I'm gonna tell my kids this was 1984
I'm going to start teaching 1984 in my class next week, so I figured I should give it a reread. I figured that was a good enough reason to brush of Casually Completing Classics.
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.
Something I notice right away is the contrast between Orwell's prose and the world he's describing. Winston doesn't just "tuck" his chin, he nuzzles. The wind is "vile." I think a lot of dystopian literature goes for a narrator voice that's relatively constrained to match the society (or goes way in the opposite direction to make them special). He strikes a good balance here.
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