1984 Summary

Win­ston Smith, a low-lev­el employ­ee of the regime, resides in a night­mar­ish soci­ety where the rul­ing Par­ty, under the lead­er­ship of Big Broth­er, mon­i­tors every aspect of indi­vid­u­als’ lives, includ­ing their inner­most thoughts, using all-per­va­sive sur­veil­lance tech­nol­o­gy. The Par­ty ini­ti­ates a lin­guis­tic cleans­ing by intro­duc­ing Newspeak, a lan­guage craft­ed to erase any terms or con­cepts that might spark resis­tance against its suprema­cy. Feel­ing increas­ing­ly dis­con­tent­ed with the Par­ty’s tyran­ni­cal dic­ta­tor­ship, Win­ston obtains a for­bid­den jour­nal to doc­u­ment his rebel­lious mus­ings. He grows curi­ous about O’Brien, a high-rank­ing Par­ty fig­ure whom he sus­pects to be affil­i­at­ed with the fabled Broth­er­hood, an under­ground group set on over­throw­ing the Par­ty. Employed at the Min­istry of Truth, Win­ston alters his­tor­i­cal records to suit the Par­ty’s pre­vail­ing nar­ra­tive. His appre­hen­sion mounts when he notices a female cowork­er, Julia, close­ly observ­ing him. Despite the Par­ty’s dis­tor­tion of his­to­ry, Win­ston retains faint mem­o­ries of a past con­tra­dict­ing the offi­cial storyline.

Explor­ing impov­er­ished regions where the work­ing class, or ‘pro­les’, lead rel­a­tive­ly unchecked lives, Win­ston’s asso­ci­a­tion with Julia tran­si­tions from sus­pi­cion to romance upon receiv­ing a love let­ter from her. They covert­ly ren­dezvous in a rent­ed space in the pro­le sec­tor, fuel­ing Win­ston’s dis­dain for the Par­ty as he antic­i­pates a poten­tial encounter with O’Brien. Their await­ed meet­ing with O’Brien unfolds in his opu­lent abode, demon­strat­ing his lux­u­ri­ous lifestyle as an Inner Par­ty mem­ber. O’Brien con­veys his loathing for the Par­ty and con­firms his involve­ment in the Broth­er­hood, sub­se­quent­ly ini­ti­at­ing Win­ston and Julia. O’Brien presents Win­ston with a banned book out­lin­ing the Broth­er­hood’s prin­ci­ples. How­ev­er, their insur­gency abrupt­ly halts as they fall into the clutch­es of the Thought Police; O’Brien is unveiled as a loy­al Par­ty adher­ent, and their land­lord, Mr. Char­ring­ton, is exposed as a Thought Police oper­a­tive. Detained and sub­ject­ed to tor­ment in the iron­i­cal­ly named Min­istry of Love, Win­ston under­goes psy­cho­log­i­cal manip­u­la­tion aimed at erad­i­cat­ing his rebel­lious notions. Ulti­mate­ly, his defi­ance crum­bles in Room 101, where he con­fronts his deep­est fear, rats, and betrays Julia. Defeat­ed, Win­ston is set free; he encoun­ters Julia but feels no emo­tion. In the cul­mi­na­tion, Win­ston suc­cumbs com­plete­ly to the Par­ty’s indoc­tri­na­tion, even con­fess­ing devo­tion to Big Brother.

book 1 chapter 1

In the cold spring of 1984, Win­ston Smith, a frail, slen­der, 39-year-old indi­vid­ual, returns to his dilap­i­dat­ed res­i­dence named Vic­to­ry Man­sions. Strug­gling due to a vari­cose ulcer on his right ankle, he ascends the often mal­func­tion­ing ele­va­tor’s stairs. Each lev­el dis­plays a poster depict­ing an enor­mous vis­age with the omi­nous slo­gan “BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU.” Employed as a minor offi­cial with­in the Par­ty, the total­i­tar­i­an author­i­ty gov­ern­ing Airstrip One—formerly known as England—under the umbrel­la of Ocea­nia, Win­ston’s exis­tence is dom­i­nat­ed by the Par­ty’s rigid con­trol. His domi­cile fea­tures a tele­screen, a device con­tin­u­ous­ly broad­cast­ing pro­pa­gan­da and enabling the Thought Police to mon­i­tor cit­i­zens’ actions. Win­ston fre­quent­ly turns away from the screen, cur­rent­ly broad­cast­ing a monot­o­nous report about pig iron. Gaz­ing out the win­dow, he views the Min­istry of Truth, his work­place where he revis­es his­tor­i­cal records to align with the Par­ty’s sanc­tioned ver­sion of events. Oth­er Min­istries con­trolled by the Par­ty encom­pass the Min­istry of Peace, respon­si­ble for con­duct­ing war­fare; the Min­istry of Plen­ty, man­ag­ing eco­nom­ic scarci­ties; and the sin­is­ter Min­istry of Love, the epi­cen­ter of Par­ty bru­tal­i­ty. Con­cealed from the tele­screen’s scruti­ny, Win­ston retrieves a small diary. Pur­chased sec­ond­hand from the pro­le­tar­i­an dis­trict where the impov­er­ished reside beyond the Par­ty’s sur­veil­lance, this diary sym­bol­izes defi­ance against the regime. Com­menc­ing his entries, mem­o­ries flood back includ­ing his desire and ani­mos­i­ty towards a dark-haired col­league, and his sus­pi­cion of O’Brien, an Inner Par­ty mem­ber, as an adver­sary of the Par­ty. Reflect­ing on a recent Two Min­utes Hate assem­bly where he har­bored intense ani­mos­i­ty towards Big Broth­er, Win­ston sud­den­ly real­izes he has inscribed “DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER” repeat­ed­ly in his diary, con­sti­tut­ing a thoughtcrime—a grave offense under Par­ty rule. Con­vinced of immi­nent detec­tion by the Thought Police, a knock inter­rupts his contemplations.

