A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess

[kingsreading]

Fifteen-year-old Alex doesn't just like ultra-violence - he also enjoys rape, drugs, and Beethoven's Ninth. He and his gang rampage through a dystopian future, hunting for terrible thrills. But when Alex finds himself at the mercy of the state and subject to the ministrations of Dr. Brodsky, the government psychologist, he discovers that fun is no longer the order of the day...

The basis for one of the most notorious films ever made, A Clockwork Orange is both a virtuoso performance from an electrifying prose stylist and a serious exploration of the morality of free will.

OK, for starters, let's address the language issue. First, let me say that I understand what he was aiming to do. I understand that he didn't want to use actual current slang, for fear of dating the book. I understand that by choosing another language on which to base his teen slang (Russian), he also indicates that the teen violence issue is a universal one, not just localized in Britain. I understand that by using a foreign language, he effectively cuts the reader off from really identifying with Alex, and casts the reader in the role of the older generation, who doesn't always entirely get what the younger generation is saying. I get all that, and I even respect it. Nor do I have any problems, in principal, with authors inventing their own words.

However. I also feel that one should strive a bit more for a kind of balance between achieving all that stuff and creating a readable piece of writing. The trouble with going crazy with all the Russian words is that it becomes very difficult to figure out what anyone's saying at times. Yes, sometimes it's apparent from context, or because you've seen that particular word before; yes, there are glossaries available online; and yes, you could even consult an actual Russian dictionary. But when you have to consult your dictionary/glossary every other word for some spots, it really sucks a lot of the pleasure out of reading. Particularly as I didn't think it was necessary. Burgess invents so many words for this book that it becomes less of an interesting way of achieving the afore-mentioned results, and more downright irritating. There were plenty of sentences that I felt served no purpose except as a place to use one of his snazzy new words, and that, to me, just felt annoyingly self-indulgent. Also, if you're going to invent words like this, I feel that a) you shouldn't really introduce too many new ones after, say, part 1, and b) you should stick to words that will be used often enough to acclimate the reader to them. If a word is only going to appear once or twice, just use the English word.

And the other thing, if you're going to make up words, is that you should keep track of your words.

1. Keep track of their meanings. There were numerous instances where he would use a real word, and then immediately double it with his made-up word: "little malenky," "starry old," "good horrorshow," "big bolshy." These effectively translate to: "little little," "old old," "good good," and "big big." Now, one could argue that this was for effect, as we sometimes repeat words for that purpose, but considering the following points, I'm pretty confident chalking it up to carelessness on Burgess's part.
2. Keep track of what you've invented. If you're already going to inundate the reader with scads of unfamiliar words, at least try to keep duplicates to a minimum. There's no need for two or three different unfamiliar words to express one concept.
3. Keep track of your spellings. This one was mentioned in my edition's introduction by Blake Morrison, although I have to admit I only actually noticed one example myself. The word "horrorshow" was spelled thusly most of the time, but I spotted at least one time when he hyphenated it.

All this added up to my being severely annoyed while reading this book, which is too bad, because I think the story is quite good. I don't quite know how Burgess manages, but he creates this character who is basically a monster, with no real personality to speak of aside from his feelings of musical superiority and enjoyment of pointless extreme violence, and makes you actually care about what happens to him. For heaven's sake, you actually feel bad for him when the tables are turned and he's the one getting savagely beaten. What the hell? How does this happen? I honestly don't know, but there it is. And then there's the whole exploration of free will, and consequences for actions, and the different paths people take, and the whole thing was just very interesting. Really is too bad about the excessive and irritating use of foreign language.

Oh, and last, I'd like to address the "controversial lost chapter." If you don't know the background, this book is divided into three parts, each with seven chapters, for a total of 21. The last chapter is the one in which Alex basically decides he's outgrown violence for violence's sake. When the book was first released in the US, this last chapter was dropped until 26 years later, and the movie that really made the story famous was also based on the truncated version. I've read a number of arguments in favour of leaving off the last chapter, but I think they're misguided.

1. First, there's the structural reasons of keeping it. The book is divided into three parts of seven chapters each. Dropping the last chapter messes that nice little symmetry up. Not only does it lose something of the aesthetic, but it also loses some symbolism. 21 is generally the age at which you're a grown-up anywhere in the world (unless you're trying to rent a car). Burgess didn't give this book 21 chapters and have Alex grow up in the twenty-first by accident, and I think it sucks to disregard that just because you liked where things were at the end of the twentieth chapter better.
2. On that note, honestly, you like that better? Why would anyone prefer a book where the author, despite being through a hell of a ride, displays no emotional or character growth whatsoever? If you stop at the end of the twentieth chapter, Alex is in exactly the same place he was at the beginning. He hasn't learned anything, he hasn't grown as a person, he's gained absolutely nothing. Which means that from 15 to 18, he hasn't changed at all. What sense does that make? One's teen years tend to be among the most developmental of our distinct personalities, and how many people do you know came out at the end of them exactly the same as they started them? If there's going to be no change from beginning to end, you might as well just read the first chapter and call it a day.
3. And thirdly, some people feel that by having Alex change his ways, Burgess is leaving things on an unrealistically optimistic and happy-fluffy note. I disagree. For one thing, just because Alex has changed doesn't mean the world has. His world is still full of teenaged hooligans, as evidenced both by his new set of friends, and by his old friend having become a cop who still delights in savage assault. And secondly, when he thinks about having a son, he stops himself from believing that by telling his son his story, he'll be able to keep him from the same path. He realizes that, in all likelihood, his son will be just as horrible as he was, and there's nothing he can do to avert that. He acknowledges that and accepts it as part of life. And personally, I think that's incredibly depressing, and not at all what I would consider fluffy or optimistic.

Anyway, so that's that. I feel like what I just wrote is almost as long as the book itself... Glad I read it, because it was worthwhile, even if I really was irritated through most of it.

Next up: Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury