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1984
Mountaineers · 10th–12th
Winston thinks that in the face of pain there are no heroes. Do the prisoners he watches in the cell prove him right?
The tension Winston decides he would double his own pain to save Julia, “merely an intellectual decision” he does not feel; minutes later a truncheon on the elbow settles the matter for him: “Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain.”
Watch what each prisoner does when frightened, and notice the gap between what Winston decides and what he feels.
Winston sits in a high, windowless cell of white porcelain, presumably in the Ministry of Love, under cold light and four telescreens. He has not been fed since his arrest and cannot tell the time of day. When he slips a hand into his pocket for crumbs, the telescreen yells at him by number. Before this he was held in a lock-up, crowded and filthy, where the Party prisoners sat silent and terrified and the common criminals shouted at the guards and the telescreen, got on with some of the guards, and, by the prisoners’ talk, held the positions of trust in the labour camps. A huge drunk woman was dumped across his lap; her name was Smith too, she said she might be his mother, and he thought she might. Two Party women whispered of “room one-oh-one”. In the new cell his thoughts swell and shrink with the pain in his belly. He knows he loves Julia and will not betray her, but feels no love; he thinks more of O’Brien and hopes for a razor blade, though he is not sure he would use it. The poet Ampleforth is brought in. The one offence he can think of is leaving the word God at the end of a line of Kipling, because he could find no other rhyme for “rod”, and he brightens over the thought that English poetry has been shaped by its lack of rhymes. An officer sends him to Room 101. Parsons comes in, trembling, arrested for thoughtcrime after his seven-year-old daughter heard him say “Down with Big Brother!” in his sleep. He says he is guilty, means to thank the tribunal, and is proud of her. He uses the lavatory in the cell, and when Winston covers his face the telescreen orders him to uncover it. Prisoners come and go; a woman sent to Room 101 seems to shrivel. A chinless man holds out a piece of bread to a starving, skull-faced man, who puts his hands behind his back; the telescreen roars, and a guard smashes the chinless man in the mouth, and his dental plate falls out in two halves. Called to Room 101, the skull-faced man begs to be shot instead, offers up his wife and family, and points at the chinless man as the one they want. He clings to the leg of the bench until a guard’s kick breaks his fingers, and is led out. Alone for hours, Winston leaves the bread on the floor. He decides he would double his own pain to save Julia, but does not feel it, and wonders whether anyone in pain could wish for more of it. Then O’Brien walks in. Winston cries that they have got him too; O’Brien answers, “They got me a long time ago,” and tells him he has always known it. A guard brings a truncheon down on Winston’s elbow, and on the floor he thinks over and over that in the face of pain there are no heroes.
Before reading, remind the student that Winston and Julia were arrested together in the room above Mr Charrington’s shop. Read the chapter in three stretches: the cell and the lock-up, to “which he did not understand.”; Ampleforth and Parsons, to “the cell stank abominably for hours afterwards.”; and the bread, the skull-faced man and O’Brien, to the end. As you go, keep a list of the prisoners and what each one does when afraid. Leave open what the chapter leaves open: what is in Room 101, what O’Brien has been all along, what is happening to Julia, and whether the drunk woman is Winston’s mother.
Retell The student retells the chapter in order: the cell and the hand in the pocket, the lock-up and its two kinds of prisoner, the drunk woman, Winston’s thoughts of Julia, O’Brien and the razor blade, Ampleforth and his rhyme, Parsons and his daughter, the woman sent to Room 101, the bread and the beating, the skull-faced man’s pleas, the hours alone with the bread on the floor, the decision about Julia, O’Brien at the door, and the blow. Look for the bread, which a hurried retelling skips on the way to O’Brien, and for each prisoner’s own way of giving way.