book 1 chapter 2

In a state of appre­hen­sion, Win­ston antic­i­pates the Thought Police’s arrival over his diary trans­gres­sions, only to be greet­ed by Mrs. Par­sons, a fel­low ten­ant seek­ing aid for her plumb­ing predica­ment while her hus­band is absent. Per­turbed by Mrs. Par­sons’ fer­vent off­spring who, as mem­bers of the Junior Spies, accuse him of intel­lec­tu­al trea­son, Win­ston finds him­self vexed. The Junior Spies, a group of youths mon­i­tor­ing adults for signs of dis­loy­al­ty to the Par­ty, often ensnare them — Mrs. Par­sons seems alarmed by her own zeal­ous chil­dren. The young­sters are dis­traught as their moth­er restricts their atten­dance at an evening pub­lic exe­cu­tion of the Par­ty’s polit­i­cal foes. Rec­ol­lect­ing a dream where a fig­ure, pos­si­bly O’Brien, utters “We shall meet in the place where there is no dark­ness,” Win­ston acknowl­edges in his diary that his men­tal defi­ance seals his fate and con­ceals the book.

book 1 chapter 3

In a dream, Win­ston finds him­self on a sink­ing ves­sel with his moth­er, whose van­ish­ing in a polit­i­cal purge two decades ear­li­er haunts him with irra­tional guilt. Tran­si­tion­ing to The Gold­en Coun­try, he wit­ness­es a dark-haired woman dis­robe and sprint towards him, an act of defi­ance shat­ter­ing the Par­ty. As he awak­ens with “Shake­speare” on his lips, its source elud­ing him, the tele­screen’s pierc­ing shriek sig­nals the start of office work­ers’ reg­i­men, involv­ing the Phys­i­cal Jerks, a sequence of grotesque exer­cis­es. Dur­ing this rou­tine, while rumi­nat­ing on his fog­gy rec­ol­lec­tions of child­hood devoid of tan­gi­ble keep­sakes like pho­tos or doc­u­ments, con­tribut­ing to the hazi­ness of his past, Win­ston con­tem­plates Ocea­ni­a’s geopo­lit­i­cal dynam­ics with Eura­sia and Eas­t­a­sia. Despite offi­cial asser­tions of per­pet­u­al con­flict with Eura­sia and alliance with Eas­t­a­sia, Win­ston dis­cerns the manip­u­la­tion of his­tor­i­cal truths. He recalls that Big Broth­er, the Par­ty’s leader, was absent before 1960, yet the Par­ty fab­ri­cates accounts dat­ing back to the 1930s por­tray­ing him. Inter­rupt­ed by the tele­screen chastis­ing him by name for his lack­lus­ter per­for­mance dur­ing the Phys­i­cal Jerks, Win­ston per­spires and exerts him­self further.

book 1 chapter 4

Engrossed in his role at the Min­istry of Truth’s Records divi­sion, Win­ston engages with a speak­write, a device tran­scrib­ing his artic­u­lat­ed dia­logues, and the erad­i­ca­tion of out­dat­ed papers. In an attempt to pre­serve Big Broth­er’s flaw­less nature, Win­ston mod­i­fies Par­ty archives and direc­tives to match cur­rent events. Despite the inhab­i­tants of Airstrip One fac­ing reduced food pro­vi­sions, they are per­suad­ed that their allot­ments have actu­al­ly increased. On that occa­sion, Win­ston is tasked with alter­ing a speech record from 1983 refer­ring to Com­rade With­ers, a for­mer mem­ber of Big Broth­er who had been wiped from exis­tence after being brand­ed as a Par­ty adver­sary. The pres­ence of a com­pli­men­ta­ry doc­u­ment about him is deemed unsuit­able. In the revised doc­u­ments, Win­ston sub­sti­tutes Com­rade With­ers with a fab­ri­cat­ed per­sona he invents, Com­rade Ogilvy. Com­rade Ogilvy, a prod­uct of Win­ston’s imag­i­na­tion, embod­ies the epit­o­me of a Par­ty adher­ent — mis­trust­ful and opposed to sex­u­al activ­i­ties. Com­rade With­ers is now a non-enti­ty, effec­tive­ly purged from real­i­ty. Observ­ing Com­rade Tillot­son from a neigh­bor­ing cubi­cle, Win­ston pon­ders the activ­i­ties at the Min­istry of Truth, where a mul­ti­tude of work­ers dili­gent­ly revise his­to­ry to con­form to Par­ty doc­trines and pro­duce an end­less stream of non­sen­si­cal mate­r­i­al, includ­ing for­bid­den con­tent, to sub­due the severe­ly impov­er­ished work­ing class.

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Dur­ing a meal, Win­ston con­vers­es with Syme, a per­cep­tive Par­ty mem­ber who is refin­ing the Newspeak dic­tio­nary, the offi­cial lan­guage of Ocea­nia. Syme reveals that the pur­pose of Newspeak is to restrict cog­ni­tive vari­a­tions, effec­tive­ly pre­vent­ing any poten­tial thought vio­la­tions. By elim­i­nat­ing the lin­guis­tic capa­bil­i­ty to express dis­sent­ing ideas, rebel­lion becomes incon­ceiv­able. Win­ston silent­ly antic­i­pates that Syme’s bril­liance might lead to his dis­ap­pear­ance in the future. Par­sons, an enthu­si­as­tic Par­ty offi­cial known to Win­ston for assist­ing Par­sons’ wife with plumb­ing, vis­its the cafe­te­ria to col­lect dona­tions for the com­mu­ni­ty’s Hate Week. Despite apol­o­giz­ing for his chil­dren’s past mis­be­hav­ior towards Win­ston, Par­sons com­mends their zeal. A jubi­lant announce­ment from the Min­istry of Plen­ty sud­den­ly inter­rupts, herald­ing a rise in pro­duc­tion. Despite the procla­ma­tion cel­e­brat­ing a boost in choco­late pro­vi­sions to twen­ty grams, Win­ston per­ceives it as a dis­guised reduc­tion. How­ev­er, his peers unques­tion­ing­ly rejoice in the news. Feel­ing under scruti­ny, Win­ston glances up and meets the watch­ful gaze of the enig­mat­ic dark-haired girl, reignit­ing his sus­pi­cions of her being a Par­ty informant.

book 1 chapter 6

In one evening, Win­ston doc­u­ments in his jour­nal his lat­est inti­mate encounter with a pro­le­tar­i­an pros­ti­tute. He reflects on the Par­ty’s intense aver­sion to phys­i­cal inti­ma­cy and con­cludes that their objec­tive is to elim­i­nate the plea­sure from the act, trans­form­ing it into a mere oblig­a­tion to the Par­ty, essen­tial­ly a means of pro­cre­at­ing more Par­ty adher­ents. Kather­ine, Win­ston’s for­mer spouse, abhorred phys­i­cal inti­ma­cy, and upon real­iz­ing they could not con­ceive, they sep­a­rat­ed. Win­ston har­bors a pro­found yearn­ing for a grat­i­fy­ing inti­mate rela­tion­ship, which he per­ceives as the ulti­mate act of defi­ance. In his entries, he por­trays the pro­le­tar­i­an pros­ti­tute as elder­ly and unap­peal­ing, yet he pro­ceeds with the act nonethe­less. He real­izes that doc­u­ment­ing the inci­dent in his jour­nal did not dimin­ish his fury, despon­den­cy, or rebel­lious spir­it. He is left with an over­pow­er­ing urge to yell obscen­i­ties at the top of his voice.

book 1 chapter 7

Win­ston the­o­rizes in his diary that the only poten­tial for over­throw­ing the Par­ty lies with­in the pro­le­tar­i­ans. He main­tains that the Par­ty’s down­fall can­not orig­i­nate from with­in, even ques­tion­ing the capac­i­ty of the noto­ri­ous rebel fac­tion, the Broth­er­hood, to over­pow­er the for­mi­da­ble Thought Police. The pro­le­tar­i­ans, con­sti­tut­ing the major­i­ty (85%) of Ocea­ni­a’s pop­u­lace, could poten­tial­ly chal­lenge the police suprema­cy. How­ev­er, their ardu­ous, une­d­u­cat­ed exis­tences, lack the will and curios­i­ty to foment rebel­lion, and their obliv­i­ous­ness to the Par­ty’s oppres­sion, pose a sig­nif­i­cant hin­drance. Win­ston perus­es a chil­dren’s his­tor­i­cal book, seek­ing to grasp the real­i­ty of past occur­rences. The Par­ty boasts of con­struct­ing utopi­an urban cen­ters, how­ev­er, Win­ston’s actu­al­i­ty in Lon­don con­trasts — dilap­i­dat­ed infra­struc­ture, incon­sis­tent elec­tric­i­ty sup­ply, and wide­spread des­ti­tu­tion. With no reli­able offi­cial doc­u­men­ta­tion, Win­ston ques­tions the Par­ty’s asser­tions regard­ing improved lit­er­a­cy rates, low­ered infant mor­tal­i­ties, and enhanced food and hous­ing pro­vi­sions. Win­ston doubts these claims but lacks evi­dence as the Par­ty con­trols his­tor­i­cal records. Ulti­mate­ly, the Par­ty could declare that two plus two equals five, and indi­vid­u­als would be com­pelled to accept it. Win­ston recalls a sit­u­a­tion where the Par­ty was caught in a lie. In the 1960s, the orig­i­nal lead­ers of the Rev­o­lu­tion were arrest­ed fol­low­ing a cul­tur­al revolt. Win­ston wit­nessed a few deposed lead­ers at the Chest­nut Tree Café, a meet­ing place for shamed Par­ty mem­bers. A melody played, prompt­ing Ruther­ford, one of the mem­bers, to weep. Lat­er, Win­ston dis­cov­ered a pho­to­graph prov­ing that these mem­bers were in New York dur­ing the alleged act of trea­son in Eura­sia. Fear­ing reper­cus­sions, Win­ston destroyed the image, but the inci­dent remained etched in his mem­o­ry as a tan­gi­ble exam­ple of the Par­ty’s deceit­ful­ness. Win­ston’s jour­nal entries often read like mis­sives to O’Brien, a Par­ty asso­ciate he knows lit­tle about but sens­es a rebel­lious streak akin to his own. Reflect­ing on the Par­ty’s absolute con­trol over truth, Win­ston con­cludes that gen­uine free­dom lies in the abil­i­ty to com­pre­hend real­i­ty inde­pen­dent­ly — to assert that “2 + 2 = 4.” He believes O’Brien shares this conviction.

book 1 chapter 8

Win­ston wan­ders into the pro­le­tar­i­an dis­trict, yearn­ing for the uncom­plex lives they lead. He enters a pub­lic house and engages an elder­ly man, hop­ing to con­firm whether soci­ety was tru­ly oppressed by vora­cious cap­i­tal­ists before the Par­ty’s regime, as indi­cat­ed by Par­ty records. How­ev­er, the elder­ly man’s rec­ol­lec­tions lack coher­ence, leav­ing Win­ston vexed that the past has been con­signed to the pro­le­tar­i­ans, des­tined to be for­got­ten. Sub­se­quent­ly, Win­ston revis­its the anti­quar­i­an shop where he pro­cured his diary and acquires a glass paper­weight with a rosy coral cen­ter from Mr. Char­ring­ton, the pro­pri­etor. Mr. Char­ring­ton then reveals an unmon­i­tored room upstairs, adorned with an image of St. Clemen­t’s Church linked to an ancient rhyme. On his way home, he notices the dark-haired girl in the blue Par­ty uni­form appar­ent­ly tail­ing him. Anx­ious, he con­tem­plates assault­ing her with a stone or his new­ly obtained paper­weight. In a pan­ic, he speeds home, pon­der­ing that sui­cide might be a prefer­able choice before the Par­ty appre­hends him. Aware that if caught, the Thought Police would sub­ject him to tor­ture before exe­cut­ing him, Win­ston finds solace in his visions of O’Brien and a place devoid of dark­ness. Dis­turbed, he takes out a coin and gazes at Big Broth­er’s coun­te­nance, drawn to the Par­ty’s mot­tos: “War is Peace,” “Free­dom is Slav­ery,” and “Igno­rance is Strength.”

book 2 chapter 1

While on his way to the lava­to­ry at work, Win­ston notices the dark-haired girl with her arm in a cast. She stum­bles, and as he assists her, she dis­creet­ly pass­es him a note bear­ing the words “I love you.” Bewil­dered and anx­ious, Win­ston grap­ples with deci­pher­ing the note’s sig­nif­i­cance. Despite har­bor­ing sus­pi­cions before an accu­sa­tion of being a polit­i­cal spy, she now declares her affec­tion for him. Before he can ful­ly com­pre­hend this, Par­sons inter­rupts him, ram­bling about his prepa­ra­tions for Hate Week. The note trig­gers a sud­den, intense desire with­in Win­ston. After sev­er­al tense days and no con­tact with her, Win­ston final­ly seizes an oppor­tu­ni­ty to sit at a table with her in the lunch­room. They con­verse dis­creet­ly, keep­ing their eyes down to avoid attract­ing atten­tion. They plan to meet in Vic­to­ry Square, a busy loca­tion to blend in with the numer­ous onlook­ers and escape the watch­ful tele­screens. In the midst of a crowd cel­e­brat­ing the tor­ment of Eurasian cap­tives, they ren­dezvous in the square. The woman gives Win­ston direc­tions to a seclud­ed spot in the coun­try­side, reach­able by a train jour­ney from Padding­ton Sta­tion. Despite the dan­gers, they briefly clasp hands.

book 2 chapter 2

Exe­cut­ing their plan, Win­ston and the enig­mat­ic woman meet in a rur­al set­ting. Despite his ini­tial doubts, Win­ston now believes that the dark-haired woman is not a spy. He is some­what para­noid about poten­tial hid­den micro­phones but is reas­sured by the wom­an’s appar­ent exper­tise. She dis­clos­es her name as Julia while dis­card­ing her Junior Anti-Sex League sym­bol. As they retreat into the woods, their phys­i­cal attrac­tion grows stronger, and they engage in an inti­mate act rem­i­nis­cent of Win­ston’s past erot­ic day­dreams. Lat­er, Win­ston asks Julia about her past escapades, and she reveals she has had mul­ti­ple encoun­ters. Her response excites him as it sug­gests a grow­ing num­ber of Par­ty mem­bers are rebelling through illic­it deeds. This endears her to him even more, as each act of oppo­si­tion to the Par­ty is a small tri­umph in his view.

book 2 chapter 3

In the morn­ing, Julia arranges their return to Lon­don, and both she and Win­ston dive back into their reg­u­lar lives. Over the fol­low­ing weeks, they man­age to steal brief moments togeth­er in the city. Dur­ing a clan­des­tine meet­ing in a run­down church, Julia recounts her time liv­ing in a hos­tel with a group of girls and her ini­tial covert roman­tic encounter. Julia, unlike Win­ston, is uncon­cerned with wide­spread resis­tance; she sim­ply savors out­wit­ting the par­ty and enjoy­ing plea­sures. She explains to Win­ston that the Par­ty’s strin­gent sex­u­al bans are intend­ed to chan­nel peo­ple’s sex­u­al frus­tra­tions into fierce ani­mos­i­ty towards the Par­ty’s ene­mies and zeal­ous devo­tion to Big Broth­er. Win­ston shares a past inci­dent with Julia, con­tem­plat­ing push­ing his for­mer wife, Kather­ine, off a cliff dur­ing a hike. He admits that the out­come would­n’t have mat­tered as defy­ing the oppres­sive regime rul­ing their lives is futile.

book 2 chapter 4

Win­ston sur­veys the small room above Mr. Char­ring­ton’s shop that he has rent­ed, con­sid­er­ing it risky due to his rela­tion­ship with Julia. A stur­dy woman with fiery arms hangs out her laun­dry while singing out­side. Both Win­ston and Julia have been pre­oc­cu­pied with the city’s prepa­ra­tions for Hate Week, mak­ing it dif­fi­cult for them to meet, fur­ther com­pli­cat­ed by Juli­a’s men­stru­al cycle. Win­ston longs for a qui­et, roman­tic life with Julia, akin to an expe­ri­enced mar­ried cou­ple. Julia arrives with cof­fee, sug­ar, and bread – lux­u­ries typ­i­cal­ly reserved for the Inner Par­ty. Her beau­ty, accen­tu­at­ed by make­up, leaves Win­ston in awe. One evening, while lying in bed, Julia notices a rat, trig­ger­ing intense fear in Win­ston, who has a par­tic­u­lar dread of rats. Juli­a’s atten­tion is drawn to a paper­weight, which Win­ston explains serves as a link to his­to­ry. They hum the tune of St. Clement’s Church and Julia pledges to clean the aged church paint­ing. As Julia leaves, Win­ston finds him­self lost in the paper­weight, envi­sion­ing a time­less exis­tence with Julia with­in it.

book 2 chapter 5

As Win­ston pre­dict­ed, Syme van­ish­es. The city hums with activ­i­ty as prepa­ra­tions for Hate Week coin­cide with the height of sum­mer, even the pro­les becom­ing unruly. Par­sons enthu­si­as­ti­cal­ly adorns the city with ban­ners, and his chil­dren sing a new­ly com­posed ‘Hate Song’ ded­i­cat­ed to the event. Win­ston’s mind fre­quent­ly drifts to the room above Mr. Charrington’s store, even when he can­not vis­it. He day­dreams about Kather­ine’s demise, which he envi­sions as paving the way for his union with Julia and the cre­ation of a new iden­ti­ty among the pro­les. Dis­cours­es about the Broth­er­hood unfold between Win­ston and Julia; he shares his unique con­nec­tion with O’Brien, while she argues that the war and sup­posed adver­saries of the Par­ty like Emmanuel Gold­stein are mere fab­ri­ca­tions of the Par­ty. Win­ston, per­turbed by Juli­a’s casu­al indif­fer­ence, scolds her for being rebel­lious only in terms of phys­i­cal intimacy.

book 2 chapter 6

O’Brien ini­ti­ates con­tact with Win­ston, a moment Win­ston has await­ed all his life. The brief encounter with O’Brien in the Min­istry of Truth’s cor­ri­dor leaves Win­ston feel­ing both anx­ious and exhil­a­rat­ed. O’Brien hints at Syme and sug­gests that Win­ston could peruse a Newspeak dic­tio­nary if he vis­its O’Brien’s res­i­dence one evening. Win­ston views this meet­ing with O’Brien as a con­tin­u­a­tion of the jour­ney in his life that began with his ini­tial act of rebel­lion. He somber­ly con­tem­plates that this jour­ney will ulti­mate­ly lead him to the Min­istry of Love, where he expects to meet his demise. Nev­er­the­less, pos­sess­ing O’Brien’s address fills Win­ston with excite­ment, even as he acknowl­edges his grim fate.

