
Title: A Clockwork Orange
Author: Anthony Burgess
Original Publication Date: 1962
Length: 213 pages
Genre: Dystopian
TW: Um… by this is by no means exhaustive, cause this book is something else, but it certainly has- violence, murder, rape (both of age and of minors), torture- mind control, attempted suicide, blood, mental illness
To be honest, being at least partially familiar with the story already, I’m not certain what possessed me to pick it up. Perhaps it comes down to the fact that I love dystopian writing, and there’s a certain amount of masochism left over from grad school- the mentality of ‘the more difficult the text the better’. Plus, my best friend loves the book, so there had to be something to it.
I may have underestimated it.
For those of you unfamiliar with the novel, or the movie adaption, A Clockwork Orange is essentially the story of a young hoodlum who, with his small gang, essentially terrorize the community (as, evidently teenagers are wont to do in this story)- stealing, murdering, raping…
It’s the murdering part that eventually gets Alex, our protagonist, a fourteen year stay in state prison, where he’ll be known only as a number, but is thankfully at least able to listen to his beloved Bach and Beethoven by running the stereo during Sunday Mass, assisting the chaplain. It is a few years into his stay that he hears about the Ludovico Technique- a therapy meant to end violent thoughts. The program and its effects on Alex leads us to the major theme in the book – can good or bad even exist without choice.
This is a strange book to review. It makes for an interesting read if one can get past the violence, but that’s a feat. It’s split into three equal sections, the first of which is almost all composed of Alex raping and pillaging along with his ‘droogs’ (friends in Nasdat slang). The purpose of that first section is, ,of course, to show us just how much of an (excuse my french) unforgivable bastard Alex is. It’s a necessary, but difficult to stomach, element. Without it, the second section, where he’s exposed to the government’s therapy (cough: brainwashing cough:), would fall flat. Still, I nearly stopped reading several times during that first section.
What kept me reading, I think, was the strange charisma of Alex. He’s a horrible person, unrepentantly violent and manipulative, but he speaks with an intelligence that’s fascinating, even through the blur of Nasdat dialect. He narrates the story with a weird mixture of brutality and blandness- the violence bringing him joy in a very normal and everyday way. The only time we get any real rapture out of the narration is when it deals with music.
Of course, as previously stated, we get all this via the Nasdat dialect, making sure the audience knows that they are getting the story completely through the filter of Alex’s mind. He is very much the storyteller and he (as well as the book’s language) never lets the reader forget that.
It’s a headache. As soon as one opens to the first page there’s an onslaught of unknown words- Russian-derrived (britva and devotchka), rhyming slang (cutter & rozz), or childish (eggiwegg & baddiwad); enough to make you dizzy. It’s as fascinating as it is excessive (who really needs three slang words for ‘cup’), but the story wouldn’t be the same without it. It clings onto you, getting ‘stuck in the ol’ gulliver’ as our protagonist might say, which certainly makes for a weird experience.
Still, as fascinating as the language and the protagonist are, if it weren’t for the moral questions the book raises I probably would have set it aside quickly. I wouldn’t have had the patience for Nasdat and Alex’s ‘ultraviolence’, otherwise. Questions about the nature of good and evil are never very far in that second and third section and are as relevant today as they were in the sixties. Unfortunately, at times I felt a little as if the ‘meaning’ of the book was a little too on-the-nose. I felt vaguely spoon-fed at times. Maybe part of this was due to the way that government officials felt overtly villainous- just as overdone as Alex, but in the opposite way. It was the cold, scientist-with-light-glinting-of-the-glasses evil, the stereotypical evil of authority, and it all felt a little much.
All in all, A Clockwork Orange isn’t an easy book, and I’m not certain if I’d ever be able to recommend it to anybody. Nor, however, am I going to tell someone not to read it. It was certainly an experience, if nothing else, whether you choose to try that experience is up to you, ultimately.
O my brothers (and sisters), personal choice is very horrorshow.