Imitate the author After copying, the student writes two short passages of their own in the same builds. The first is about a feeling that has gone quiet: a sentence that states a fact, turns on a semicolon and “but”, and ends with a comparison, as “known as he knew the rules of arithmetic” does, then a sentence that answers it in plainer words. The second is about a person seen for the first time: a sentence that makes them as ordinary as possible, a sentence that opens “But what was startling was” and saves its noun for the end, a very short simile, and a long sentence that opens on a cause and ends on a feeling whose object is left open.
Debate Take sides on the last written question. One side argues that the prisoners prove Winston right, and gathers the skull-faced man’s “I don’t care who it is or what you do to them”, Parsons’s “In fact I’m proud of her.” and the prisoners “looking straight in front of them” while a man is dragged from the bench. The other argues that they do not, and gathers the chinless man who “held out a grimy piece of bread”, his slow rise from the bench, and the fact that Winston reaches his verdict while he writhes on the floor. Each side must answer the other’s best line, and both must deal with the chinless man’s guilty eyes after the beating. Neither may say what is in Room 101 or what O’Brien has been all along.
Purpose Close on the shape of the chapter. It opens with a hungry man reaching for crumbs and being yelled at, and it closes with the same man on the floor, sure that nothing is worse than pain. Between them a piece of bread is offered, refused, dropped and left on the floor for hours while Winston sits alone with it. Ask why Orwell might leave the bread lying there through Winston’s hours alone, and what it does to the verdict he reaches at the end. Keep the answer to what this chapter shows.
Easier Read the chapter aloud in its three stretches. Keep a list of the prisoners, and beside each one write what that person does when afraid. Talk through the first and fourth discussion questions, then answer the last written question aloud, using the list, before writing it.
On level Talk through all five discussion questions in order, then write both written questions as a thesis, the strongest objection and a revised thesis, each with lines from the chapter.
Harder Ask for one argued essay on the two copied passages read beside the bread and the blow: does the chapter bear out “In the face of pain there are no heroes”, or does it show the reader more than it shows Winston? The essay should use “forbearance”, “unappeasable” and “merely an intellectual decision”, and should meet the objection that a man writhing on the floor is in no state to judge courage. It must not say what is in Room 101 or what Winston will later do.
1. In the lock-up before this cell, the common criminals shout down the telescreen. The Party prisoners sit silent and terrified. What do the criminals have that the Party prisoners lack?Character
What it asks It asks the student to set the two kinds of prisoner in the first lock-up side by side. Before this cell, Winston was held in a crowded place where “The Party prisoners were always silent and terrified, but the ordinary criminals seemed to care nothing for anybody.” The criminals “yelled insults at the guards, fought back fiercely when their belongings were impounded”, and “even shouted down the telescreen when it tried to restore order.” Yet “some of them seemed to be on good terms with the guards”, and the guards treat them “with a certain forbearance”. In the camps, “The positions of trust were given only to the common criminals”, and “All the dirty jobs were done by the politicals.” The student says what the criminals have that the Party prisoners lack. The card must not make the criminals simple heroes or simple villains, and must not say what Room 101 is: the lock-up gives only a whisper about it.
Courage, or at least a life that fear has not got into. They fight for their things, shout at the guards and talk back to the screen. They care “nothing for anybody”, but they are not afraid of anybody either. Beside them, the Party prisoners, who are afraid even to speak to one another, show how deep the Party’s fear reaches into its own people.
fought back fiercely when their belongings were impounded
The Party prisoners seemed terrified of speaking to anybody, and above all of speaking to one another.
Safety, not courage. The guards go easy on them, some are on good terms with the guards, and in the camps they get the positions of trust. Shouting costs them little, so it proves little. The Party prisoners are silent because their danger is real.
The guards, too, treated the common criminals with a certain forbearance, even when they had to handle them roughly.
The positions of trust were given only to the common criminals, especially the gangsters and the murderers, who formed a sort of aristocracy.