book 2 chapter 7

Win­ston wakes one morn­ing, tears stream­ing, in the quar­ters above Mr. Charrington’s antique store. Julia, his com­pan­ion, inquires about his dis­tress. He recounts a trou­bling dream about his moth­er, lead­ing him to rec­og­nize a latent sense of hav­ing inad­ver­tent­ly caused her death. A flood of repressed mem­o­ries over­whelms him, revolv­ing around his child­hood fol­low­ing his father’s depar­ture. Win­ston, his moth­er, and his baby sis­ter spent their days in under­ground hide­outs, dodg­ing air raids and cop­ing with food short­ages. Moti­vat­ed by hunger, Win­ston stole choco­late from his fam­i­ly and ran off, nev­er to reunite with them. He loathes the Par­ty for extin­guish­ing human emo­tions, view­ing the pro­les as the final rem­nants of human­i­ty. He believes that Par­ty mem­bers, includ­ing him­self and Julia, have been coerced into numb­ing their feel­ings, turn­ing them into near-mechan­i­cal beings. The prospect of their cap­ture keeps Win­ston and Julia on edge, know­ing that their secret res­i­dence above Mr. Charrington’s store sig­nif­i­cant­ly increas­es the risk of being dis­cov­ered. They reas­sure each oth­er that despite the inevitable tor­ture of extract­ing con­fes­sions, their love will endure. They agree that aban­don­ing the room entire­ly would be the most pru­dent choice, but they find them­selves unable to fol­low through.

book 2 chapter 8

In a bol­dre­lo­cate, both Win­ston and Julia trav­el to O’Brien’s opu­lent dwelling. To Win­ston’s amaze­ment, O’Brien deac­ti­vates the tele­screen, indi­cat­ing safe­ty from the Party’s mon­i­tor­ing. Win­ston con­fi­dent­ly dis­clos­es their dis­sent against the Par­ty and their desire to unite with the Broth­er­hood. O’Brien ver­i­fies the Broth­er­hood’s exis­tence and the actu­al­i­ty of Emmanuel Gold­stein, ini­ti­at­ing them into the rebel­lious group with a tra­di­tion­al melody. He serves them wine and Win­ston pro­pos­es a toast to past eras. Fol­low­ing Juli­a’s depar­ture, O’Brien reas­sures Win­ston that he will secure a copy of Goldstein’s rev­o­lu­tion­ary man­i­festo. O’Brien hints at a poten­tial upcom­ing meet­ing, affirm­ing Win­ston’s under­stand­ing of ren­dezvous­ing in a place devoid of illu­mi­na­tion. He also informs Win­ston about the absent vers­es from the St. Clement’s Church rhyme. As Win­ston departs, O’Brien rein­states the tele­screen and con­tin­ues his duties.

book 2 chapter 9

Win­ston is exhaust­ed after a gru­el­ing nine­ty-hour work­week due to Ocea­ni­a’s sud­den alter­ation of adver­saries and alliances in the con­flict dur­ing Hate Week. At a gath­er­ing, it is announced that Ocea­nia is not in con­flict with Eura­sia but Eas­t­a­sia, lead­ing to con­fu­sion and embar­rass­ment. The crowd swift­ly adapts, blam­ing Emmanuel Goldstein’s oper­a­tives for the error and direct­ing their ani­mos­i­ty towards Eas­t­a­sia. In the seclu­sion of Mr. Charrington’s cham­ber, Win­ston delves into Goldstein’s man­u­script, The The­o­ry and Prac­tice of Oli­garchi­cal Col­lec­tivism, pre­sent­ed to him by O’Brien. The man­u­script, with par­ty catch­phras­es as chap­ter titles, out­lines the notion of social hier­ar­chies and recent chron­i­cles. Accord­ing to the man­u­script, the world is divid­ed into three dom­i­nant states: Eura­sia, Ocea­nia and Eas­t­a­sia, each embroiled in per­pet­u­al bor­der dis­putes to exert author­i­ty over their inhab­i­tants. In this con­text, the war­fare serves as a means of dom­i­nance, hence the max­im “WAR IS PEACE.” While engrossed in the man­u­script, Win­ston is joined by Julia who casu­al­ly express­es approval for his perusal. After shar­ing inti­mate moments togeth­er, Win­ston reads aloud to Julia, res­onat­ing with Goldstein’s view­points on the Par­ty’s manip­u­la­tion of his­to­ry and the prac­tice of dou­ble­think. Weary, Win­ston inquires if Julia is still awake, only to find her slum­ber­ing, leav­ing him alone with his thoughts that “san­i­ty is not statistical.”

book 2 chapter 10

Win­ston awak­ens the sub­se­quent day to the melod­ic singing of a woman out­side, her robust frame cap­tur­ing his atten­tion. While observ­ing her, he con­tem­plates that the com­mon peo­ple might be the ones to top­ple the Par­ty’s suprema­cy. Win­ston and Julia watch the woman, real­iz­ing their immi­nent down­fall yet acknowl­edg­ing her poten­tial to shape the future. Their shared words, “We are the dead,” are eeri­ly mir­rored by a dis­em­bod­ied voice, unveil­ing a con­cealed tele­screen behind the por­trait in St. Clemen­t’s Church. The sound of approach­ing foot­steps con­firms their dis­cov­ery, and the poet­ic vers­es from St. Clemen­t’s rhyme chill­ing­ly announce their appre­hen­sion. The win­dow shat­ters as troops clad in black storm in, destroy­ing the paper­weight, which Win­ston notices seems dimin­ished now. Vio­lence ensues as Julia is assault­ed, and Win­ston is struck, lead­ing to dis­ori­en­ta­tion and a strug­gle to deci­pher the time from the room’s anti­quat­ed clock. The arrival of Mr. Char­ring­ton, who orders the removal of shat­tered glass, brings a star­tling rev­e­la­tion. The voice from the tele­screen belonged to him, con­firm­ing his role as part of the Thought Police.

