Why
I Read This Book
For too
long now, I’ve been calling myself a George Orwell fan despite only ever having
read a few of his books. After having recently read a collection of Orwell’s essays, I decided it was time
to move onto Burmese Days.
The
Review
Burmese Days was Orwell’s
first novel, and was based on his experience as an Imperial British Police
Officer in Burma,
where he served from 1922-1927. (The
book wasn’t published until 1934, but as it is based loosely on Orwell’s own
experiences, I’m assuming it represents life in Burma during the 1920s.)
Like a lot
of lesser works by famous authors, this book both benefits and suffers by
comparison to Orwell’s later novels.
It
benefits in the sense that (arguably) no one would still be reading Burmese Days these days if its author
hadn’t also written 1984 and Animal Farm.
But
it suffers because it must inevitably be compared to Orwell’s later work.
The
contrived plot of Burmese Days, with
the macguffin (W) of U Po Kyin’s scheming is probably unworthy of
Orwell, as is the climax, which artificially forces a contrived resolution to
the personal relationships of the characters.
But
it’s only because it is Orwell that
one would even think to complain about it.
If this was any other author, one would just accept the contrived plot
and move on. Because this is an Orwell
book, the expectations are higher. This
book is nowhere near as good as 1984. But then, what is? 1984
is a masterpiece.
But
if the plot is the weak point of Burmese
Days, the characters are the strong point.
They are lifelike, identifiable, and I saw many of my own strengths and
weaknesses very clearly mirrored in the characters Orwell has created.
Burmese Days is one of those books that
is primarily a character study. There
are long sections of the book where nothing much really happens plot wise, but
you spend a lot of time hanging out with the characters and really getting to
know them. Some people really like this
kind of book, and some people really hate it, so I guess it’s best if the
reader is warned beforehand.
I
normally don’t go in for this kind of book myself, but in this case the writing
and the characterizations were so good that I thought Orwell pulled it
off. There were a couple times when I
got a little bit restless (wondering where this story was going and when it was
going to get there) but on the whole I enjoyed just observing these characters.
(I
know I was complaining about the plot earlier, but the plot really has very
little to do with the book. The plot is
just an excuse for the novel to exist—it starts up at the beginning, goes away
for most of the middle, and then comes back at the end to bring things to a
conclusion.)
The
really great thing about this book is how completely Orwell has nailed the
portrayal of expatriate life in Southeast Asia.
I’ve written - before about the tendency of expats to complain endlessly about the
country they’re living in (something I’m not completely
blameless about myself.) And I think Orwell
captures this atmosphere perfectly, with long scenes of Englishmen sitting in
the club drinking all day complaining about the Burmese people. (When describing the feeling of the British
in Burma,
Orwell writes “…most people can be at
ease in a foreign country only when they are disparaging the inhabitants” –From
Chapter 10.)
Now,
granted, my situation as an English teacher in 2014 is not exactly the same as
the position of British Colonialists in 1920.
For one thing, the power dynamic was much different—they were actually
ruling the natives they complained about. Another difference is that it was much more
accepted to be openly racist back in the 1920s.
The same type of complaints about the laziness and insolence of the
natives still occur these days, but nowadays, all complaints always have to be
prefaced with, “I’m not a racist but…..
But
the tendency of expatriates to continually disparage the inhabitants of the
country they live in is still very much present, which is why I can so easily
believe the portrait Orwell paints. Although
none of us actually lived through the age of colonialism, I don’t doubt that
Orwell has captured its essence.
Here
is one small excerpt from a longer conversation that Orwell describes in chapter
2:
“…We’ve got to hang together and say, ‘We are
the masters, and you beggars—’” Ellis pressed his small thumb down as through
flattening a grub—“'you beggars keep your place!’”
“Hopeless, old chap,” said Westfield. “Quite hopeless. What can you do with all this red type tying
your hands? Beggars of natives know the
law better than we do. Insult you to
your face and then run you in the moment you hit ’em. Can’t do anything unless you put your foot
down firmly. And how can you, if they
haven’t the guts to show fight?”
“Our burra sahib at Mandalay
always said” put in Mrs Lackersteen, “that in the end we shall simply leave India. Young men will not come out here any longer
to work all their lives for insults and ingratitude. We shall just go. When the natives come to us
begging us to stay, we shall say, ‘No, you have had your chance, you wouldn’t
take it. Very well, we shall leave you
to govern yourselves.’ And then, what a
lesson that will teach them.”
“It’s all this law and order that’s
done for us,” said Westfield
gloomily. The ruin of the Indian Empire
through too much legality was a recurrent theme with Westfield.
According to him, nothing save a full-sized rebellion, and the consequent
reign of martial law, could save the Empire from decay. “All this paper-chewing and chit
passing. Office babus are the real
rulers of this country now. Our number’s
up. Best thing we can do is to shut up
shop and let ’em stew in their own juice.”