A strong answer A strong response says what the criminals have that the Party prisoners lack, and argues from the paragraph about the lock-up. One reader names courage, or a life fear has not reached: they fight back, shout down the telescreen and care for no one, while the Party prisoners will not even speak to one another. Another names safety: the guards show them “a certain forbearance”, some are on good terms with them, and the camps give them the positions of trust, so their noise costs them little. The best answers notice “seemed”, weigh the cigarettes wheedled through the spy-hole, and do not guess at Room 101.
2. Ampleforth says he “could not help” leaving one word in a poem. Parsons says he can’t help his thoughts, or his body. In this cell, what is still up to a person?Theme
What it asks It asks the student to follow one phrase through the cell. Ampleforth left the word God at the end of a line of Kipling because he could find no other rhyme for “rod”: “I could not help it!” he added almost indignantly. Parsons hopes they do not shoot you for “only thoughts, which you can’t help”, and, before he uses the lavatory, says, “I can’t help it. It’s the waiting.” Against these stand two acts. Winston decides he “must speak to Ampleforth, and risk the yell from the telescreen.” The chinless man’s eyes are “dragged back by an irresistible attraction” to the starving man, and “At last he stood up” and held out the bread. The student says what, in this cell, is still up to a person. The card must not say that the chinless man said anything against the Party; only the skull-faced man claims that, while begging.
Almost nothing. Ampleforth’s rhyme, Parsons’s talk in his sleep and Parsons’s body all happen to them. Even Winston’s thoughts swell and shrink with the pain in his belly. The cell teaches a man that his body and mind run without him, and the guard’s blow at the end finishes the lesson.
and his thoughts expanded or contracted accordingly
I can’t help it. It’s the waiting.
What you do with what you cannot help. The chinless man cannot stop looking at the starving man, but standing up and crossing the cell is something he does. Winston cannot stop his fear, but he chooses to speak and risk the yell. The pull is not chosen; the act is.
At last he stood up, waddled clumsily across the cell
He must speak to Ampleforth, and risk the yell from the telescreen.
A strong answer A strong response says what is still up to a person in this cell, and argues from the three times the phrase comes up and the acts set against them. One reader says almost nothing: the rhyme, the sleep-talk, the bowels and even Winston’s thoughts happen to them, and the blow at the end finishes the lesson. Another says the act, if not the feeling: the chinless man cannot stop looking, but he stands, crosses the cell and holds out the bread, and Winston risks the yell to speak. The best answers hear Ampleforth’s indignation, notice Parsons using the excuse twice, and watch the slow rise from the bench.
3. Parsons cries, “Of course I’m guilty!” Right after, his face grows calmer. What has calmed him?Character
What it asks It asks the student to read the moment Parsons stops shaking. He comes in “almost blubbering”, his knees “trembling”, and asks Winston, “You don’t think they’ll shoot me, do you, old chap?” Asked if he is guilty, he cries, “Of course I’m guilty!” “with a servile glance at the telescreen”, and adds, “You don’t think the Party would arrest an innocent man, do you?” Then: “His froglike face grew calmer, and even took on a slightly sanctimonious expression.” He goes on to call thoughtcrime “a dreadful thing”, plans to tell the tribunal, “thank you for saving me before it was too late”, and speaks of the daughter who denounced him “with a sort of doleful pride”. The student says what has calmed him. The card must not treat him only as a joke.
Believing it. If he is guilty, the Party is right, and a Party that is right may still be fair to a keen chap like him. Saying it aloud puts him back on the Party’s side, looking down at his own crime with everyone else. The calm is the relief of being a good Party man again, even in a cell.
You don’t think the Party would arrest an innocent man, do you?
His froglike face grew calmer, and even took on a slightly sanctimonious expression.
Being heard. His eyes go to the telescreen as he says it. He has said what the watchers want, and the calm is the calm of a man who hopes he has bought some mercy. It does not last: the fear is back in his legs and his bowels within minutes.
cried Parsons with a servile glance at the telescreen
He made a few more jerky movements up and down, several times casting a longing glance at the lavatory pan.
A strong answer A strong response says what has calmed Parsons and argues from the lines on either side of the calm. One reader says belief: if he is guilty the Party is right, and saying so puts him back on its side, which the narrator’s “sanctimonious” catches. Another says the screen: his eyes go to it as he speaks, the calm is a man hoping he has said the safe thing, and the fear is back in his jerky steps within minutes. The best answers hear the two “do you?” questions, catch “a sort of doleful pride” and the “anyway”, and do not make Parsons only a joke.
4. The chinless man is the only prisoner who shares anything. The rest of them, Winston too, sit very still while he is beaten. Yet afterward it is his eyes that go from face to face “more guiltily than ever.” Why him, and not them?Moral reasoning
What it asks It asks the student to read the face of the one man in the cell who shares anything, and to ask why the guilt lands on him. When the starving man sits down, the chinless man’s eyes keep “flitting towards the skull-faced man, then turning guiltily away”. “At last he stood up, waddled clumsily across the cell, dug down into the pocket of his overalls, and, with an abashed air, held out a grimy piece of bread to the skull-faced man.” The telescreen roars; the skull-faced man thrusts his hands behind his back; a guard lets free “a frightful blow, with all the weight of his body behind it, full in the chinless man’s mouth”, and “the two halves of a dental plate fell out of his mouth.” The others “sat very still, their hands crossed on their knees.” He climbs back to his place, and “His grey eyes still flitted from face to face, more guiltily than ever, as though he were trying to discover how much the others despised him for his humiliation.” The student says why the giver, and not the ones who watched, is the one who feels guilty. The card must not say that he said anything against the Party; that charge comes later, from the skull-faced man, while begging.
Because the cell has taught him that what he did was a crime. He moved when everyone sat still, he brought the telescreen’s roar down on the room, and the man he meant to feed had to refuse in front of everyone. The rule has got inside him, so the one kind act in the cell feels to him like the one wrong act.
The skull-faced man had quickly thrust his hands behind his back, as though demonstrating to all the world that he refused the gift.
The prisoners sat very still, their hands crossed on their knees.
Because the guilt was there before the bread, and shame has joined it. His eyes turned “guiltily away” from a starving man while he had food in his pocket. Now he has been beaten and has whimpered in front of everyone, and the page names what he feels: his “humiliation”. The page gives no guilt to the ones who sat still; it sticks to the man who cared.
then turning guiltily away
as though he were trying to discover how much the others despised him for his humiliation
A strong answer A strong response says why the man who gave the bread is the one who feels guilty, and argues from his eyes before and after the blow. One reader says the cell has taught him that his kindness was a crime: he moved in a still room, brought the roar down, and made a starving man refuse in public. Another says the guilt began before the gift, when he had bread and a starving man did not, and that shame at his beating, the page’s “humiliation”, has joined it. The best answers hear “abashed”, link “more guiltily than ever” to the first guilty glances, notice that the watchers are given no guilt at all, and do not say what the others think.
5. When O’Brien says, “Don’t deceive yourself,” Winston sees that he “had always known it.” So what was the hope of the razor blade doing for him all those hours?Inference
What it asks It asks the student to look back at Winston’s hope once O’Brien walks in. Early on, “He thought oftener of O’Brien, with a flickering of hope.” “But there was the razor blade; they would send the razor blade if they could.” Yet “He was not certain that he would use the razor blade even if he got the chance.” When Ampleforth arrives, “It was even conceivable that Ampleforth was the bearer of the razor blade.” Hours later, “Sometimes with a fading hope he thought of O’Brien and the razor blade. It was thinkable that the razor blade might arrive concealed in his food, if he were ever fed.” Then O’Brien comes in. Winston cries, “They’ve got you too!” O’Brien answers, “They got me a long time ago,” and “You knew this, Winston,” and “Don’t deceive yourself.” “Yes, he saw now, he had always known it. But there was no time to think of that.” The student says what the hope was doing for him. The card must not settle what O’Brien has been all along or what he wants, and must not read “They got me a long time ago” with later chapters.