book 3 chapter 1

Win­ston finds him­self in a stark, end­less­ly illu­mi­nat­ed cell, under con­tin­u­ous scruti­ny from four tele­screens. He has been trans­ferred from a com­mu­nal cell, where he spec­u­lat­ed about his poten­tial kin­ship with a fel­low detainee named Smith. In his soli­tude, Win­ston dreads that phys­i­cal tor­ment might com­pel him to betray Julia. A fel­low pris­on­er, the poet Ample­forth, detained for declin­ing to cen­sor reli­gious ter­mi­nol­o­gy in a Kipling inter­pre­ta­tion, is thrown into the cell, only to be prompt­ly tak­en to the dread­ed Room 101. Win­ston’s fel­low cap­tives encom­pass a vari­ety of inmates, includ­ing his own gassy neigh­bor Par­sons, denounced by his off­spring for dis­sent­ing thoughts. Wit­ness­ing severe depri­va­tion, vicious assaults and muti­la­tion, Win­ston clings to the hope that the Broth­er­hood might fur­nish him with a razor blade to ter­mi­nate his exis­tence. How­ev­er, his illu­sions about the Broth­er­hood shat­ter when O’Brien, his pre­sumed com­rade, enters his cell. Tak­en aback, Win­ston exclaims, “They’ve got you too!” O’Brien calm­ly responds, “They got me long ago,” dis­clos­ing his authen­tic role as an oper­a­tive of the Min­istry of Love. He asserts that Win­ston always har­bored sus­pi­cions about his true alle­giance, which Win­ston sheep­ish­ly admits. A guard vio­lent­ly frac­tures Winston’s elbow, mak­ing him real­ize the imprac­ti­cal­i­ty of hero­ism in the face of excru­ci­at­ing, unbear­able torment.

book 3 chapter 2

O’Brien admin­is­ters Win­ston’s exten­sive inter­ro­ga­tion ses­sions. He accus­es Win­ston of repu­di­at­ing the Par­ty’s alter­ation of his­to­ry and per­son­al rec­ol­lec­tions. As O’Brien esca­lates the inter­ro­ga­tion, Win­ston acqui­esces to O’Brien’s ver­sion of truth, even when cog­nizant of its fal­la­cy. He begins to revere O’Brien, link­ing him with relief from agony, even­tu­al­ly deny­ing that O’Brien is the source of suf­fer­ing. O’Brien denounces Winston’s view­point as luna­cy, vow­ing that the tor­ment will restore his ratio­nal­i­ty. Com­mand over the past equates to dom­i­nance over the future. Present con­trol estab­lish­es mas­tery of the past. O’Brien elu­ci­dates to Win­ston that the Par­ty has per­fect­ed tech­niques employed by the Inqui­si­tion, Nazis, and Sovi­ets, by erad­i­cat­ing its adver­saries with­out mar­tyring them. It con­verts them, and then ensures their oblit­er­a­tion from pub­lic mem­o­ry. Grad­u­al­ly, Win­ston begins embrac­ing O’Brien’s nar­ra­tives. He learns the art of dou­ble­think, negat­ing the authen­tic­i­ty of his own rem­i­nis­cences. O’Brien offers to address Win­ston’s inquiries, to which Win­ston seeks infor­ma­tion about Julia. O’Brien dis­clos­es that Julia betrayed him instant­ly. When Win­ston ques­tions if the exis­tence of Big Broth­er mir­rors his own, O’Brien asserts that Win­ston does not exist. Winston’s queries regard­ing the Broth­er­hood receive cryp­tic respons­es. Winston’s ulti­mate query about the dread­ed Room 101 receives a response that all are privy to its contents.

book 3 chapter 3

Fol­low­ing an extend­ed peri­od of anguish and inter­ro­ga­tion, O’Brien enlight­ens Win­ston about the motives of the Par­ty. Win­ston pre­sumes that the Par­ty gov­erns the pro­le­tar­i­ans for their well-being. In response, O’Brien inflicts tor­ment upon him, clar­i­fy­ing that the Party’s sole aim is to attain bound­less and eter­nal pow­er. Win­ston chal­lenges this asser­tion, assert­ing that the Par­ty can­not alter the cos­mos; O’Brien refutes this, stat­ing that if nec­es­sary they could, as the only sig­nif­i­cant real­i­ty exists with­in the human psy­che, over which the Par­ty wields absolute author­i­ty. O’Brien com­pels Win­ston to gaze at his reflec­tion; his form is now gaunt and devoid of all hue. Over­whelmed with emo­tion, Win­ston begins to weep, hold­ing O’Brien account­able for his phys­i­cal con­di­tion. O’Brien rebuts that Win­ston was cog­nizant of the poten­tial reper­cus­sions when he com­menced his jour­nal. O’Brien con­cedes that Win­ston has per­se­vered by not betray­ing Julia, caus­ing Win­ston to expe­ri­ence a gen­er­al flood of fond­ness and appre­ci­a­tion for O’Brien for rec­og­niz­ing his endurance. Nev­er­the­less, O’Brien assures Win­ston that he will prompt­ly recov­er. O’Brien fin­ish­es by high­light­ing the use­less­ness of it all, as every­one ulti­mate­ly con­fronts execution.

