> Animal Farm was the first book in which I tried, with full consciousness of what I was doing, to fuse political purpose and artistic purpose into one whole. I have not written a novel for seven years, but I hope to write another fairly soon. It is bound to be a failure, every book is a failure, but I do know with some clarity what kind of book I want to write.

This essay was written in 1946. According to https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Orwell_bibliography#Nov... consecutive books he published were:

* Coming Up for Air (1939)

* Animal Farm (1945)

Given the "seven years", it appears considered "Coming Up for Air" his previous novel, and "Animal Farm" not a novel. I wonder why?

In any case, the novel that he next wrote “fairly soon”, and which he predicted would be a failure, was:

* Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949)

I love Orwell, he ranks as one of my favorite writers, especially his non-fiction. Unfortunately, I think too many writers take his famed writing advice as doctrine, and ignore the possibilies of a richer and more elaborate style.

I think I haven't been exposed to such a good writing in years. (Which probably says as much about average modern writing as it does about my reading habits)

> Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist or understand. For all one knows that demon is simply the same instinct that makes a baby squall for attention.

Story of my life is how to align that demon to force me into things I actually want to do.

Posted 9 times before but only a couple threads with comments, and not many of those:

George Orwell: Why I Write (1946) - https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=7901401 - June 2014 (9 comments)

George Orwell: Why I write - https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=3122646 - Oct 2011 (1 comment)

> For minutes at a time this kind of thing would be running through my head: ‘He pushed the door open and entered the room. A yellow beam of sunlight, filtering through the muslin curtains, slanted on to the table, where a matchbox, half-open, lay beside the inkpot. With his right hand in his pocket he moved across to the window. Down in the street a tortoiseshell cat was chasing a dead leaf,’ etc., etc. This habit continued until I was about twenty-five, right through my non-literary years. Although I had to search, and did search, for the right words, I seemed to be making this descriptive effort almost against my will, under a kind of compulsion from outside.

This is fascinating and totally alien to my experience. I don't often think in words at all unless I am preparing to either write or speak them.

For those interested in Orwell, there's a great series of podcasts on his writing during and either side of WWII here:

https://www.ppfideas.com/episodes/orwell%E2%80%99s-war%3A-th...

https://www.ppfideas.com/episodes/orwell%E2%80%99s-war%3A-fa...

https://www.ppfideas.com/episodes/orwell%E2%80%99s-war%3A-fr...

What's great about these is that they're not the usual uncritical lionising, but a clear-eyed look at the many, many things he got wrong, his lack of self-criticism when he did, while still giving him appropriate credit for the big things he got asbolutely right, like the impending cold war (a phrase he popularised).

> Gangrel, No. 4, Summer 1946

I never heard of Gangrel magazine [1]. It had only 4 issues total, and this essay was in the last one. Editors J.B.Pick (age 24 at the time) and Charles Neil asked Orwell and other writers to explain why they write. Pick later became a writer himself.

All this to say that we might've not see this essay if not for those two young editors trying to get established writers' perspective on the craft.

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gangrel_(magazine)

The whole 'demon' thing in the essay reminded me how my mom likes to say: you should only write if you cannot not write.

An important collection of essays but I struggled to get over his racist claim that the English, Irish, Welsh and Scots are essentially all the same. Probably a good thing since I'm now much more inclined to be questioning of other parts of his writing.

> I had a facility with words and a power of facing unpleasant facts

A power to face unpleasant facts is a super power. The world would be a much better place if everyone had it.

This resonates so strongly with me. Everything he wrote about how he wrote in his youth and the analysis of motivations to write is so spot on. It's also really interesting to know that he was actutely aware of the tendency to let the political propaganda weaken the storytelling, because that was something which surprised me when reading Nineteen Eighty-four. It was great, but there were moments when it felt like he dropped the pretense of telling a story and momentarily slipped into overt lecturing.

Writing it thinking. We developed our brain together with our hands. It feels slow but is actually faster for the end goal.

Related: Econtalk podcast episode on George Orwell with guest Christopher Hitchens: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8Dg9T14c4k

This is critical to consider in this age of slop. It’s important first to consider the purpose of writing anything at all. Slop almost always fails this test.

He wrote for aesthetics and he wrote for politics. In the end, he saw the aesthetic writing as meaningless.

It’s years since I’ve read Orwell, but I believe I have read almost all of his books (Coming up for Air nor Clegryman’s Daughter I have not read, or I don’t remember a single thing about them).

He’s Non-fiction books (Down and Out in Paris and London, The Road to Wigan Pier, and especially Homage to Catalonia) are great. If you are at all interested what it was like to live in Europe in this time of economic turmoil and political chaos, those are essential. I also think Catalonia very clearly spells out why Orwell hated Soviets (although he was socialist himself) and didn’t fall for Hitler and all the other themes behind Animal Farm and 1984. He had seen it all serving as an idealistic young man amongst the Spanish anarchists. As an essayist he is beyond reproach and very must enjoyed his short stories.

He was also a curmudgeon and conservative in the most ridiculous things (everything British is the best in the world according to him, he was a complete misogynist - he treated women horribly both in real life and in his writing - and vegetarianism for him was the stupidest nonsense ever, calling them “juice drinkers”). And I’m sorry to say this, but his novels are awful. Not 1984 of course, which is one of my favourite books, and Burmese Days is not half bad in itself, but it is god-awfully bleak with non really any real critique of colonialism or racism, it just kinda says “It’s a bit shit, isn’t it?” Aspidistra was just boring and stupid. You also do not hear Orwell’s voice and that direct unapologetic honesty you get from his essays (“A Hanging” and “Shooting an Elephant” are great). I get an idea he was trying to write like the great male writers of his era, not as himself, as a reporter of human life, what all good writers really are. But that’s just my opinion and it is ten years or more since I read them.

However, there’s plenty more to Orwell than just 1984 and Animal Farm. He was fascinatingly complex person, who could see through the fog clear-eyed when no-one else could, but still be completely blinded by his own misgivings and prejudices. But then again, aren’t we all.

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homely and relatable, but why promoted on HN?

How many here have read Burmese Days, had the bookworm's childhood, and are imbued with that sense of political worldliness?

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