A Clockwork Orange
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| Penguin Modern Classics |
Anthony Burgess
1962
“If he can only perform good or only perform evil, then he is a clockwork orange—meaning that he has the appearance of an organism lovely with colour and juice but is in fact only a clockwork toy to be wound up by God or the Devil.”
Another long-term installment on the I-always-meant-to-read-that plan, Anthony Burgess' A Clockwork Orange is of course well-known as an iconic piece of subversive, counter-cultural fiction, unarguably a household-name and as such a touchstone for anybody looking to up their alternative reading credentials. Unfortunately for Anthony Burgess, a great, great proportion of this reputation is due to the cultural influence of Stanley Kubrick's 1971 film adaptation, such is the power and reach of Hollywood and all that. I'm not a film buff by any means, but even I can comfortably state that Kubrick was a genius, A Clockwork Orange is an amazing film, and the growing realisation that his popular legacy was to be the man who wrote the book that became the film likely drove Burgess a little bit nutty.
As a result, it's fairly well known that Burgess wasn't enamoured with the film (though nor was he overly-critical), and also that these days most critics point to his later novels as superior in their composition. My experience with these is limited only to his 1978 Orwell-themed novel 1985, which I read many years ago and probably didn't give a fair shot to due to youthful exuberance, but I remember not particularly enjoying it. It was mostly because of that that I didn't rush to find a copy of Orange, only eventually coming across a cheap second-hand copy by chance. It was a strange, possibly even unique feeling also to be worried if a book would live up to the quality of the film, but then Kubrick's work was just that good.
Considering how highly I value almost everything Kubrick made (though, whisper it, I never quite *got* Dr. Strangelove) to the point where I think he's probably the best filmmaker of all time, I'm not spoiling any suspense by admitting that no, I did not find Burgess' A Clockwork Orange to be as powerful or as absorbing as Kubrick's adaptation- and now I'm prepared to be ritualistically sacrificed by the book reviewing Illuminati for saying that- but that's not to say I didn't find it to be a thought-provoking and entertaining story.
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Since it's an easy touchstone to reference, let me describe the novel by saying that it isn't much different to the film bar one crucial point, something that Burgess found infuriating, that the film concludes one chapter early. Personally I don't know if that chapter makes the story of the book any more better- in fact it may render it s message somewhat less powerful, but let's not get into spoilers- but in every other regard things are generally identical in terms of plot. The major difference, and something I worried would completely put me off, was down to Burgess' prose through the words of his main character, his well-spoken twinkle-eyed protagonist, so brilliantly bought to life by Malcolm McDowell.
Alex narrates the entire story using Burgess' fictional youthful dialect named 'nadsat', a language intentionally confusing to adults comprised of pieces of slang derived from a number of places. Burgess doesn't provide a glossary, and so reading the first few pages were quite annoying until it all clicked into place that most of these phrases don't need any sort of translation to speak to the reader. Burgess is simply mimicking the intentional divergence of rebellious youthful terminology that occurs naturally with every new generation. For the most part, I read A Clockwork Orange as the depiction of a huge generational gap between parents and children, but it's not necessarily that specific.
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The message of A Clockwork Orange isn't really very complicated, nothing that hasn't been done a thousand times before or since. The obvious influence is Orwell's Nineteen-Eighty Four, while a contemporary (-ish) comparison, and one that popped up in my mind several times as I read, is with Bret Easton Ellis' Less Than Zero. Orange supposedly had a similar effect in regards to offending public decency, but I think I've been far too desensitised in the past for something like that to effect me. The anarchic violence of Orange seemed to me to be too meaningful to be truly offensive, while Alex's almost constantly jovial tone adds a hint of black comedy. I also found it hard to dislike him despite his obscene behaviour- he seems partly like a chaotic force of nature, an almost naturally evil predator born of his surroundings.
A Clockwork Orange was by no means a book that changed my life or even stood out in a particularly meaningful way, but had I read it ten years ago it probably would've been. Regarded as sinister and ground-breaking at least in image, I actually found it deceptively simple, surrounding a standard anti-societal horror story with very memorable characters and prose with enough quality to hide the details of this decomposing England behind evocative insinuations. Unlike Winston Smith of 1984, Alex never gets too close to the full details of the larger picture surrounding his capture and rehabilitation, nor is he seemingly intelligent enough to conscientiously rebel.
As a result of its simplicity, I'd say A Clockwork Orange deserves its reputation as a compelling and undeniably influential piece of punk literature, but it's too limited in scope and design to fully reach classic status. I doubt I'll make the time to go back to the author in the future, but I won't soon forget the style and visceral energy that make up his most famous work.
Another long-term installment on the I-always-meant-to-read-that plan, Anthony Burgess' A Clockwork Orange is of course well-known as an iconic piece of subversive, counter-cultural fiction, unarguably a household-name and as such a touchstone for anybody looking to up their alternative reading credentials. Unfortunately for Anthony Burgess, a great, great proportion of this reputation is due to the cultural influence of Stanley Kubrick's 1971 film adaptation, such is the power and reach of Hollywood and all that. I'm not a film buff by any means, but even I can comfortably state that Kubrick was a genius, A Clockwork Orange is an amazing film, and the growing realisation that his popular legacy was to be the man who wrote the book that became the film likely drove Burgess a little bit nutty.
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| Anthony Burgess |
Considering how highly I value almost everything Kubrick made (though, whisper it, I never quite *got* Dr. Strangelove) to the point where I think he's probably the best filmmaker of all time, I'm not spoiling any suspense by admitting that no, I did not find Burgess' A Clockwork Orange to be as powerful or as absorbing as Kubrick's adaptation- and now I'm prepared to be ritualistically sacrificed by the book reviewing Illuminati for saying that- but that's not to say I didn't find it to be a thought-provoking and entertaining story.
Alex narrates the entire story using Burgess' fictional youthful dialect named 'nadsat', a language intentionally confusing to adults comprised of pieces of slang derived from a number of places. Burgess doesn't provide a glossary, and so reading the first few pages were quite annoying until it all clicked into place that most of these phrases don't need any sort of translation to speak to the reader. Burgess is simply mimicking the intentional divergence of rebellious youthful terminology that occurs naturally with every new generation. For the most part, I read A Clockwork Orange as the depiction of a huge generational gap between parents and children, but it's not necessarily that specific.
A Clockwork Orange was by no means a book that changed my life or even stood out in a particularly meaningful way, but had I read it ten years ago it probably would've been. Regarded as sinister and ground-breaking at least in image, I actually found it deceptively simple, surrounding a standard anti-societal horror story with very memorable characters and prose with enough quality to hide the details of this decomposing England behind evocative insinuations. Unlike Winston Smith of 1984, Alex never gets too close to the full details of the larger picture surrounding his capture and rehabilitation, nor is he seemingly intelligent enough to conscientiously rebel.
As a result of its simplicity, I'd say A Clockwork Orange deserves its reputation as a compelling and undeniably influential piece of punk literature, but it's too limited in scope and design to fully reach classic status. I doubt I'll make the time to go back to the author in the future, but I won't soon forget the style and visceral energy that make up his most famous work.
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