book 3 chapter 4

After endur­ing a peri­od of excru­ci­at­ing cap­tiv­i­ty, Win­ston finds relief with his trans­fer to a more wel­com­ing set­ting. In his dreams, he envi­sions pleas­ant sce­nar­ios involv­ing Julia, his moth­er, and O’Brien in a par­adise-like envi­ron­ment. His well-being improves as he regains vital­i­ty and is grant­ed the abil­i­ty to write on a small slate. Win­ston begins to repent his soli­tary defi­ance against the Par­ty and tries to per­suade him­self to embrace the Party’s ide­olo­gies. He jots down on his slate the con­tra­dic­to­ry slo­gans of the Par­ty: “FREEDOM IS SLAVERY,” “TWO AND TWO MAKE FIVE,” and “GOD IS POWER.” Over­come with des­o­la­tion one day, Win­ston inad­ver­tent­ly repeats Juli­a’s name numer­ous times, caus­ing him­self immense dread. Despite being aware of the con­se­quences, he acknowl­edges his irre­versible detes­ta­tion for the Par­ty. He strives to sup­press his ani­mos­i­ty in a man­ner that ren­ders him obliv­i­ous to it. His objec­tive is to retain this hatred until his demise at the hands of the Par­ty, con­sid­er­ing it a per­son­al vic­to­ry. How­ev­er, he fails to mask his emo­tions. When O’Brien shows up with the guards, Win­ston con­fess­es his abhor­rence for Big Broth­er. O’Brien coun­ters that mere obe­di­ence is insuf­fi­cient; Win­ston must nur­ture affec­tion for Big Broth­er. Con­se­quent­ly, O’Brien instructs the guards to escort Win­ston to Room 101.

book 3 chapter 5

Inside the daunt­ing con­fines of Room 101, O’Brien force­ful­ly fas­tens Win­ston to a chair, immo­bi­liz­ing his head. He omi­nous­ly dis­clos­es to Win­ston that Room 101 hous­es the “most dread­ful thing in the world.” He trig­gers Win­ston’s deep­est fear — his recur­ring night­mare of a shad­owy, ter­ri­fy­ing enti­ty lurk­ing behind a wall — and reveals that his fear is epit­o­mized by rats, posi­tioned behind the men­tioned wall. O’Brien then presents a cage swarm­ing with large, squirm­ing rats in close prox­im­i­ty to Win­ston. He chill­ing­ly informs Win­ston that once the lever is pulled, the cage door will slide back, unleash­ing the rav­en­ous rats to leap on his face and gnaw it. Con­front­ed by the dread­ful­ly near, wrig­gling rats, Win­ston’s resolve crum­bles. He des­per­ate­ly implores O’Brien to sub­ject this tor­ment on Julia instead. Sat­is­fied by Win­ston’s treach­er­ous com­pli­ance, O’Brien removes the cage.

book 3 chapter 6

Hav­ing regained his lib­er­ty, Win­ston fre­quents the Chest­nut Tree Café, a beloved spot for for­mer Par­ty mem­bers. He savors his Vic­to­ry Gin as he observes the tele­screen, ful­ly embrac­ing the Par­ty’s doc­trines. Vague­ly, he still detects the scent of rats. Uncon­scious­ly, he inscribes “2 + 2 = 5” in the dust on the table. Mem­o­ries of Julia on a cold day in March flood back to him. She had become phys­i­cal­ly repul­sive to him, ren­der­ing the idea of inti­ma­cy with her loath­some. They acknowl­edge their betray­al toward each oth­er and agree to meet again, despite lack­ing gen­uine intent to revive their bond. Win­ston believes he hears the melody “Under the spread­ing chest­nut tree / I sold you and you sold me,” a song rem­i­nis­cent of his inter­ac­tion with polit­i­cal detainees years back. Tears fill his eyes. He rem­i­nisces about a moment of hap­pi­ness with his moth­er and sis­ter, yet dis­re­gards it as a decep­tive rec­ol­lec­tion. An image of Big Broth­er on the tele­screen cap­tures his atten­tion, evok­ing feel­ings of eupho­ria and secu­ri­ty with­in him. As he lis­tens to the war reports, he com­forts him­self with thoughts of his per­son­al vic­to­ry and new­found ado­ra­tion for Big Broth­er. Ulti­mate­ly, it could be argued that it was mere­ly a scheme, that their words were spo­ken sole­ly to halt the anguish, devoid of true con­vic­tion. How­ev­er, that asser­tion would be far from reality.