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J A N E K I MU T O P I A & D Y S T O P I A

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

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THE REPUBLIC PLATO

UTOPIATHOMAS MORE

1984GEORGE ORWELL

THE ENCHANTED BROCCOLI FORESTMOLLIE KATZEN

UTOPIA MAPJANE KIM

517

UTOPIA TYPE SPECIMENJANE KIM

4

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THE REPUBLIC PLATO

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Book

IX

7

The second proof is derived from the nature of the soul: seeing that the individual soul, like the State, has been divided by us into three principles, the division may, I think, furnish a new demonstration.

Of what nature?

It seems to me that to these three principles three plea-sures correspond; also three desires and governing powers.

How do you mean? he said.

There is one principle with which, as we were saying, a man learns, another with which he is angry; the third, hav-ing many forms, has no special name, but is denoted by the general term appetitive, from the extraordinary strength and vehemence of the desires of eating and drinking and the other sensual appetites which are the main elements of it; also money-loving, because such desires are generally satisfied by the help of money.

SOCRATES GLAUCON

8

That is true, he said.

If we were to say that the loves and pleasures of this third part were concerned with gain, we should then be able to fall back on a single notion; and might truly and intelligi-bly describe this part of the soul as loving gain or money.

I agree with you.

Again, is not the passionate element wholly set on ruling and conquering and getting fame?

True.

Suppose we call it the contentious or ambitious—would the term be suitable?

Extremely suitable.

On the other hand, every one sees that the principle of knowledge is wholly directed to the truth, and cares less than either of the others for gain or fame.

Far less.

‘Lover of wisdom,’ ‘lover of knowledge,’ are titles which we may fitly apply to that part of the soul?

Certainly.

One principle prevails in the souls of one class of men, another in others, as may happen?

Yes.

Then we may begin by assuming that there are three classes of men—lovers of wisdom, lovers of honour, lovers of gain?

Exactly.

9

And there are three kinds of pleasure, which are their several objects?

Very true.

Now, if you examine the three classes of men, and ask of them in turn which of their lives is pleasantest, each will be found praising his own and depreciating that of others: the money-maker will contrast the vanity of honour or of learning if they bring no money with the solid advantages of gold and silver?

True, he said.

And the lover of honour—what will be his opinion? Will he not think that the pleasure of riches is vulgar, while the pleasure of learning, if it brings no distinction, is all smoke and nonsense to him?

Very true.

And are we to suppose, I said, that the philosopher sets any value on other pleasures in comparison with the pleasure of knowing the truth, and in that pursuit abid-ing, ever learning, not so far indeed from the heaven of pleasure? Does he not call the other pleasures necessary, under the idea that if there were no necessity for them, he would rather not have them?

There can be no doubt of that, he replied.

Since, then, the pleasures of each class and the life of each are in dispute, and the question is not which life is more or less honourable, or better or worse, but which is the more pleasant or painless—how shall we know who speaks truly?

I cannot myself tell, he said.

10

Well, but what ought to be the criterion? Is any better than experience and wisdom and reason?

There cannot be a better, he said.

Then, I said, reflect.

Of the three individuals, which has the greatest experi-ence of all the pleasures which we enumerated? Has the lover of gain, in learning the nature of essential truth, greater experience of the pleasure of knowledge than the philosopher has of the pleasure of gain?

The philosopher, he replied,

Then the lover of wisdom has a great advantage over the lover of gain, for he has a double experience?

Yes, very great.

Again, has he greater experience of the pleasures of hon-our, or the lover of honour of the pleasures of wisdom?

Nay, he said, all three are honoured in pro portion as they attain their object; for the rich man and the brave man and the wise man alike have their crowd of admirers, and as they all receive honour they all have ex

has greatly the advantage; for he has of ne-cessity always known the taste of the other pleasures from his childhood upwards: but the lover of gain in all his experience has not of necessity tasted—or, I should rather say, even had he desired, could hardly have tasted—the sweetness of learning and know-ing truth.