Keeping him going. He was never sure he would use the blade; what he needed was something to wait for. The hope fades but never quite goes, and it gives the hours a shape. Knowing and hoping can share one head when the hope is what gets you through the next ten minutes.
He was not certain that he would use the razor blade even if he got the chance.
Sometimes with a fading hope he thought of O’Brien and the razor blade.
Hiding what he knew. “Don’t deceive yourself” names the hope as a story Winston told himself, and Winston agrees at once. A hope that flickers every hour or so lets a man avoid looking at what, deep down, he already knew.
Don’t deceive yourself.
Yes, he saw now, he had always known it.
A strong answer A strong response says what the hope of the razor blade was doing for Winston, and argues from how the hope runs through the hours and how fast he gives it up. One reader says it kept him going: he was never sure he would use the blade, but a fading hope gave the waiting a shape. Another says it hid what he knew, and that O’Brien’s “Don’t deceive yourself” names it. The best answers notice that Winston agrees with “no time to think”, trace the hope from “flickering” to “fading”, and leave open what O’Brien has been.
1. Alone in the cell, Winston asks himself if he would double his own pain to save Julia. He answers, “Yes, I would.” Then a guard’s truncheon hits his elbow, and it saves no one. On the floor he thinks, “One question at any rate was answered.” Has the blow answered what he asked about Julia?
What it asks It asks the student to judge what one blow can settle. Alone on the bench, Winston thinks: “If I could save Julia by doubling my own pain, would I do it? Yes, I would.” “But that was merely an intellectual decision, taken because he knew that he ought to take it. He did not feel it.” Then he asks a second question: “Besides, was it possible, when you were actually suffering it, to wish for any reason whatever that your own pain should increase? But that question was not answerable yet.” Hours earlier he had pictured “the smash of truncheons on his elbows”. After the truncheon falls on his elbow: “One question at any rate was answered. Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain.” The student builds a thesis on whether the blow has answered what he asked about Julia, or only the second question, meets the strongest objection, and revises. The card must not say what Winston will later do to Julia or say about her, must not guess at what is happening to her, and must not settle what O’Brien has been.
Yes. Right after deciding, he asks the same thing in general: could anyone who is actually suffering wish for more pain, for any reason at all? The blow gives him the suffering, and in it every reason drops away. Julia is a reason, and pain leaves no room for reasons.
to wish for any reason whatever that your own pain should increase
Of pain you could wish only one thing: that it should stop.
No, only a different one. His “Yes, I would” was a trade, his pain for Julia’s safety. The guard offers no trade; the blow buys nothing and saves no one. It shows what pain is like from inside, not what a man would choose to bear for someone.
If I could save Julia by doubling my own pain, would I do it?
Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain.
A strong answer A strong response states whether the blow has answered what Winston asked about Julia, meets the strongest objection, and revises. One thesis says it has: he asked whether anyone actually suffering could want more pain for any reason, and in the pain every reason, Julia included, is gone. The strongest objection is that his “Yes, I would” was a trade, his pain for Julia’s, and a blow that saves no one tests no trade; it shows what pain feels like, not what love can bear. A good revision weighs the two questions in the bench paragraph separately, and notices that the decision was “merely an intellectual decision” before any blow fell.
2. Winston thinks that in the face of pain there are no heroes. Do the prisoners he watches in the cell prove him right?
What it asks It asks the student to test Winston’s verdict against the people he has watched. The verdict comes as he lies on the floor: “In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes, he thought over and over as he writhed on the floor”. Before it, the cell has shown him a chinless man who “held out a grimy piece of bread to the skull-faced man” and was struck full in the mouth; a skull-faced man who, called to Room 101, cries “I don’t care who it is or what you do to them,” and points at the beaten man: “That’s the one you ought to be taking, not me!”; Parsons, who says of his daughter, “I don’t bear her any grudge for it. In fact I’m proud of her.”; Ampleforth, led out “vaguely perturbed, but uncomprehending”; a woman who “seemed to shrivel and turn a different colour” at the words “Room 101”; and, through the struggle at the bench, prisoners who “sat quiet, their hands crossed on their knees, looking straight in front of them.” The student builds a thesis on whether the prisoners prove Winston right, meets the strongest objection, and revises. The card must not say what is in Room 101, must not settle what O’Brien has been or wants, must not treat the skull-faced man’s charge against the chinless man as fact, and must not let Winston’s thought on the floor stand as the author’s verdict.
Yes. Each prisoner gives way to fear in some form. Parsons plans to thank the tribunal for his arrest, the skull-faced man offers up his own family and a stranger, and the rest look straight ahead while a man’s fingers are broken. Even the bread ends badly: its giver climbs back to his place ashamed, and it lies on the floor for hours, untouched.
I don’t care who it is or what you do to them.
The piece of bread still lay where the chinless man had dropped it.
No. The chinless man saw a starving stranger, looked away, fidgeted, and at last crossed the cell with the bread under four telescreens. That is courage, whatever it cost him, and he showed it before any pain had touched him. Winston passes his verdict on everyone after one blow, while he is still writhing; the cell has shown him at least one man it does not fit.
held out a grimy piece of bread to the skull-faced man
In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes, he thought over and over as he writhed on the floor
A strong answer A strong response states whether the prisoners prove Winston right, meets the strongest objection, and revises. One thesis says they do: Parsons plans to thank the tribunal, the skull-faced man offers his wife, his family and a stranger, the others look straight ahead, and even the bread ends with its giver ashamed and the gift left on the floor. The strongest objection is the bread itself: a man crossed the cell to feed a stranger under four telescreens, before any pain, and Winston’s verdict comes from a man writhing after one blow. A good revision separates fear from pain, asks which prisoners were tested by which, and does not take Winston’s thought on the floor as the book’s last word.
The guards, too, treated the common criminals with a certain forbearance, even when they had to handle them roughly.Patience that holds back from punishing or striking when it could (from forbear, to hold back from doing something). It is a gentle word to meet in a prison, and Orwell gives it to the guards, who spend it on the common criminals.
‘Of course I’m guilty!’ cried Parsons with a servile glance at the telescreen.Eager to please a master, in the way a servant or a slave is made to be (Latin servus, a slave, as in serve and servant). One glance earns the word: as Parsons cries out his guilt, his eyes go to the telescreen.
His froglike face grew calmer, and even took on a slightly sanctimonious expression.Showing off how good and right you are, in a preachy way (Latin sanctimonia, holiness). It lands on Parsons a moment after he calls himself guilty: a man in a cell for thoughtcrime, wearing a preacher’s face.
‘Thoughtcrime is a dreadful thing, old man,’ he said sententiously.In a solemn, lecturing way, as if handing out wise sayings (Latin sententia, an opinion or a saying, as in sentence). A frightened prisoner speaks to Winston as if repeating a lesson, about the very crime he has been arrested for. Sanctimonious is about how Parsons looks; sententiously is about how he talks.
They talked desultorily for some minutes, then, without apparent reason, a yell from the telescreen bade them be silent.In a wandering way, without plan or purpose, drifting from one thing to another (Latin desultor, a circus rider who leaps from horse to horse). Winston and Ampleforth talk like this for a few minutes, and even that is cut off for no reason anyone can see.
But what was startling was the emaciation of his face.Being so thin from hunger or illness that the bones show (Latin macies, thinness). It is what tells Winston, and everyone on the bench, that the man is starving, and soon the chinless man’s eyes keep flitting toward him.
Because of its thinness the mouth and eyes looked disproportionately large, and the eyes seemed filled with a murderous, unappeasable hatred of somebody or something.Impossible to calm or satisfy (un-, not, and appease, to calm someone by giving them what they want). Winston reads it in the starving man’s eyes, and “somebody or something” leaves its target open: a hatred that nothing given to him could quiet.