Hello everybody and welcome to the continuation of this series, looking at high quality pieces
of fiction and working out what makes them so good, so you can apply the same skillset
in your own creative writing.
As we saw in the previous video on this series, looking at the opening of ‘Enduring Love’,
great fiction draws a reader in through making them ask questions. However, it’s important
not to overdo it. We never want to lose the reader completely by making things too obscure
to visualise or understand. Today we’re going to have a look at the opening of 1984
by George Orwell. It’s a dystopian novel published in the 1940s taking place in an
imagined future. First, let’s read the extract:
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith,
his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through
the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty
dust from entering along with him. The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old
rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked
to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of
a man of about forty- five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features.
Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift . Even at the best of times
it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight
hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven
flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle,
went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift -shaft
, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures
which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING
YOU, the caption beneath it ran. Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a
list of figures which had something to do with the production of pig-iron. The voice
came from an oblong metal plaque like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of
the right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat, though the words
were still distinguishable. The instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed,
but there was no way of shutting it off completely.
OK so the first thing I want to say is there is clearly a lot we don’t understand introduced
in this opening. We have some big questions:
‘The clocks were striking thirteen’ goes against what we know of time, and isn’t
further explained. The large poster seems important, but we don’t
really know why. What is Hate Week?
Who is Big Brother?
We also have some small questions: Why are the lifts always broken?
Why does the hallway smell of cabbage?
But crucially, even with these questions as yet unanswered, we are still able to visualise
what’s going on. For example. We might not know how a clock strikes 13, but we know what
a clock is and what it means to strike an hour. Orwell is drawing us in, but he’s
not losing us completely.
In the midst of this ambiguity, the opening also establishes character: we have 39 year
old Winston with his leg ulcer, and setting: a bright cold April day in Victory Mansions.
But what I love about this opening is where Orwell DOES decide to explain some of the
futuristic elements of the novel:
Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which had something
to do with the production of pig-iron. The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like
a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch
and the voice sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable. The instrument
(the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off completely.
Because Orwell has created the telescreen for this story, he describes it in a way we
can visualise. If the text just said ‘the telescreen spoke’, it would lose or perhaps
mislead the reader, because we don’t know what a tele screen is or how to visualise
it. If we imagine a television, we’d be wrong. So Orwell describes this device he’s
created for the story in a simple way, using references to things we do understand, like
a dull mirror.
Now how can you apply this to your own writing? Well, it doesn’t mean you have to write
a sci-fi or fantasy piece. It just means that you need to be careful to make sure the reader
can visualise what you’re writing about. Let’s look at a made up example where this
doesn’t take place:
Justin’s Arbotrang was running out of charge. He lifted up the Zebulacker, but it was clearly
broken. What could he do? He knew that time was running out, and without the much needed
combination of elements, the game was over. “Twenty minutes”. Justin glanced around
the room; he was the only one struggling.
In this story, we just don’t know what we’re reading about. What’s an Arbotrang? What’s
a Zebulacker? What is the combination of elements? What game is going to be over? Who spoke that
line of dialogue? It’s just too obscure.
It could be about some futuristic battle, and those are the names of weapons, but it
might not be. How about this:
Justin’s food mixer, the Arbotrang, was running out of charge. Fantastic! Millions
of people were sitting at home watching the Great British Bake Off final, and now was
the moment Justin’s equipment was going to break. He lifted up the Zebulacker power-whisk,
but it was clearly broken. It had blown a fuse the previous week, as Justin had forced
it through the gloopy mix of his ill-fated rock cake. He knew time was running out, and
without the much needed combination of elements (flour, milk and raisins) the game was over.
“Twenty minutes” announced the host of the show. Justin glanced around the room:
all of the other contestants seemed to have their cakes in the oven already; he was the
only one struggling.
OK this is a silly example really, but it does demonstrate the point. We need to give
enough information for the reader to follow what we’re writing. Sometimes that means
describing the setting well enough, sometimes it means making it clear which character is
speaking, sometimes it means explaining invented elements. Remember, mystery and tension are
great, but we have to make sure the reader can follow what we’re writing.
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