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perience of the pleasures of honour; but the delight which is to be found in the knowl edge of true being is known to the philoso pher only.

His experience, then, will enable him to judge better than any one? Far better.

And he is the only one who has wisdom as well as experience?

Certainly.

Further, the very faculty which is the instrument of judg-ment is not possessed by the covetous or ambitious man, but only by the philosopher?

What faculty?

Reason, with whom, as we were saying, the decision ought to rest.

Yes.

And reasoning is peculiarly his instrument?

Certainly.

If wealth and gain were the criterion, then the praise or blame of the lover of gain would surely be the most trustworthy?

Assuredly.

Or if honour or victory or courage, in that case the judge-ment of the ambitious or pugnacious would be the truest?

Clearly.

But since experience and wisdom and reason are the judges—

12

The only inference possible, he replied, is that pleasures which are approved by the lover of wisdom and reason are the truest.

And so we arrive at the result, that the pleasure of the intelligent part of the soul is the pleasantest of the three, and that he of us in whom this is the ruling principle has the pleasantest life.

Unquestionably, he said, the wise man speaks with authority when he approves of his own life.

And what does the judge affirm to be the life which is next, and the pleasure which is next?

Clearly that of the soldier and lover of honour; who is nearer to himself than the money-maker.

Last comes the lover of gain?

Very true, he said.

Twice in succession, then, has the just man overthrown the unjust in this conflict; and now comes the third trial, which is dedicated to Olympian Zeus the saviour: a sage whispers in my ear that no pleasure except that of the wise is quite true and pure—all others are a shadow only; and surely this will prove the greatest and most decisive of falls?

Yes, the greatest; but will you explain yourself?

I will work out the subject and you shall answer my questions.

Proceed.

Say, then, is not pleasure opposed to pain?

13

True.

And there is a neutral state which is neither pleasure nor pain?

There is.

A state which is intermediate, and a sort of repose of the soul about either—that is what you mean?

Yes.

You remember what people say when they are sick?

What do they say?

That after all nothing is pleasanter than health. But then they never knew this to be the greatest of pleasures until they were ill.

Yes, I know, he said.

And when persons are suffering from acute pain, you must. have heard them say that there is nothing pleas-anter than to get rid of their pain?

I have.

And there are many other cases of suffering in which the mere rest and cessation of pain, and not any positive enjoyment, is extolled by them as the greatest pleasure?

Yes, he said; at the time they are pleased and well con tent to be at rest.

Again, when pleasure ceases, that sort of rest or cessation will be painful?

Doubtless, he said.

Then the intermediate state of rest will be pleasure and will also be pain?

14

So it would seem.

But can that which is neither become both?

I should say not.

And both pleasure and pain are motions of the soul, are they not?

Yes.

But that which is neither was just now shown to be rest and not motion, and in a mean between them?

Yes.

How, then, can we be right in supposing that the absence of pain is pleasure, or that the absence of pleasure is pain?

Impossible.

This then is an appearance only and not a reality; that is to say, the rest is pleasure at the moment and in compari-son of what is painful, and painful in comparison of what is pleasant; but all these representations, when tried by the test of true pleasure, are not real but a sort of imposi-tion?

That is the inference.

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utopia

TH

OM

AS MORE

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Discourses of

Raphael Hythloday, Of the best state of a commonwealth

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Henry VIII., the unconquered King of England, a prince adorned with all the virtues that become a great monarch, having some differences of no small consequence with Charles the most serene Prince of Castile, sent me into Flanders, as his ambas-sador, for treating and composing matters between them.  I was colleague and companion to that incompa-rable man Cuthbert Tonstal, whom the King, with such universal applause, lately made Master of the Rolls; but of whom I will say nothing; not because I fear that the testimony of a friend will be suspected, but rather be-cause his learning and virtues are too great for me to do them justice, and so well known, that they need not my commendations, unless I would, according to the prov-erb, “Show the sun with a lantern.”  Those that were ap-