“I don’t agree, I simply don’t
agree,” Ellis said. “We could put things
right in a month if we chose. It only
needs a pennyworth of pluck. Look at
Amritsar [W] Look how they caved in after
that. Dyer knew the stuff to give
them. Poor old Dyer! [W] That was a dirty job. Those cowards in England have got something to
answer for.”
There was a kind of sigh from the
others, the same sigh that a gathering of Roman Catholics will give at the
mention of Bloody Mary. Even Mr. Macgregor,
who detested bloodshed and martial law, shook his head at the name of Dyer.
“Ah, poor man! Sacrificed to the Paget
M.P.s. Well, perhaps they will discover their mistake when it is too late.”
My old governor used to tell a story
about that,” said Westfield. “There was an old havildar in a native
regiment—someone asked him what’d happen if the British left India. The old chap said—.”
Flory pushed back his chair and
stood up. It must not, it could not—no,
it simply should not go on any longer!
He must get out of this room quickly, before something happened inside
his head and he began to smash the furniture and throw bottles at the
pictures. Dull boozing witless porkers!
Was it impossible that they could go on week after week, year after year,
repeating word for word the same evil-minded drivel, like a parody of a fifth
rate story in Blackwood’s? Would none of them ever think of anything new to say? Oh, what a place, what people! What a civilization is this of ours—this
godless civilization founded on whisky, Blackwood’s and the ‘Bonzo’ pictures! God
have mercy on us, for all of us are a part of it.”
There
is a sense in which a fictional book, if it gives a literary picture of a time
and place, can be of more historical value to future generations than a factual
recounting of events. No doubt, the
Romans stationed up in Gaul probably had
similar conversations to the ones Orwell recorded, but the Romans left us no
literary picture of life in their colonies.
However centuries from now, when everyone who can remember the British
Empire is long dead, Burmese Days
will still give future generations a very accurate picture of the nature of colonialism.
Footnote 1: Although…given the tremendous
amount of writing that did not survive the collapse of the Roman
Empire, it’s entirely possible that the Romans actually might have
written a similar book, but one which did not survive. This in turn must make us cautious about
assuming anything from our own age will survive a millennium. But assuming Burmese Days survive the ages, its historical value will be
immense.
Footnote 2: I should mention there is some
dispute about the accuracy of Orwell’s picture of expatriate life in Burma. According to this academic essay [LINK HERE], some of Orwell’s contemporaries accused him of exaggerating
things. But to me, it certainly feels like an accurate account of what
the conversation among the 1920s British expatriates must have been.
The
Climax
I have
mixed feelings about the climax of this book.
On
the positive side, given the slow pace of the book, and given how much time the
reader spends getting to know the characters, when the climax of the novel
finally comes it really feels like it’s earned—it feels like it’s something
real and important because we’ve spent so long getting to know these
characters.
Also,
after the reader has shared so long in the characters’ world of assumed
superiority to the domicile Burmese, the reader shares their incredulity when
the revolt finally does happen, and the sanctuary of the European club is actually
violated.
But
on the other hand…the climax does sort of ruin the subtlety of the novel. Part of me wanted to just see how the
relationships described in the novel would have played out naturally without any
outside interference, and I thought the climax kind of ruined things by forcing
a resolution.
John
Flory and Me
I
strongly identified with the main character John Flory. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I
identified so much with a character in a novel.
[The
last time I remember seeing my own personality so clearly in the characters of
a novel was War and Peace ,
and even then it wasn’t just one character I identified with but aspects from
many of them—for example in Pierre I identified with the social awkwardness,
the immature youthful radicalism, the naïveté, and the poor judgment in
relationships. From Prince Andrei I
identified with the pessimistic outlook, and from Prince Vasily I identified
with the ability for self-deception, and the ability to convince yourself that
you’re not being selfish even when you are.]
At
35, John Flory is pretty much exactly my age (I’m 36 now.)
Like
me, John Flory is described as coming to Asia when he was young and he got
sucked into the excitement of life in Asia and the camaraderie that fosters
among young men in an expatriate community, and enjoyed the quick and easy
friendships, without quite realizing until it was too late that he was getting
himself stuck in Asia in a career path that had a limited future. As Orwell describes it:
“He was young then, young enough for
hero-worship, and he had friends among the men in his firm. There were also shooting, fishing, and perhaps
once in a year a hurried trip to Rangoon—pretext,
a visit to the dentist. Oh, the joy of those Rangoon trips! The rush to Smart and Mookerdum’s bookshops
for the new novels out from England, the dinner at Anderson’s with beefsteaks
and butter that had travelled eight thousand miles on ice, the glorious
drinking-bout! He was too young to realize what this life was preparing for
him. He did not see the years stretching
out ahead, lonely, eventless, corrupting. (from chapter 5).
(It’s
not so much an issue now that I’m living in Phnom Penh, but when I was living in the Japanese countryside I clearly remember what a treat it was
to get into the big city and be able to go to English bookshops.)
I
also quite clearly identified with Flory’s desire to go home, yet his fear of
facing home: “He was pining for England, though
he dreaded facing it, as one dreads facing a pretty girl when one is collarless
and unshaven. When he left home he had
been a boy, a promising boy and handsome in spite of his birthmark; now, only
ten years later, he was yellow, thin, drunken, almost middle-aged in habits and
appearance.” (from chapter 5).
I
also saw in myself John Flory’s cowardice, and his desire to avoid
confrontation at all costs, even if it met sacrificing his moral principles to
preserve social harmony in the Club.
And
furthermore, I saw in myself the same propensity for self-criticism that John
Flory had, and in one section, Orwell’s description of how John Flory talked to
himself sounded very similar to my own self-talk:
“Cur, spineless cur,” Flory was thinking to
himself, without heat, however, for he was too accustomed to the thought. “Sneaking, idling, boozing, fornicating,
soul-examining, self-pitying cur. All
those fools at the Club, those dull louts to whom you are so pleased to think
yourself superior—they are all better than you, every man of them. At least they are men in their oafish
way. Not cowards, not liars. Not
half-dead and rotting. But you—”
Much
of John Flory’s awkwardness with Elizabeth
I also identified with.
But
after listing all those similarities, I should say there is also a limit to my
point of identification. (No one ever
identifies with anyone else 100%. We’re
all too much individuals for that.) John
Flory’s depends on alcohol to get him through the day in a way that I never could—not
because I’m a saint, but just because my body reacts badly to alcohol, and
alcohol puts me to sleep. I could never
drink gin throughout the day like John Flory does, and I especially couldn’t
drink it in the morning. However, if you
substitute my dependence on coffee for Flory’s dependence on gin, then perhaps
you could argue for an equivalence after all?
I’m
curious how much of himself Orwell put into the character of John Flory. John Flory worked in private business in Burma, whereas
Orwell was with the Imperial Police.
However, much like Flory, Orwell reportedly shunned European society in Burma, and
instead got on well with the natives (W). Orwell also, like Flory, was one of the few
Europeans in Burma
who made an effort to learn the language.
(Another way in which I’m not like Flory and Orwell. I have, to my shame, done a terrible job here
in Cambodia of learning the language—although I did tolerably well learning the local language back when I was in Japan). Orwell would have been much younger than Flory during his time in Burma, but about he would have been about the same age as Flory by the time he got around to writing the book.
Elizabeth
Lackersteen
I have one
small nitpick about the character of Elizabeth Lackersteen—namely that she was
too negative about Burma
from the beginning.
Modern
psychology has shown that culture shock has four stages. The first stage is the honeymoon stage, in
which everything about the new country is new and wonderful. Only after passing through the honeymoon
stage (about the 2 or 3 month mark) do people become overly negative about the
country they are living in.
It
makes sense that all the old-jaded expatriates in the European club should be
negative about Burma—much
as Orwell describes. But Elizabeth
Lackersteen should have gone through a period of interest and fascination about
her new country. Instead, Orwell
portrays her as wanting nothing to do with Burma and the Burmese right from
the beginning.
I
suspect this oversight might be because the psychological research on culture
shock, and the 4 stages model, probably came after Orwell’s time. And perhaps I’m being overly prescriptive by
insisting that his characters follow this psychology model. But, the four stages of culture shock very
closely model my own experience, and the experience of the other people I’ve
watched. I’ve never seen anyone be
negative about a new country upon first arriving, so I have a hard time
believing that this would be Elizabeth Lackersteen’s reaction. (Although, I don’t know, maybe back in the
1920s racism might have been more of a factor?
Britains
might have absorbed a disdain for the native inhabitants of their colonies even
before they got off the boat, which would cause them to bypass the honeymoon
stage? Perhaps?)
Other
Observations
* Another similarity between Burmese
Days and modern expatriate life in Southeast Asia
is the excess drinking. Although I
wonder if the causes might be different now.
The way Orwell describes it, the expatriates drink throughout the day in
Burmese Days because of the boredom
of their lives.
Nowadays,
one suspects that because of the cheapness and availability of alcohol in Southeast
Asia, Southeast Asia attracts European
alcoholics rather than produces them.
* According to Wikipedia (W), Orwell was greatly influenced
by E.M. Forster’s A Passage to India. As someone who has not read A Passage to India, but has seen the movie, I can attest that there are a number of similarities in the
plot.
* For my other takes on Orwell books, see
my review of Homage to Catalonia here, and Keep the Aspidistra Flying here.
Link of the Day
Noam Chomsky on Peak Oil, Economics, Financial Markets, Bailouts, Investment, Climate Change
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