Down and Out in Paris and London (1933)

This book struck me on a number of levels. As a travel diary, which is how I preferred to read it, it was more relatable than many I have read. I'll not pretend to be in circumstances nearly as dire as those portrayed, but I'm closer to that than I am the books of other successful writers. Hemingway's Paris was populated with Picasso, Fitzgerald, Stein; Kerouac's road trips were spent visiting Ginsburg and Burroughs; Orwell spent his days with anonymous tramps and the working poor; persons of no notable fame: Boris, Paddy Jacques, Bozo, et al. Though much of it is only apparent in retrospect, their worlds seem bound for greatness, where Orwell's world is full of uncertainty.

As social commentary, it is revealing and not moralizing. His portrayal of poverty in France and England seeks to humanize, not victimize, and to bring about some honest reflection to real problems. Unfortunately, for the many improvements that have come, the image of the poor among a large and significant part of the population as inveterate scoundrels, bent on defrauding the good, honest people for free money, remains. There are short chapters laying things out in direct terms-that we only find solutions when we start seeing the poor as people and look for solutions rather than punishments-but most of the book is really just a journey in the part of the world in which most of us hope to never reside. ( )

Audio CD. Pretty frigging incredible to have a description of the characters, culture, and setting of impoverished Paris and London written by a true master of language, narrative, and dialogue. And Patrick Tull kills, as anyone who has heard him knows. ( )

This was terribly repetitive, but maybe that was part of the point. When a person is down and out, perhaps the only option is more of the same until something happens to make matters worse, or, rarely, make things better. The foregone conclusion of this book was that the main character would make out fine (an educated Englishman apparently has more options) so it was difficult to really empathize when things went wrong. I do think I could have gotten what I needed from the book by reading the first few chapters and the last one, without missing anything substantial. ( )

Segundo Orwell, quando alguém possui apenas cem francos, entra em desespero. Quando possui apenas três, fica quase aliviado. Pensa "amanhã vou passar fome, chocante, não?". As suas memórias foram consideradas tão chocantes que foram recusadas por diversas editoras, e sua família se sentiu aliviada quando ele resolveu publica-las por um pseudônimo.
Depois de desistir de seu posto como oficial em Burma (retratado em outro livro do autor), Orwell se mudou para Paris para dar aulas de inglês. Logo teve seus pertences roubados e começou a trabalhar como plongeur (lavador de pratos) em um hotel de luxo, trabalhando dezoito horas por dia para ganhar apenas 500 francos. Ele detalha a imundície da cozinha do hotel de luxo, e define o plongeur como um escravo do mundo moderno, alguém que tem apenas a bebida para tornar a vida suportável, e que entraria em greve imediatamente se não tivesse anestesiado demais pelas longas jornadas de trabalho para conseguir pensar.
Orwell se muda de volta para Londres para conseguir um trabalho tomando conta de um imbecil [sic]. Seu empregador, infelizmente, está fora do país, e Orwell vive como um mendigo até seu retorno. Ele descreve essa parte como um trabalho cruel, inútil, é verdade, mas muitos trabalhos respeitáveis também o são. Ele descreve sua vida tendo que mudar de um lugar para outro, sem jamais se sentar nas calçadas, porque a vagabundagem estava proibida por lei. Descreve as reações dos mendigos à caridade e aos abrigos do governo.
O último capítulo, com suas conclusões, merece ser transcrito:
"At present I do not feel that I have seen more than the fringe of poverty. Still I can point to one or two things I have definitely learned by being hard up. I shall never again think that all tramps are drunken scoundrels, nor expect a beggar to be grateful when I give him a penny, nor be surprised if men out of work lack energy, nor subscribe to the Salvation Army, nor pawn my clothes, nor refuse a handbill, nor enjoy a meal at a smart restaurant. That is a beginning." ( )

Orwell's first publication, one in which he has yet to find his voice. Since this is exaggerated/fake autobiography, the anti-Semitism, presumably Orwell's though articulated by other characters, is wearisome. The argument that the sentiments in this book aren't anti-Semitic because Orwell later wrote an essay about anti-Semitism is not convincing.

Here is Orwell as world-wise young punk, telling older people about the world he knows about but they don't. It's intended, I think, as expose, but doesn't manage to pull this off. Part of the problem is that though it has a moral theme, the action is picaresque, and since parts are fictionalized, it's reasonable for the reader to ask what the point was and why, if fictionalized, the point couldn't have been made through more compellingly structured action.

Read with anything by [a:Anthony Bourdain|1124|Anthony Bourdain|http://photo.goodreads.com/authors/1274724018p2/1124.jpg] to compare the life of a plongeur to that of contemporary urban restaurant workers. ( )