"People get treated like dogs, too, my friend, and sometimes they have to sleep in barns and meadows because there's nowhere else for them to go. Befo"People get treated like dogs, too, my friend, and sometimes they have to sleep in barns and meadows because there's nowhere else for them to go. Before you start feeling too sorry for yourself, just remember that you're not the first dog that's ever been lost."
"Life with Willy had been good, but maybe this was even better. For the sad truth was that poets didn't drive, and even when they traveled on foot, they didn't always know where they were going."...more
Of all the amazing aspects of this novel, it was the language that really blew my mind. Burgess came up with a whole slang, a mixture of ShakespereanOf all the amazing aspects of this novel, it was the language that really blew my mind. Burgess came up with a whole slang, a mixture of Shakesperean and Biblical English and twisted words from Slavic languages. Many of these words have several layers of meaning, and you can feel and enjoy Burgess's pleasure in playing with words and crafting sentences. Being Serbian and knowing some Russian helped a lot with being able to enjoy this masterpiece fully. Here is what Blake Morrison writes about Burgess's use of language in his introduction to "A Clockwork Orange": Above all, there is the language of "A Clockwork Orange", which is every bit as queer as the title might imply - Joyceanly queer in places, more demanding of the reader than most fiction, but exuberant in its inventiveness. Though other novelists, from Joyce to Russell Hoban, have also coined strange tongues, there is nothing in English quite like Burgess's novel, and no one who perseveresbeyond the opening paragraphs is likely to forget the experience, difficult and disorienting though it can be....more
p. 229 "It didn’t matter that the story had begun, because kathakali discovered long ago that the secret of the Great Stories is that they have no secp. 229 "It didn’t matter that the story had begun, because kathakali discovered long ago that the secret of the Great Stories is that they have no secrets. The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again. The ones you can enter anywhere and inhabit comfortably. They don’t deceive you with thrills and trick endings. They don’t surprise you with the unforeseen. They are as familiar as the house you live in. Or the smell of your lover’s skin. You know how they end, yet you listen as though you don’t. In the way that although you know that one day you will die, you live as though you won’t. In the Great Stories you know who lives, who dies, who finds love, who doesn’t. And yet you want to know again. That is their mystery and their magic."
p. 52 "He explained that history was like an old house at night. With all the lamps lit. And ancestors whispering inside. 'To understand history,' Chacko said, 'we have to go inside and listen to what they're saying. And look at the books and the pictures on the wall. And smell the smells.' ... But the twins could picture it. The History House. With cool stone floors and dim walls and billowing ship-shaped shadows. Plump, translucent lizards lived behind old pictures, and waxy, crumbling ancestors with tough toe-nails and breath that smelled of yellow maps gossiped in sibilant, papery whispers. 'But we can’t go in,' Chacko explained, 'because we’ve been locked out. And when we look in through the windows, all we see are shadows. And when we try and listen, all we hear is a whispering. And we cannot understand the whispering, because our minds have been invaded by a war. A war that we have won and lost. The very worst sort of war. A war that captures dreams and re-dreams them. A war that has made us adore our conquerors and despise ourselves.'" ...more