Animal Farm by George Orwell (1945)

Animal Farm: A Fairy Story must be one of the most famous novellas in the world.

It is the story of Manor Farm whose animals rise up and throw off the repressive rule of Jones the farmer, write a set of revolutionary rules, write a revolutionary anthem (Beasts of England), create a flag for the coming Republic of Animals when all humans had been overthrown, and try to institute animal utopia and live according the doctrines of ‘animalism’.

But slowly this ‘revolution’ is co-opted by the clever calculating pigs, who roll back the liberating effects of the revolution one step at a time, until at the fable’s climax, the animals look into the house to see old Jones dining with the now thoroughly corrupt pigs and can see no difference between them. Their new revolutionary master is identical to their old reactionary master.

The animals rise up against Farmer Jones - illustration by Ralph Steadman

The animals rise up against Farmer Jones – illustration by Ralph Steadman

Animal Farm is a naked satire on the corruption of the Russian revolution which went from genuine egalitarian idealism to brutal dictatorship in under 20 years.

The specific prompt for the book was Orwell’s nausea at the way British official channels swung 180 degrees from anti-Soviet propaganda while Stalin was an ally to Hitler (September 1939 to June 1941) to sudden support for our gallant ally, Uncle Joe, once he was fighting on our side i.e. against Hitler.

Orwell had never deviated from the hatred of Stalin’s murderous regime which he saw working at first hand during the Spanish Civil War. Confirming his worst fears of British culture’s craven submission to pro-Stalin influences, the book was turned down by a succession of publishers, some on the direct advice of the Ministry of Information, which was tasked with repressing criticism of our gallant Soviet ally.

The fable is alive with brilliant touches. At first the victorious pigs write out a set of revolutionary rules, the seventh and most important is of which is ‘All animals are equal’. It was a brilliant idea to have the clever pigs simplify this for the dimmer animals (the sheep, hens and ducks) into the motto ‘Four legs good, two legs bad’. But it was a real stroke of genius for Orwell to later have the pigs amending these rules, most notoriously amending rule seven to become ‘All animals are equal – but some are more equal than others’. This says something so profound about human beings and our laws and rules that it can be applied anywhere where laws are corrupted and distorted by the powerful.

A drunk pig rewrites the rules of the revolution - ilustration by Ralph Steadman

Squealer falls off the ladder while rewriting the rules of the revolution – illustration by Ralph Steadman

Like all fables it endures not just because it skewers the Stalinist tyranny so well – but because it brings out really deep, profound truths about human nature, our sometime strengths and our all-too-human weaknesses, the readiness not only of the unscrupulous to rule corruptly by terror, but the far worse readiness of their aides and lickspittles to help them and, worst of all, the willingness of so many of us sheep to let them.

The 1954 adaptation

There have been countless adaptations. Maybe the most atmospheric, because made during the bitter Cold War, is this 1954 cartoon adaptation.


Related links

All Orwell’s major works are available online on a range of websites. Although it’s not completely comprehensive, I like the layout of the texts provided by the University of Adelaide Orwell website.

George Orwell’s books

1933 – Down and Out in Paris and London
1934 – Burmese Days
1935 – A Clergyman’s Daughter
1936 – Keep the Aspidistra Flying
1937 – The Road to Wigan Pier
1938 – Homage to Catalonia
1939 – Coming Up for Air
1941 – The Lion and the Unicorn
1945 – Animal Farm
1949 – Nineteen Eighty-Four

The Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett (2006)

The Uncommon Reader is a short (100 pages) novella by Alan Bennett, dry, clipped, funny, understated, with some-thought provoking notions and brilliant phrasing.

Plot The Queen stumbles across the travelling lending library in the Palace grounds and out of politeness borrows a book. She starts reading. She becomes intrigued at new thoughts and feelings. She develops sensibility ie noticing people and details, becomes less dutiful, more enquiring. This unsettles everyone from her Private Secretary to the Prime Minister. After a discursive middle which explores the nature of reading, what it does to you, why we do it, the book moves quickly to a surprise, or shock, ending.

The camp/gay environment of the Royal Household is very well conveyed, all those gay equerries, a royal milieu familiar to Bennett from his play about the gay traitor Anthony Blunt, from The Madness of George III etc. He seems perfectly at home putting pithy dialogue into the mouths of her Majesty and the Duke of Edinburgh.

And what dialogue! Bennett has been writing dialogue for 50 years, from the Cambridge Review, through his countless plays, TV monologues and film scripts, along with the brief concentrated format of his diaries: the short form, and a pithy abbreviated style, are his thing and reading the prose is a delight:

‘We have a travelling library’, said the Queen to her husband that evening. ‘Comes every Wednesday.’
‘Jolly good. Wonders never cease.’
‘You remember Oklahoma?’
‘Yes. We saw it when we were engaged.’ Extraordinary to think of it, the dashing blond boy he had been.
‘Was that Cecil Beaton?’ said the Queen.
‘No idea. Never liked the fellow. Green shoes.’
‘Smelled delicious.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A book. I borrowed it.’
‘Dead, I suppose.’
‘Who?’
‘The Beaton fellow.’
‘Oh yes. Everyone’s dead.’
‘Good show, though.’
And he went off to bed glumly singing ‘Oh what a beautiful morning’ as the Queen opened her book.

Bennett’s books are small, domestic, homely. He is a national treasure because, under his hand, everything turns into Ratty and Moley: vide George III and his wife wonderfully domesticated as Mr and Mrs King; here, the Prime Minister is an easily confused figure of fun, not the war criminal Bennett probably thinks him.

As to the thoughts on reading, they are nicely phrased:

‘Of course’, said the Queen, ‘but briefing is not reading. In fact it is the antithesis of reading. Briefing is terse, factual and to the point. Reading is untidy, discursive and perpetually inviting. Briefing closes down a subject, reading opens it up.’ (page 22)

The appeal of reading, she thought, lay in its indifference: there was something lofty about literature. Books did not care who was reading them or whether one read them or not. All readers were equal… (Page 30)

But for all the crafted dialogue, the limpid style, the witticisms, the out-and-out jokes, the sly quotes and the knowing references to contemporary authors, ultimately, like all Bennett, we are left a little empty and unsatisfied. Is that it? I wanted more meat. The choice of the Queen as subject turns out not to be revolutionary or disruptive but to ensure the book is small in scope and intention. The reading bug makes her less mechanical in her brief chats with her subjects: she actually starts asking them what they’re reading, which throws the subjects and her staff; and then she realises she enjoys writing down the thoughts that reading prompts – maybe she should record them in a notebook or something?

That’s about it. The text, like the subject matter, feels controlled and safe and cosy. Like the proverbial Chinese meal, I enjoyed the flavours and colours as I read it; but an hour or two later I was hungry again.

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