Much like A Passage to India, Orwell's first novel excels in creating a vivid impression of a bygone time and place. From leopard hunting in the thick of the jungle to tennis at the European club to pulsating crowds of Burmese rioters, it's easy to imagine the adventure—and alienation—of being in Burma during the waning days of British imperial rule. And because Orwell, like Forster, spent time abroad (as a member of the Indian Imperial police), his novel's coruscating portrayal of Englishmen in Burma is in many ways a first-hand account of the colonial mindset in which he encountered.
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Given the shining gem of this novel, in my opinion, is its cast of characters, it was a surprise to see reviews criticizing Orwell's characters as two-dimensional. John Flory stands at the center of the story as an exceptional portrait of a deflated and self-loathing imperialist. Bullied throughout his schoolboy days for the hideous birthmark on his cheek, Flory arrived at a timber farm in Burma shortly thereafter with the help of his parents. During his 15 or so years in alien land, his lonely days have been filled with drunkenness, debauchery, and a string of Burmese mistresses. Like the other British expatriates, Flory is a member of the whites-only European club. Though, unlike his peers, Flory is growing increasingly disenchanted with British colonial rule—the greed, the moral deformity—and has even formed a close relationship with a native doctor named Veraswami.
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Veraswami is precisely who U Po Kyin, a corrupt Burmese magistrate, hopes to tear down through a series of attacks on his reputation. Grotesquely fat and absurdly cruel, U Po Kyin is another character vividly portrayed ("Burmese do not sag and bulge like white men, but grow fat symmetrically, like fruits swelling"). Though enormously wealthy and powerful, U Po Kyin's primary ambition is to gain admittance into the whites-only European club. This is the ultimate mark of prestige for a Burmese man, but Veraswami, through his tie with Flory, stands in the way.
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In the face of these political attacks, Flory's loyalty to his friend and moral integrity are put to the test. And to complicate matters, Elizabeth—the young orphaned niece to Lackersteen, an imperialist drunkard—arrives on the scene to momentarily shake Flory out of his half-comfortable lethargy only to break his heart. Though to be fair, Flory only desires Elizabeth in an abstract sense, as a reprieve from loneliness. "If you like," Flory tells Elizabeth, "I'd marry you and promise to never even touch you with my finger. I wouldn't mind even that, so long as you were with me. But I can't go on with my life alone, always alone." While Flory is severely flawed, a mark of Orwell's craftsmanship is his ability to convey in a realistic and pitiful way Flory's desperate yearning for human connection.
‍
Orwell, like Alduous Huxley, is often thought of as a science fiction writer. However, it's worth exploring the fiction of both of these authors, whose knack for great storytelling expands beyond the musings of a dystopian future.
Much like A Passage to India, Orwell's first novel excels in creating a vivid impression of a bygone time and place. From leopard hunting in the thick of the jungle to tennis at the European club to pulsating crowds of Burmese rioters, it's easy to imagine the adventure—and alienation—of being in Burma during the waning days of British imperial rule. And because Orwell, like Forster, spent time abroad (as a member of the Indian Imperial police), his novel's coruscating portrayal of Englishmen in Burma is in many ways a first-hand account of the colonial mindset in which he encountered.
‍
Given the shining gem of this novel, in my opinion, is its cast of characters, it was a surprise to see reviews criticizing Orwell's characters as two-dimensional. John Flory stands at the center of the story as an exceptional portrait of a deflated and self-loathing imperialist. Bullied throughout his schoolboy days for the hideous birthmark on his cheek, Flory arrived at a timber farm in Burma shortly thereafter with the help of his parents. During his 15 or so years in alien land, his lonely days have been filled with drunkenness, debauchery, and a string of Burmese mistresses. Like the other British expatriates, Flory is a member of the whites-only European club. Though, unlike his peers, Flory is growing increasingly disenchanted with British colonial rule—the greed, the moral deformity—and has even formed a close relationship with a native doctor named Veraswami.
‍
Veraswami is precisely who U Po Kyin, a corrupt Burmese magistrate, hopes to tear down through a series of attacks on his reputation. Grotesquely fat and absurdly cruel, U Po Kyin is another character vividly portrayed ("Burmese do not sag and bulge like white men, but grow fat symmetrically, like fruits swelling"). Though enormously wealthy and powerful, U Po Kyin's primary ambition is to gain admittance into the whites-only European club. This is the ultimate mark of prestige for a Burmese man, but Veraswami, through his tie with Flory, stands in the way.
‍
In the face of these political attacks, Flory's loyalty to his friend and moral integrity are put to the test. And to complicate matters, Elizabeth—the young orphaned niece to Lackersteen, an imperialist drunkard—arrives on the scene to momentarily shake Flory out of his half-comfortable lethargy only to break his heart. Though to be fair, Flory only desires Elizabeth in an abstract sense, as a reprieve from loneliness. "If you like," Flory tells Elizabeth, "I'd marry you and promise to never even touch you with my finger. I wouldn't mind even that, so long as you were with me. But I can't go on with my life alone, always alone." While Flory is severely flawed, a mark of Orwell's craftsmanship is his ability to convey in a realistic and pitiful way Flory's desperate yearning for human connection.
‍
Orwell, like Alduous Huxley, is often thought of as a science fiction writer. However, it's worth exploring the fiction of both of these authors, whose knack for great storytelling expands beyond the musings of a dystopian future.
Much like A Passage to India, Orwell's first novel excels in creating a vivid impression of a bygone time and place. From leopard hunting in the thick of the jungle to tennis at the European club to pulsating crowds of Burmese rioters, it's easy to imagine the adventure—and alienation—of being in Burma during the waning days of British imperial rule. And because Orwell, like Forster, spent time abroad (as a member of the Indian Imperial police), his novel's coruscating portrayal of Englishmen in Burma is in many ways a first-hand account of the colonial mindset in which he encountered.
‍
Given the shining gem of this novel, in my opinion, is its cast of characters, it was a surprise to see reviews criticizing Orwell's characters as two-dimensional. John Flory stands at the center of the story as an exceptional portrait of a deflated and self-loathing imperialist. Bullied throughout his schoolboy days for the hideous birthmark on his cheek, Flory arrived at a timber farm in Burma shortly thereafter with the help of his parents. During his 15 or so years in alien land, his lonely days have been filled with drunkenness, debauchery, and a string of Burmese mistresses. Like the other British expatriates, Flory is a member of the whites-only European club. Though, unlike his peers, Flory is growing increasingly disenchanted with British colonial rule—the greed, the moral deformity—and has even formed a close relationship with a native doctor named Veraswami.
‍
Veraswami is precisely who U Po Kyin, a corrupt Burmese magistrate, hopes to tear down through a series of attacks on his reputation. Grotesquely fat and absurdly cruel, U Po Kyin is another character vividly portrayed ("Burmese do not sag and bulge like white men, but grow fat symmetrically, like fruits swelling"). Though enormously wealthy and powerful, U Po Kyin's primary ambition is to gain admittance into the whites-only European club. This is the ultimate mark of prestige for a Burmese man, but Veraswami, through his tie with Flory, stands in the way.
‍
In the face of these political attacks, Flory's loyalty to his friend and moral integrity are put to the test. And to complicate matters, Elizabeth—the young orphaned niece to Lackersteen, an imperialist drunkard—arrives on the scene to momentarily shake Flory out of his half-comfortable lethargy only to break his heart. Though to be fair, Flory only desires Elizabeth in an abstract sense, as a reprieve from loneliness. "If you like," Flory tells Elizabeth, "I'd marry you and promise to never even touch you with my finger. I wouldn't mind even that, so long as you were with me. But I can't go on with my life alone, always alone." While Flory is severely flawed, a mark of Orwell's craftsmanship is his ability to convey in a realistic and pitiful way Flory's desperate yearning for human connection.
‍
Orwell, like Alduous Huxley, is often thought of as a science fiction writer. However, it's worth exploring the fiction of both of these authors, whose knack for great storytelling expands beyond the musings of a dystopian future.
Much like A Passage to India, Orwell's first novel excels in creating a vivid impression of a bygone time and place. From leopard hunting in the thick of the jungle to tennis at the European club to pulsating crowds of Burmese rioters, it's easy to imagine the adventure—and alienation—of being in Burma during the waning days of British imperial rule. And because Orwell, like Forster, spent time abroad (as a member of the Indian Imperial police), his novel's coruscating portrayal of Englishmen in Burma is in many ways a first-hand account of the colonial mindset in which he encountered.
‍
Given the shining gem of this novel, in my opinion, is its cast of characters, it was a surprise to see reviews criticizing Orwell's characters as two-dimensional. John Flory stands at the center of the story as an exceptional portrait of a deflated and self-loathing imperialist. Bullied throughout his schoolboy days for the hideous birthmark on his cheek, Flory arrived at a timber farm in Burma shortly thereafter with the help of his parents. During his 15 or so years in alien land, his lonely days have been filled with drunkenness, debauchery, and a string of Burmese mistresses. Like the other British expatriates, Flory is a member of the whites-only European club. Though, unlike his peers, Flory is growing increasingly disenchanted with British colonial rule—the greed, the moral deformity—and has even formed a close relationship with a native doctor named Veraswami.