20

pointed by the Prince to treat with us, met us at Bruges, according to agreement; they were all worthy men.  The Margrave of Bruges was their head, and the chief man among them; but he that was esteemed the wisest, and that spoke for the rest, was George Temse, the Provost of Casselsee: both art and nature had concurred to make him eloquent: he was very learned in the law; and, as he had a great capacity, so, by a long practice in affairs, he was very dexterous at unravelling them.  After we had several times met, without coming to an agreement, they went to Brussels for some days, to know the Prince’s pleasure; and, since our business would admit it, I went to Antwerp.  While I was there, among many that visit-ed me, there was one that was more acceptable to me than any other, Peter Giles, born at Antwerp, who is a man of great honour, and of a good rank in his town, though less than he deserves; for I do not know if there be anywhere to be found a more learned and a better bred young man; for as he is both a very worthy and a very knowing person, so he is so civil to all men, so par-ticularly kind to his friends, and so full of candour and affection, that there is not, perhaps, above one or two anywhere to be found, that is in all respects so perfect a friend: he is extraordinarily modest, there is no artifice in him, and yet no man has more of a prudent simplicity. 

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His conversation was so pleasant and so innocently cheerful, that his company in a great measure lessened any longings to go back to my country, and to my wife and children, which an absence of four months had quickened very much.  One day, as I was returning home from mass at St. Mary’s, which is the chief church, and the most frequented of any in Antwerp, I saw him, by accident, talking with a stranger, who seemed past the flower of his age; his face was tanned, he had a long beard, and his cloak was hanging carelessly about him, so that, by his looks and habit, I concluded he was a sea-man.  As soon as Peter saw me, he came and saluted me, and as I was returning his civility, he took me aside, and pointing to him with whom he had been discoursing, he said, “Do you see that man?  I was just thinking to bring him to you.”  I answered, “He should have been very wel-come on your account.”  “And on his own too,” replied he, “if you knew the man, for there is none alive that can give so copious an account of unknown nations and countries as he can do, which I know you very much desire.”  “Then,” said I, “I did not guess amiss, for at first sight I took him for a seaman.”  “But you are much mis-taken,” said he, “for he has not sailed as a seaman, but as a traveller, or rather a philosopher.  This Raphael, who from his family carries the name of Hythloday, is not

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ignorant of the Latin tongue, but is eminently learned in the Greek, having applied himself more particularly to that than to the former, because he had given himself much to philosophy, in which he knew that the Romans have left us nothing that is valuable, except what is to be found in Seneca and Cicero.  He is a Portuguese by birth, and was so desirous of seeing the world, that he divided his estate among his brothers, ran the same haz-ard as Americus Vesputius, and bore a share in three of his four voyages that are now published; only he did not return with him in his last, but obtained leave of him, almost by force, that he might be one of those twenty-four who were left at the farthest place at which they touched in their last voyage to New Castile.  The leaving him thus did not a little gratify one that was more fond of travelling than of returning home to be buried in his own country; for he used often to say, that the way to heaven was the same from all places, and he that had no grave had the heavens still over him.  Yet this disposition of mind had cost him dear, if God had not been very gracious to him; for after he, with five Castalians, had travelled over many countries, at last, by strange good fortune, he got to Ceylon, and from thence to Calicut, where he, very happily, found some Portuguese ships; and, beyond all men’s expectations, returned to his na-

