He does not see that there is no difference between the mass of rich and poor, there is no question of setting the mob loose. The mob is in fact, loose now, and -- in the shape of rich men -- is using its power to set up enormous treadmills of boredom, such as 'smart' hotels.[The plogeurs, or menial dishwashers and cleaners, work in these smart hotels behind the scenes.]
Moving, powerful, thought provoking stuff--much more so if you place these passages within the full context of the book. I'll be the first to admit that, despite my best efforts, I know I still create a barrier between myself and most of the less privileged and down on their luck as I rush along with my life. People aren't necessarily seeking charity--a bit of genuine compassion and empathy goes a long way. Reading through this text was like listening to the stories of many of my friends who are able to bridge that divide better and more frequently than I, and at times I would be washed over by own experiences and moments of connection.
Check it out. Read it with an open mind and heart.
George Orwell: Wikipedia
