Inspiring Older Readers

posted on 13 Dec 2015

A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

A couple of years ago my much put-upon former doctoral supervisor, Mark Rawlinson, gave me a copy of his new Norton Critical Edition of Antony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange – and he even signed it for me. It’s sat on my shelf since then until I finally got around to reading it this week.

I have a problem with Anthony Burgess – I don’t like him and I don’t like his politics. I do, however, acknowledge the extraordinary cultural significance of Burgess’ novella and – unavoidably – the film made of the book by Stanley Kubrick. Both have made a significant impression on popular youth culture in particular and you’ll find the name of at least three pop and rock bands in the book and the name of an independent record label as well.

I read the book many years ago and I didn’t much like it then; reading it for a second time hasn’t really changed my opinion. I still think it’s a depressing book with a misanthropic message and an improbable conclusion. What can’t be denied, however, is the creative power of the imagination behind the creation of Alex and his Droogs. A Clockwork Orange clearly owes a debt to most other dystopian novels but in particular to Orwell’s 1984. In the same way that Orwell created a brand new language with Newspeak so Burgess‘ tale is narrated by Alex, a 15 year old gang member, in Nadsat – a street language Burgess created out of a blend of Russian, Gypsy and Cockney rhyming slang.

The book plots the violent and amoral progress of a gang of teenagers led by Alex on a rampage of crime; assault, rape and ultimately murder fuelled by drug-spiked milk and, remarkably in Alex’s case, a love of classical music. Part one ends with Alex killing an elderly woman and, having been abandoned by his friends, arrested by the police and jailed.

Part two sees Alex attempting to come to terms with prison life but when he again commits murder in his shared cell he is selected for an experimental treatment – an extreme form of aversion therapy that links his beloved classical music to sickening and outrageous scenes of violence. The treatment ‘cures’ Alex of his ability to engage in violent thought by inducing in him actual physical nausea whenever he contemplates inappropriate behaviour.

In Part Three we see Alex on the outside again but this time a victim of the treatment. He is beaten up by the police, made a political pawn by (obviously Socialist ) political agitators who want to overthrown the authoritarian Government and, in despair, he finally attempts suicide. While in hospital he becomes a cause celebre and his previous aversion therapy treatment is reversed as a political gesture. So, he is free to take up his old activities again – which he does but with no real relish. Then one evening he meets again with one of his old gang members who has reformed and is planning marriage and Alex realises that his old violent ways are no longer what he wants – he longs for stability, a relationship and, possibly, children. At the end of the novel he is 18 years old.

The future Burgess paints for us of a society governed by fear, in which the youth are out of control and cannot see beyond a nihilistic and brutal existence based on destruction and alienation, feels like the monstrous vision of someone convinced we’re all going to hell in a hand-cart. Burgess seemed easy prey to moral panics – he produced another one in his novel 1985 where he tried to convince us all that the trade unions were taking us over the social precipice – but he clearly also mistrusted Government. Alex’s predeliction for and addiction to violence is mirrored by the institutional and State violence he is then subjected to. The idea that Alex is both a perpetrator and a victim sits at the centre of this book – a society capable of producing these young people is, by definition, capable of oppressing its citizens and taking from them their free will.

Stanley Kubrick, when he made his movie, decided to ignore the third part of the story and I can see why. Burgess seems to suggest that whatever has gone wrong with Alex, whatever turned him into the 15 year old monster he was, can be resolved simply; Alex just needed to grow up. Now, I’m all for allowing young people to make their mistakes and, of course maturity makes a big difference, but is it really feasible to simply explain away rape, murder and psychotic violence simply as unfortunate growing pains? Kubrick clearly felt that the power of the book’s message was lost in this badly compromised third section and I would agree with him – quite why Burgess felt he needed to resolve the story in this way is unclear to me.

Mark Rawlinson’s critical edition does a great job with the text. It is intelligently annotated with useful glossaries and there are additional articles from Burgess reflecting on what he had produced. There are also a number of substantial critical pieces included that would give a student a really useful resource if they wanted to go further into the book’s background.

 

Terry Potter

December 2015