23

tive country.”  When Peter had said this to me, I thanked him for his kindness in intending to give me the ac-quaintance of a man whose conversation he knew would be so acceptable; and upon that Raphael and I embraced each other.  After those civilities were past which are usual with strangers upon their first meeting, we all went to my house, and entering into the garden, sat down on a green bank and entertained one another in discourse.  He told us that when Vesputius had sailed away, he, and his companions that stayed behind in New Castile, by degrees insinuated themselves into the affec-tions of the people of the country, meeting often with them and treating them gently; and at last they not only lived among them without danger, but conversed famil-iarly with them, and got so far into the heart of a prince, whose name and country I have forgot, that he both fur-nished them plentifully with all things necessary, and also with the conveniences of travelling, both boats when they went by water, and waggons when they trained over land: he sent with them a very faithful guide, who was to introduce and recommend them to such other princes as they had a mind to see: and after many days’ journey, they came to towns, and cities, and to commonwealths, that were both happily governed and well peopled.  Under the equator, and as far on both

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sides of it as the sun moves, there lay vast deserts that were parched with the perpetual heat of the sun; the soil was withered, all things looked dismally, and all places were either quite uninhabited, or abounded with wild beasts and serpents, and some few men, that were nei-ther less wild nor less cruel than the beasts themselves.  But, as they went farther, a new scene opened, all things grew milder, the air less burning, the soil more verdant, and even the beasts were less wild: and, at last, there were nations, towns, and cities, that had not only mu-tual commerce among themselves and with their neigh-bours, but traded, both by sea and land, to very remote countries.  There they found the conveniencies of seeing many countries on all hands, for no ship went any voy-age into which he and his companions were not very welcome.  The first vessels that they saw were flat-bot-tomed, their sails were made of reeds and wicker, woven close together, only some were of leather; but, after-wards, they found ships made with round keels and can-vas sails, and in all respects like our ships, and the sea-men understood both astronomy and navigation.  He got wonderfully into their favour by showing them the use of the needle, of which till then they were utterly ignorant.  They sailed before with great caution, and only in summer time; but now they count all seasons

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alike, trusting wholly to the loadstone, in which they are, perhaps, more secure than safe; so that there is reason to fear that this discovery, which was thought would prove so much to their advantage, may, by their imprudence, become an occasion of much mischief to them.  But it were too long to dwell on all that he told us he had ob-served in every place, it would be too great a digression from our present purpose: whatever is necessary to be told concerning those wise and prudent institutions which he observed among civilised nations, may per-haps be related by us on a more proper occasion.  We asked him many questions concerning all these things, to which he answered very willingly; we made no inqui-ries after monsters, than which nothing is more com-mon; for everywhere one may hear of ravenous dogs and wolves, and cruel men-eaters, but it is not so easy to find states that are well and wisely governed. As he told us of many things that were amiss in those new-discovered countries, so he reckoned up not a few things, from which patterns might be taken for correcting the errors of these nations among whom we live; of which an ac-count may be given, as I have already promised, at some other time; for, at present, I intend only to relate those particulars that he told us, of the manners and laws of the Utopians: but I will begin with the occasion that led

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us to speak of that commonwealth.  After Raphael had discoursed with great judgment on the many errors that were both among us and these nations, had treated of the wise institutions both here and there, and had spo-ken as distinctly of the customs and government of ev-ery nation through which he had past, as if he had spent his whole life in it, Peter, being struck with admiration, said, “I wonder, Raphael, how it comes that you enter into no king’s service, for I am sure there are none to whom you would not be very acceptable; for your learn-ing and knowledge, both of men and things, is such, that you would not only entertain them very pleasantly, but be of great use to them, by the examples you could set before them, and the advices you could give them; and by this means you would both serve your own interest, and be of great use to all your friends.”  “As for my friends,” answered he, “I need not be much concerned, having already done for them all that was incumbent on me; for when I was not only in good health, but fresh and young, I distributed that among my kindred and friends which other people do not part with till they are old and sick: when they then unwillingly give that which they can enjoy no longer themselves.  I think my friends ought to rest contented with this, and not to expect that for their sakes I should enslave myself to any king what-