‍
Veraswami is precisely who U Po Kyin, a corrupt Burmese magistrate, hopes to tear down through a series of attacks on his reputation. Grotesquely fat and absurdly cruel, U Po Kyin is another character vividly portrayed ("Burmese do not sag and bulge like white men, but grow fat symmetrically, like fruits swelling"). Though enormously wealthy and powerful, U Po Kyin's primary ambition is to gain admittance into the whites-only European club. This is the ultimate mark of prestige for a Burmese man, but Veraswami, through his tie with Flory, stands in the way.
‍
In the face of these political attacks, Flory's loyalty to his friend and moral integrity are put to the test. And to complicate matters, Elizabeth—the young orphaned niece to Lackersteen, an imperialist drunkard—arrives on the scene to momentarily shake Flory out of his half-comfortable lethargy only to break his heart. Though to be fair, Flory only desires Elizabeth in an abstract sense, as a reprieve from loneliness. "If you like," Flory tells Elizabeth, "I'd marry you and promise to never even touch you with my finger. I wouldn't mind even that, so long as you were with me. But I can't go on with my life alone, always alone." While Flory is severely flawed, a mark of Orwell's craftsmanship is his ability to convey in a realistic and pitiful way Flory's desperate yearning for human connection.
‍
Orwell, like Alduous Huxley, is often thought of as a science fiction writer. However, it's worth exploring the fiction of both of these authors, whose knack for great storytelling expands beyond the musings of a dystopian future.
Much like A Passage to India, Orwell's first novel excels in creating a vivid impression of a bygone time and place. From leopard hunting in the thick of the jungle to tennis at the European club to pulsating crowds of Burmese rioters, it's easy to imagine the adventure—and alienation—of being in Burma during the waning days of British imperial rule. And because Orwell, like Forster, spent time abroad (as a member of the Indian Imperial police), his novel's coruscating portrayal of Englishmen in Burma is in many ways a first-hand account of the colonial mindset in which he encountered.
‍
Given the shining gem of this novel, in my opinion, is its cast of characters, it was a surprise to see reviews criticizing Orwell's characters as two-dimensional. John Flory stands at the center of the story as an exceptional portrait of a deflated and self-loathing imperialist. Bullied throughout his schoolboy days for the hideous birthmark on his cheek, Flory arrived at a timber farm in Burma shortly thereafter with the help of his parents. During his 15 or so years in alien land, his lonely days have been filled with drunkenness, debauchery, and a string of Burmese mistresses. Like the other British expatriates, Flory is a member of the whites-only European club. Though, unlike his peers, Flory is growing increasingly disenchanted with British colonial rule—the greed, the moral deformity—and has even formed a close relationship with a native doctor named Veraswami.
‍
Veraswami is precisely who U Po Kyin, a corrupt Burmese magistrate, hopes to tear down through a series of attacks on his reputation. Grotesquely fat and absurdly cruel, U Po Kyin is another character vividly portrayed ("Burmese do not sag and bulge like white men, but grow fat symmetrically, like fruits swelling"). Though enormously wealthy and powerful, U Po Kyin's primary ambition is to gain admittance into the whites-only European club. This is the ultimate mark of prestige for a Burmese man, but Veraswami, through his tie with Flory, stands in the way.
‍
In the face of these political attacks, Flory's loyalty to his friend and moral integrity are put to the test. And to complicate matters, Elizabeth—the young orphaned niece to Lackersteen, an imperialist drunkard—arrives on the scene to momentarily shake Flory out of his half-comfortable lethargy only to break his heart. Though to be fair, Flory only desires Elizabeth in an abstract sense, as a reprieve from loneliness. "If you like," Flory tells Elizabeth, "I'd marry you and promise to never even touch you with my finger. I wouldn't mind even that, so long as you were with me. But I can't go on with my life alone, always alone." While Flory is severely flawed, a mark of Orwell's craftsmanship is his ability to convey in a realistic and pitiful way Flory's desperate yearning for human connection.
‍
Orwell, like Alduous Huxley, is often thought of as a science fiction writer. However, it's worth exploring the fiction of both of these authors, whose knack for great storytelling expands beyond the musings of a dystopian future.
