L'orange mécanique

“Goodness is something chosen. When a man cannot choose he ceases to be a man.”

And there I was, O my brothers, re-reading A Clockwork Orange for the first time in over a decade like. Not since I was a malenky malchick, dear brothers, had I spent time with my dear old droog Alex and had a horrorshow time with some ultraviolence. (Okay, I’ll stop there because every review of this book apparently needs a nadsat impression, and I’m willfully refusing to add to that anymore than I must.) This is undoubtedly one of those books that ages like fine cheese; as you mature, the book is more readily digested and comprehended. I probably understood nadsat (or likely glossed over it) more readily as a teen, but now I fully appreciated the challenge of peeking behind this creative linguistic barrier, and unveiling the many layers of the story.Burgess was evidently a linguist, and a brilliant one at that—his use of nadsat in this book feels not only appropriately alienating but even timeless. The use of nadsat is chaotic yet regular enough for any devoted reader to become quite familiar after just a half hour spent in the book. I incidentally know many more Slavic words now than I did during my first read of this book, so it became almost a game to guess the nadsat words as they came along; every time I knew with certainty, it was a new exciting thing. Not only did this help unburden the active work this book requires, but it helped in situating myself in the mindset of the ‘long-suffering and humble narrator’, Alex.That brings me to the next point—Burgess’s creation of Alex, the book’s narrator and protagonist, is no short than a work of brilliance. He is perhaps the most disgusting, vile, and loathsome creature to grace modern fiction, and at the same time, he manages to rope in the poor, unsuspecting reader into sympathizing with his struggles and coming along on his journey of ‘redemption’. I can hardly say I like Alex, nor would I want to spend any time with him (except maybe in listening to music, that being the only exception); and at the same time, I rooted for him, reader. Burgess lays the psychological trap brilliantly—and I can’t fully explain it all, as I’m no genius literary analyst myself. Is is the disguised distancing of the nadsat that shields the reader from violence, or perhaps the ‘suffering’ Alex so often alludes to? It’s hard to say.This novel is also an interesting capsule of looking back to the 1960s. The ever-present threat of socialist regimes and totalitarianism springing up; the overbearing shadow cast by the Iron Curtain; a multitude quieted by breads and circuses while the government runs amok; bleakness all around. All of these, and many other such themes, feature quite prominently in the novel, which is supposed to take place in either the late 20th or early 21st century—it is unclear. Of course, in hindsight, this example of retro-futurism comes off as quite garish and silly, but it’s not too hard to understand the fears underlying them. If one buys Pinker’s argument, then we are perhaps living in one of the most peaceful times in recorded human history—and that is no small marvel. Contrary to the dystopian picture painted in the novel, we do not have gangs of youths beating up the old or committing senseless violence without repercussion (thankfully). In the modern eye, crime has largely been swept under the rug; not completely eradicated, but largely out of sight—so too are the criminals.In addition to the exploration of philosophical themes of free will, agency, and what it means to be good or do good deeds, Burgess also dares to explore an optimistic view of human nature. The infamously ‘deleted’ 21st chapter of the book, left out for the American audience, was only added back into the book in the 80s, well after the film version had dazzled our glazzies (sorry, the rhyme was too good). Apparently this was a controversial decision and many dislike the ‘added’ chapter, despite it being Burgess’s original intents. I’m not sure which version I read many years ago, but I read the one with all chapters this time, and I appreciated the last chapter. Burgess is careful to show us a more introspective Alex—not at all the same Alex we see at the beginning of the story, because of course this Alex has suffered, and suffered, and suffered, as he says. The tone Burgess takes in this final chapter was optimistic and hopeful, though far from a perfectly sanitized conclusion; I enjoyed the ‘true ending’, as it were, and find that it provides for a more complex dive into some of the philosophical themes underpinning the novel. Is it possible for a person to aspire—whether by design or by ignorance—towards the good? Or is wickedness an inborn quality that cannot be overcome? Burgess takes us to task to wrestle with these questions, and I find that leaving the final chapter out leaves a bit too simplistic an ending than he would have liked.If you can handle descriptions of unabashed ultraviolence, then I wholeheartedly recommend reading this book (listening to Beethoven’s Ninth while reading for maximum points). I originally gave this 4 stars; now I give it the full 5, because, dear brothers and friends, I knew it was going to be a real horrorshow of a time as soon as I started. Teen me probably thought I was cool and radical for reading such a terrific book, but now I’m able to not only find myself cool, I can better appreciate Burgess’s intentions and ideas. Oh, and I watched the film version (which had been unfortunately unwatched by me until this moment); it was decent, and I found it fascinating how the story was transformed into the visual scene, but I do miss that final chapter. Can’t wait to re-read this in another 10 or 20 years and see how it goes.

Another book that I have gone into reading without knowing what to expect, I just thought it was going to be a bit of violence.

Turns out it is one of the cleverest books I have ever read. When I started the book I was recommended to have the glossary ready by one person and to not use it by another. I decided to just go with the flow and give the glossary a miss, I am so glad I did as it really adds to the experience. Burgess has done an amazing job with the language, using all these new words but using them in a way that you can follow exactly what is going on.

The story itself is not that violent really, there are bits but with the new words it feels more like poetry than the author trying to freak out the reader with gross scenes.

A really clever coming of age story that is well worth the 5*s I am going to give it.

I am definitely going to check out some of Burgess's other work.

1) "After that I had lovely Mozart, the Jupiter, and there were new pictures of different litsos to be ground and splashed, and it was after this that I thought I would have just one last disc only before crossing the border, and I wanted something starry and strong and firm, so it was J.S. Bach I had, the Brandenburg Concerto just for middle and lower strings. And, slooshying with different bliss than before, I viddied again this name on the paper I'd razrezzed that night, a long time ago it seemed, in that cottage called HOME. The name was about a clockwork orange. Listening to the J.S. Bach, I began to pony better what that meant now, and I thought, slooshying away to the brown gorgeousness of that starry German master, that I would have like to have tolchecked them both harder and ripped them to ribbons on their own floor."

2) "'Well well well. What makes, bratty. What gives, this fine bright middle of the nochy?' He said:
'I'll give you just ten seconds to wipe that stupid grin off of your face. Then I want you to listen.'
'Well, what?' I said, smecking. 'Are you not satisfied with beating me near to death and having me spat upon and making me confess to crimes for hours on end and then shoving me among bezoomnies and vonny perverts in that grahzny cell? Have you some new torture for me, you bratchny?'
'It'll be your own torture,' he said, serious. 'I hope to God it'll torture you to madness.'
And then, before he told me, I knew what it was. The old ptitsa who had all the kots and koshkas had passed on to a better world in one of the city hospitals. I'd cracked her a bit too hard, like. Well, well, that was everything. I thought of all those kots and koshkas mewing for moloko and getting none, not any more from their starry forella of a mistress. That was everything. I'd done the lot, now. And me still only fifteen."

A Clockwork Orange tells the story of Alex, your humble narrator; a disturbing 15 year old anti-hero and leader among his droogs. I was expecting a dark and gruesome dystopian novel when I started reading this classic and I did get this but I did get something much better. I remember watching the movie a long time ago, so some of the story line was unclear to me, I remember part one clearly but couldn’t remember the rest happening – I guess this made the book more enjoyable.

Alex and his friends are a typical bunch; of what I would expect from an English gang. They had their own language, which sometimes was difficult to understand (example: droog = friend, golova = head, Bog = God and khorosho = Good). Alex is a really disturbed man, and watching him change through experimental behaviour-modification treatment is a real eye opener. Having reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest recently the two books seem to have similarities. I believe both came out about the same time (1962) and might be a reflection of the time, but the topic of behaviour and mental health seem to go hand in hand.

Without giving anything away, this novel is a dark and really interesting book, I can imagine many people have spent a lot of time analysing the themes and characters in this book. While I can’t get past the similarities in style and concept between this book and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (I wonder if I’m alone in this opinion) I hope to come back to this book again for a re-read. There is a lot in this book and can’t wait to go though the book again and pick it apart. To use a phrase from this book (I'm sure many people do the same); this book is a real horrorshow.