1984 Deconstruction: Part 6
Feb. 17th, 2017 05:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wingedbeastIt took us five parts, but we got out of Chapter 1 and now we're into Chapter 2, where Winston Smith gets to meet people and interact with them in a manner not entirely bound up in his own mind.
A knock on the door, plus panic, plus a desire not to smudge wet ink in his diary equals accidentally leaving the book open to the words "DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER" repeatedly written and in full display. Luckily, it's not the thought-police or anybody interested in entering his apartment, but his neighbor.
Meet Mrs. Parsons. Not having read all the way through, yet (at least not since my first read), I don't recall if she gets much mention beyond this. Tom Parsons, her husband, will. But, she won't get much, if anything, beyond this scene. (Note: I may be wrong, so this is me putting, in writing, something for you to look back and mock me over if my memory was faulty here. I promise not to go back and edit it away... But, I could go back and... you know what? We get to that part when we get to it.)
If, going just on memory, I'm to characterize her, I imagine she makes a good representation of the Proles in Oceana. They're the common class (in what claims to be a classless society, one of the chief ironies of communist regimes in the first place). They don't have power in government. They have their lives, their families, their every-day stresses. Despite the sense that government is a distant, unconcerned power for such classes, of course it has a regular part in her life.
She's calling on Winston to fix a blocked up kitchen sink.
Instinctively, I think "You know what would be a big help, there? A free market economy. Regulation will be necessary, of course, to keep people from taking pay then leaving half-done jobs or for people who know nothing to scam the desperate..."
That's partly the point. A government can't do all jobs. A free market economy is a good way for a society to outsource a lot of the work that goes into keeping civilization running. It's a useful tool. (One that shouldn't be worshiped as sometimes seems to happen.)
Even without that, a single, common family's repairs just won't be high priority. I imagine that both Inner Party members and just Party members get priority, along with emergency repairs. So, two years to fix a window is believable.
Just a matter of priorities and Oceana's priorities will be made clear towards the end.
And, that just adds to the troubles of a Prole like Mrs. Parsons.
Let's move onto another way Oceana's governance makes Mrs. Parsons's life harder.
She eventually completes that sentence in a way she probably didn't intend. And, we get one of those large paragraphs just on Parsons (Tom to his wife). He's not even in the scene, so I'll come back to this when we actually meet him.
Details regarding a clog that I'm not sure have any great symbolic significance, so we needn't go there.
Children, and I don't think I'm saying anything controversial here, can be little monsters. They can especially be terrifying when they're enthusiastic about something and they're too busy playing to figure out who's into the game. Maybe the two children of the Parsons home are particularly... spirited, but let's focus on what they're playing.
They're playing a game not too distant from the game a child might have been playing in the 1940s or 1950s, with a slight difference. "Catch the communist spy!" It's what all the heroes did, fight the communists. It's how you defended your nation against an insidious threat.
But, this isn't just children being encouraged to report something to the authorities if they see something and, perhaps, taking their play a little too far. Mrs. Parsons does not reprimand them in any way. Those outfits they're wearing aren't either dashing or made to fit in. These kids are in the "turn in your neighbor to the authorities" version of the Scouts.
And, here's where I note something else about Oceana that is also present in other elements of our society. Remember that song where, "if the devil doesn't like it, he can sit on a tack"? Remember that it's a children's song. It's a children's song, teaching something that, if you're in one of the particular brands of Christianity that likes to use that song, you're not allowed to disagree with.
Also remember that one element of some forms of Christianity is the commandment to love God more than everybody else.
Apparently, hangings of Eurasian prisoners were a nigh-monthly event. This was something that, according to Oceana, was supposed to be something for children to watch and, indeed, want to watch. Death isn't a big thing, at least not deaths of the bad people, who could be anybody. Loyalty to Party was everything and even your mother could be a thought-criminal, if she expressed any kind of objection to your going to see a hanging as an appropriate activity for children or their play of randomly assigning traitor status to neighbors trying to help.
Somebody, please, remind me to talk about her again when it comes time to get into the purpose of room 101.
You know, that's only the second time he considered somebody having an internal life other than the face they try to present. It's perhaps the only time he's done so for someone who couldn't do anything for him.
And, we go right back to it. Winston Winston Winston, you almost came through to a recognition that other people have internal lives.