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soever.”  “Soft and fair!” said Peter; “I do not mean that you should be a slave to any king, but only that you should assist them and be useful to them.”  “The change of the word,” said he, “does not alter the matter.”  “But term it as you will,” replied Peter, “I do not see any other way in which you can be so useful, both in private to your friends and to the public, and by which you can make your own condition happier.”  “Happier?” an-swered Raphael, “is that to be compassed in a way so abhorrent to my genius?  Now I live as I will, to which I believe, few courtiers can pretend; and there are so many that court the favour of great men, that there will be no great loss if they are not troubled either with me or with others of my temper.”  Upon this, said I, “I perceive, Ra-phael, that you neither desire wealth nor greatness; and, indeed, I value and admire such a man much more than I do any of the great men in the world.  Yet I think you would do what would well become so generous and philosophical a soul as yours is, if you would apply your time and thoughts to public affairs, even though you may happen to find it a little uneasy to yourself; and this you can never do with so much advantage as by being taken into the council of some great prince and putting him on noble and worthy actions, which I know you would do if you were in such a post; for the springs both

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of good and evil flow from the prince over a whole nation, as from a lasting fountain.  So much learning as you have, even without practice in affairs, or so great a practice as you have had, without any other learning, would render you a very fit counsellor to any king whatsoever.”  “You are doubly mistaken,” said he, “Mr. More, both in your opinion of me and in the judgment you make of things: for as I have not that capacity that you fancy I have, so if I had it, the public would not be one jot the better when I had sacrificed my quiet to it.  For most princes apply themselves more to affairs of war than to the useful arts of peace; and in these I neither have any knowledge, nor do I much desire it; they are generally more set on acquiring new kingdoms, right or wrong, than on governing well those they possess: and, among the ministers of princes, there are none that are not so wise as to need no assistance, or at least, that do not think themselves so wise that they imagine they need none; and if they court any, it is only those for whom the prince has much personal favour, whom by their fawning and flatteries they endeavour to fix to their own interests; and, indeed, nature has so made us, that we all love to be flattered and to please ourselves with our own notions: the old crow loves his young, and

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the ape her cubs.  Now if in such a court, made up of persons who envy all others and only admire themselves, a person should but propose anything that he had either read in history or observed in his travels, the rest would think that the reputation of their wisdom would sink, and that their interests would be much depressed if they could not run it down: and, if all other things failed, then they would fly to this, that such or such things pleased our ancestors, and it were well for us if we could but match them.  They would set up their rest on such an answer, as a sufficient confutation of all that could be said, as if it were a great misfortune that any should be found wiser than his ancestors.  But though they willingly let go all the good things that were among those of former ages, yet, if better things are proposed, they cover themselves obstinately with this excuse of reverence to past times.  I have met with these proud, morose, and absurd judgments of things in many places, particularly once in England.”  “Were you ever there?” said I.  “Yes, I was,” answered he, “and stayed some months there, not long after the rebellion in the West was suppressed, with a great slaughter of the poor people that were engaged in it.

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33

19841984GEORGE

ORW

ELL

2

PART ONECHAPTER ONE

33

t 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 Vic-

tory 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 coloured poster, too large for

indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted

simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the

face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black

moustache 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.

I

34

B I G B RO T H E R I S WAT C H I N G Y O U ,

Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list

of figures which had something to do with the pro-

duction 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 meagreness of his body merely emphasized by

the blue overalls which were the uniform of the par-

ty. 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 spi-

rals, and though the sun was shining and the sky a

harsh blue, there seemed to be no colour in any-

thing, except the posters that were plastered every-

where. The blackmoustachio’d face gazed down from

every commanding corner. There was one on the

the caption beneath it ran.

35

house-front immediately opposite. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption said, while the

dark eyes looked deep into Winston’s own. Down at

streetlevel another poster, torn at one corner, flapped

fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and uncov-

ering the single word INGSOC. In the far distance a

helicopter skimmed down between the roofs, hov-

ered 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 over-

fulfilment of the Ninth Three-Year Plan. The telescreen

received and transmitted simultaneously. Any sound

that Winston made, above the level of a very low whis-

per, 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 of-

ten, 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

36

every sound you made was overheard, and, ex-

cept 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 kilometre 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 Oce-

ania. 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 rot-

ting nineteenth-century houses, their sides shored up

with baulks 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 occur-

ring against no background and mostly unintelligible.

