"So, I read the book "1984" quite recently, which was one of the many goals I had this summer that I accomplished. The book is famous for its prophet-like portrait of the future of the world in 1984 (the book was written in 1949, I think) and it's true-- that aspect of the book was absolutely awesome. But what I think is far more fascinating is the love story between Julia and Winston (those who have read the book will know what/who I'm talking about), and the emotions the author succesfully reaches into your soul and grabs out of you. What this blog really is, is a tribute, so to speak, to one of the saddest and greatest romance tales I have ever read. Keep in mind, this will be a very long post (so if you don't have the time, don't read this) as I will be putting long quotes from the book to show how and where the author makes you fall in love with the characters he has created. "
" It was the middle of the morning, and Winston had left his cubicle to go to the lavatory. A solitary figure was coming towards him. It was the girl with the dark hair. They were perhaps four meters apart when the girl had stumbled and fell almost flat-on her face. A sharp cry of pain was wrung out of her. Winston stopped short. A curious emotion stirred in [his] heart. In front of him was en enemy who was trying to kill him; in front of him also was a human creature, in pain.... Already he had instinctively started forward to help her. She held out her free hand to him, and he helped her up. In the two or three seconds while he was helping her up, the girl had slipped something into his hand, There was no question that she had done it intentionally. It was something small and flat. It was a scrap of paper folded into a square. On it was written in a large unformed handwriting: I love you. For the rest of the morning it was difficult to work."
" Her youth and prettiness had frightened him-- he did not know the reason. 'What is your name?' said Winston. 'Julia. I know yours. It's Winston-- Winston Smith.' 'How did you find that out?' 'I expect I'm better at finding things out than you are, dear. Tell me, what did you think of me before that day I gave you the note?' (He did not feel any temptation to tell lies to her. It was even a sort of love offering to start off by telling the worst.) ' I hated the sight of you,' he said. 'I wanted to rape you and then murder you afterwords. Two weeks ago I thought seriously of smashing your head in with a cobblestone. If you really want to know, I imagined you were a member of the Thought Police.' The girl laughed delightedly, evidently taking this as a tribune to the excellence of her disguise."
" Presently they fell asleep for a little while. When Winston woke... he did not stir, because Julia was sleeping with her head in the crook of his arm. A light stain of rouge still brought out the beauty of her cheekbone. He wondered vaguely whether in the abolished past it had been a normal experince to lie in bed like this, in the cool of a summer evening, a man and a woman with no clothes on, talking of what they chose, not feeling any compulsion to get up, simply lying there and listening to the sounds outside. Surely, there could never have been a time when that seemed ordinary."
" Both of them knew-- in a way, it was never out of their minds-- that what was happening now could not last long. There were times when there impending death seemed as palpable as the bad they lay on, and they would cling together with a sort of despairing sensuality, like a damned soul grasping at his last morsel of pleasure when the clock is within five minutes of striking. Often they gave themselves up to daydreams of escape. Their luck would hold out indefinitely, and they would carry on their intrigue, just like this, for the remainder of their natural lives. Or they would commit suicide together. Or they would disappear.... It was all nonsense, as they both knew. In reality there was no escape. 'We are the dead,' Winston said. "
" 'Has it ever occurred to you,' he said, 'that the best thing for us to do would be to simply to walk out of here before it's too late, and never see each other again?' 'Yes, dear, it has occurred to me, several times. But I'm not going to do it, all the same.' 'We've been lucky,' he said, 'but it can't last much longer. We may be together for another six months-- a year-- there's no knowing. At the end we're cartain to be apart. do you realize how utterly alone we shall be? When once they get hold of us there will be nothing, literally nothing, that either of us can do for the other. If I confess, they'll shoot you and if I refuse to confess, they'll shoot you just the same. The one thing that matters is that we shouldn't betray one another....' 'If you mean confessing,' she said, ' we shall do that, right enough. Everybody always confesses. You can't help it. They torture you.' 'I don't mean confessing. Confession is not betrayal. What you say or do doesn't matter; only feelings matter. If they could make me stop loving you-- that would be the real betrayal.' She thought it over. 'They can't do that,' she said finally. 'It's the one thing they can't do. They can make you say anything-- anything-- but they can't make you believe it. They can't get inside you.' "
" But-- he had suddenly understood that in the whole world there was just one person to whom he could transfer his punishment-- one body that he could thrust between himself and the (his worst fear I can't spoil for you. sorry.) ________. And he was shouting frantically, over and over: ' Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia! I don't care what you do to her! Tear her face off, strip her to the bones! Not me! Not me! Julia!'
" 'They can't get inside you.' she had said. But they could get inside you. Something was killed in your breast. He had seen her; he had even spoken to her. Actually it was by chance they had met. He did not attempt to kiss her, nor did they speak, [but] he saw she was about to speak. 'I betrayed you.' she said baldly. 'I betrayed you.' he said. 'Sometimes,' she said, 'they threaten you with something-- something you can't stand up to, can't even think about. And then you say, "Don't do it to me, do it to somebody else, do it to so-and-so." And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that it was only a trick and that you just said it to make them stop and didn't really mean it. But that isn't true. At the time when it happens you do mean it. You think there's no other way of saving yourself, and you're quite ready to save yourself that way. You want it to happen to the other person. You don't give a damn what they suffer. All you care about is yourself.' 'All you care about is yourself,' he echoed. 'And after that, you don't feel the same toward the other person any longer.' 'No,' he said, 'you don't feel the same.' "
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