I might, once I'm done with this, have to make a Case for a 1984 series (on HBO, Showtime, or Netflix, some network that can get away with the nihilistic depression required for a story that fundamentally demands an unhappy ending). If for no other reason, to get a deeper look at other people in this world.
Still, whether or not their internal world matches the outer world, it might not make a difference for someone like Winston Smith. Either they're as terrified as their parents of ever not being as enthusiastic to betray everyone in the name of the state or they really are that enthusiastic.
A knock on the door, plus panic, plus a desire not to smudge wet ink in his diary equals accidentally leaving the book open to the words "DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER" repeatedly written and in full display. Luckily, it's not the thought-police or anybody interested in entering his apartment, but his neighbor.
It was Mrs Parsons, the wife of a neighbour on the same floor. ('Mrs' was a word somewhat discountenanced by the Party-you were supposed to call everyone 'comrade'-but with some women one used it instinctively.) She was a woman of about thirty, but looking much older. One had the impression that there was dust in the creases of her face.
Meet Mrs. Parsons. Not having read all the way through, yet (at least not since my first read), I don't recall if she gets much mention beyond this. Tom Parsons, her husband, will. But, she won't get much, if anything, beyond this scene. (Note: I may be wrong, so this is me putting, in writing, something for you to look back and mock me over if my memory was faulty here. I promise not to go back and edit it away... But, I could go back and... you know what? We get to that part when we get to it.)
If, going just on memory, I'm to characterize her, I imagine she makes a good representation of the Proles in Oceana. They're the common class (in what claims to be a classless society, one of the chief ironies of communist regimes in the first place). They don't have power in government. They have their lives, their families, their every-day stresses. Despite the sense that government is a distant, unconcerned power for such classes, of course it has a regular part in her life.
She's calling on Winston to fix a blocked up kitchen sink.
These amateur repair jobs were an almost daily irritation. Victory Mansions were olf flats, built in the 1930s or thereabouts, and were falling to pieces. The plaster flaked constantly from ceilings and walls, the pipes burst in every hard frost, the roof leaked whenever there was snow, the heating system was usually running at half steam when it was not closed down altogether from motives of economy. Repairs, except what you could do for yourself, had to be sanctioned by remote committees which were liable to hold up even the mending of a window-pane for two years.
Instinctively, I think "You know what would be a big help, there? A free market economy. Regulation will be necessary, of course, to keep people from taking pay then leaving half-done jobs or for people who know nothing to scam the desperate..."
That's partly the point. A government can't do all jobs. A free market economy is a good way for a society to outsource a lot of the work that goes into keeping civilization running. It's a useful tool. (One that shouldn't be worshiped as sometimes seems to happen.)
Even without that, a single, common family's repairs just won't be high priority. I imagine that both Inner Party members and just Party members get priority, along with emergency repairs. So, two years to fix a window is believable.
Just a matter of priorities and Oceana's priorities will be made clear towards the end.
And, that just adds to the troubles of a Prole like Mrs. Parsons.
Let's move onto another way Oceana's governance makes Mrs. Parsons's life harder.
'It's the children,' said Mrs Parsons, casting a half-apprehensive glance at the door. 'They haven't been out today. And, of course---'
She eventually completes that sentence in a way she probably didn't intend. And, we get one of those large paragraphs just on Parsons (Tom to his wife). He's not even in the scene, so I'll come back to this when we actually meet him.
'A spanner,' said Mrs Parsons, immediately becoming invertebrate. 'I don't know, I'm sure. Perhaps the children---'
There was a trampling of boots and another blast on the comb as the children charged into the living-room. Mrs Parsons brought the spanner.
Details regarding a clog that I'm not sure have any great symbolic significance, so we needn't go there.
'Up with your hands!' yelled a savage voice.
A handsome, tough-looking boy of nine had popped up from behind the table and was menacing him with a toy automatic pistol, while his small sister, about two years younger, made the same gesture with a fragment of wood. Both of them were dressed in the blue shorts, grey shirts and red neckerchiefs which were the uniform of the Spies. Winston raised his hands above his head, but with an uneasy feeling, so vicous was the boy's demeanour, that it was not altogether a game.
'You're a traitor!' Yelled the boy. "You're a thought-criminal! You're a Eurasian spy! I'll shoot you, I'll vaporize you, I'll send you to the salt mines!'
Suddenly they were both leaping round him, shouting 'Traitor!' and 'Thought-criminal!', the little girl imitating her brother in every movement.