WAR IS PEACE. FREEDOM IS SLAVERY.

37

WAR IS PEACE. FREEDOM IS SLAVERY.

IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH

38

The Ministry of Truth -- Minitrue, in Newspeak --

was startlingly different from any other object in sight.

It was an enormous pyramidal structure of glittering

white concrete, soaring up, terrace after terrace, 300

metres 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:

The Ministry of Truth contained, it was said, three

thousand rooms above ground level, and correspond-

ing ramifications below. Scattere d about London

there were just three other buildings of similar ap-

pearance and size. So completely did they dwarf the

surrounding architecture that from the roof of Victory

Mansions you could see all four of them simultane-

ously. 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 it-

self 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 New-

speak: Minitrue, Minipax, Miniluv, and Miniplenty.

The Ministry of Love was the really frighten-

ing one. There were no windows in it at all. Win-

ston had never been inside the Ministry of Love, nor

within half a kilometre of it. It was a place impos-

39

sible 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.

Winston turned round abruptly. He had set his fea-

tures 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-coloured

bread which had got to be saved for tomorrow’s break-

fast. He took down from the shelf a bottle of colourless

liquid with a plain white label marked

VICTORY GINIt gave off a sickly, oily smell, as of Chinese ricespirit.

Winston poured out nearly a teacupful, nerved him-

self for a shock, and gulped it down like a dose of

medicine.

40

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 cheer-

ful. He took a cigarette from a crumpled packet

marked “VICTORY CIGARETTES” and incautiously held it upright, whereupon the to-

bacco fell out on to 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 pres-

ent position he could not be seen. It was partly the

41

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 beau-

tiful 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 immedi-

ately 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 briefcase. 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

42

it would be punished by death, or at least by twenty-

five years in a forced-labour 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 trem-

or had gone through his bowels. To mark the paper

was the decisive act. In small clumsy letters he wrote:

April 4th, 1984.

43

45

33

THEENCHANTED

BROCCOLIFOREST

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2tb Fresh Lemon Juice

3/4 tsSalt

1tb Butter; or oil

3tb Fresh mint; minced

Oil; for the pan

1/4 c Fresh parsley; minced

2tb Fresh dill; minced

1c cheddar cheese; Grated

Black Pepper; freshly ground

1c Onions; chopped

butter; Melted, for the top

Cayenne; to taste

1 lg Garlic; minced

6c Cooked rice; approximate

1/2 c Sunflower seeds; toasted

INGREDIE

NTS

33

Now, enchant the broccoli...

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1. Cook 2 cups brown or white rice in 3 cups boiling water until tender. (This will take 15-20 minutes for white, and 35-35 minutes for brown.)

2. Fluff the cooked rice with a fork and set aside.

3. Trim the tough bottoms from the broccoli stalks and cut the tops into smallish spears of whatever size suits you.

4. Cook them in a steamer over boiling water until bright green and just barely tender.

5. Rinse under cold running water, drain well and set aside. Preheat oven to 325F.

6. Lightly grease a 9X13-inch baking pan.

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7. Melt the butter or heat the oil in a large, deep skillet or a Dutch oven.

8. Add the onion and salt and saute over medium heat for about 5 minutes or until the onion begins to soften.

9. Add the garlic and lemon juice and saute for about 2 minutes longer. Stir in the rice, some black pepper and cayenne to taste, the herbs and the optional sunflower seeds and/or cheese.

10. Taste to correct salt, if necessary and spread into prepared pan.

11. Now for the fun part. Arrange the broccoli upright in the rice, and, if desired, drizzle with melted butter.

12. Cover loosely with foil and bake until just heated through (15-20 minutes). Serve right away.

by Mollie Katzen

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