Starting today, George Orwell’s diaries start appearing as a blog, 70 years after they were written (you may recall a similar project some time back blogging the diaries of Samuel Pepys). By way of introduction:
From 9thÂ August 2008, you will be able to gather your own impression of Orwellâ€™s face from reading his most strongly individual piece of writing: his diaries. The Orwell Prize is delighted to announce that, to mark the 70thÂ anniversary of the diaries, each diary entry will be published onÂ this blog exactly seventy years after it was written, allowing you to follow Orwellâ€™sÂ recuperation in Morocco, his return to the UK, and his opinions on the descent of Europe into war in real time. The diaries end in 1942, three years into the conflict.
What impression of Orwell will emerge? From his domestic diaries (which start on 9thÂ August), it may be a largely unknown Orwell, whose great curiosity is focused on plants, animals, woodwork, and â€“ above all â€“ how many eggs his chickens have laid. From his political diaries (from 7thÂ September), it may be the Orwell whose political observations and critical thinking have enthralled and inspired generations since his death in 1950. Whether writing about the Spanish Civil War or sloe gin, geraniums or Germany, Orwellâ€™s perceptive eye and rebellion against the â€˜gramophone mindâ€™ he so despised are obvious.
Orwell wrote of what he saw in Dickens: â€˜He is laughing, with a touch of anger in his laughter, but no triumph, no malignity. It is the face of a man who is always fighting against something, but who fights in the open and is not frightened, the face of a man who isÂ generously angryâ€” in other words, of a nineteenth-century liberal, a free intelligence, a type hated with equal hatred by all the smelly little orthodoxies which are now contending for our souls.â€™
Here’s the first entry, August 9, 1938.
Caught a large snake in the herbaceous border besideÂ the drive. About 2â€™ 6â€ long, grey colour, black markings on belly but none on back except, on the neck, a mark resembling an arrow head (Ã±) all down the back. Did not care to handle it too recklessly, so only picked it up by extreme tip of tail. Held thus it could nearly turn far enough to bite my hand, but not quite. Marx1 interested at first, but after smelling it was frightened & ran away. The people here normally kill all snakes. As usual, the tongue referred to as â€œfangsâ€2.
Notes by Peter Davison, from theÂ Complete Works:
1The Orwellsâ€™ dog.
2It was an ancient belief that a poisonous snake injects its poison by means of a forked tongue and not, as is the case, through two fangs. So Shakespeare inÂ Richard II, 3.20 â€“ 22.
Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder
Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Throw death upon thy sovereignâ€™s enemies.
See also 11.8.38.