Children, and I don't think I'm saying anything controversial here, can be little monsters. They can especially be terrifying when they're enthusiastic about something and they're too busy playing to figure out who's into the game. Maybe the two children of the Parsons home are particularly... spirited, but let's focus on what they're playing.
They're playing a game not too distant from the game a child might have been playing in the 1940s or 1950s, with a slight difference. "Catch the communist spy!" It's what all the heroes did, fight the communists. It's how you defended your nation against an insidious threat.
But, this isn't just children being encouraged to report something to the authorities if they see something and, perhaps, taking their play a little too far. Mrs. Parsons does not reprimand them in any way. Those outfits they're wearing aren't either dashing or made to fit in. These kids are in the "turn in your neighbor to the authorities" version of the Scouts.
And, here's where I note something else about Oceana that is also present in other elements of our society. Remember that song where, "if the devil doesn't like it, he can sit on a tack"? Remember that it's a children's song. It's a children's song, teaching something that, if you're in one of the particular brands of Christianity that likes to use that song, you're not allowed to disagree with.
Also remember that one element of some forms of Christianity is the commandment to love God more than everybody else.
Mrs Parsos's eyes flitted nervously from Winston to the children, and back again. In the better light of the living-room he noticed with interest th at there actually was dust in the creases of her face.
'They do get so noisy,' she said. 'They're disappointed because they couldn't go to see the hanging, that's what it is. I'm too busy to take them, and Tom won't be back from work in time'
'Why can't we go see the hanging!' roared the boy in his huge voice.
'Want to see the hanging! Want to see the hanging!' chanted the little girl, still capering round.
Apparently, hangings of Eurasian prisoners were a nigh-monthly event. This was something that, according to Oceana, was supposed to be something for children to watch and, indeed, want to watch. Death isn't a big thing, at least not deaths of the bad people, who could be anybody. Loyalty to Party was everything and even your mother could be a thought-criminal, if she expressed any kind of objection to your going to see a hanging as an appropriate activity for children or their play of randomly assigning traitor status to neighbors trying to help.
Somebody, please, remind me to talk about her again when it comes time to get into the purpose of room 101.
With those children, he thought, that wretched woman must lead a life of terror.
You know, that's only the second time he considered somebody having an internal life other than the face they try to present. It's perhaps the only time he's done so for someone who couldn't do anything for him.
Another year, two years, and they would be watching her night and day for symptoms of unorthodoxy. Nearly all children nowadays were horrible. What was worst of all was that by means of such organisations as the Spies they were systematically turned into ungovernable little savages, and yet this produced in them no tendency whatever to rebel against the discipline of the Party. On the contrary, they adored the Party and everything connected with it.
...
All their ferocity was turned outwards, against the enemies of the State, against foreigners, traitors, saboteurs, thought-criminals. It was almost normal for people over thirty to be frightened of their own children. And with good reason, for hardly a week passed in which the Times did not carry a paragraph describing how some eavesdropping little sneak-'child hero' was the phrase generally used-had overheard some compromising remark and denounced his parents to the Thought Police.
And, we go right back to it. Winston Winston Winston, you almost came through to a recognition that other people have internal lives.
I might, once I'm done with this, have to make a Case for a 1984 series (on HBO, Showtime, or Netflix, some network that can get away with the nihilistic depression required for a story that fundamentally demands an unhappy ending). If for no other reason, to get a deeper look at other people in this world.
Still, whether or not their internal world matches the outer world, it might not make a difference for someone like Winston Smith. Either they're as terrified as their parents of ever not being as enthusiastic to betray everyone in the name of the state or they really are that enthusiastic.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-21 05:46 pm (UTC)There's a hidden kernel of hope, here.
Unorthodoxy never dies, and it terrifies the people who have to watch for it, day after day - if nothing else, the mechanism by which purity dynamics ratchet ever tighter ensures that, in sort of a self-defeating spiral.
So go ahead. Teach the children to be horrible and to turn their friends and family in.
Hold ever tighter (and watch ever more slip through your fingers.)
>> Winston Winston Winston, you almost came through to a recognition that other people have internal lives.
So close. /o\
no subject
Date: 2017-02-21 07:21 pm (UTC)Mrs Parsons
Date: 2017-08-12 10:15 pm (UTC)Clive Feather
Re: Mrs Parsons
Date: 2017-08-13 12:07 am (UTC)