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Down and Out in Paris and London: George Orwell (Penguin Modern Classics) Paperback – 27 Sept. 2001
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George Orwell's vivid memoir of his time living among the desperately poor and destitute, Down and Out in Paris and London is a moving tour of the underworld of society.
'You have talked so often of going to the dogs - and well, here are the dogs, and you have reached them.'
Written when Orwell was a struggling writer in his twenties, it documents his 'first contact with poverty'. Here, he painstakingly documents a world of unrelenting drudgery and squalor - sleeping in bug-infested hostels and doss houses of last resort, working as a dishwasher in Paris's vile 'Hôtel X', surviving on scraps and cigarette butts, living alongside tramps, a star-gazing pavement artist and a starving Russian ex-army captain. Exposing a shocking, previously-hidden world to his readers, Orwell gave a human face to the statistics of poverty for the first time - and in doing so, found his voice as a writer.
- Print length256 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherPenguin Classics
- Publication date27 Sept. 2001
- Dimensions21.6 x 13.8 x 1.56 cm
- ISBN-109780141184388
- ISBN-13978-0141184388
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- ASIN : 0141184388
- Publisher : Penguin Classics; 1st edition (27 Sept. 2001)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 256 pages
- ISBN-10 : 9780141184388
- ISBN-13 : 978-0141184388
- Dimensions : 21.6 x 13.8 x 1.56 cm
- Best Sellers Rank: 15,918 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- Customer reviews:
About the author

George Orwell is one of England's most famous writers and social commentators. Among his works are the classic political satire Animal Farm and the dystopian nightmare vision Nineteen Eighty-Four. Orwell was also a prolific essayist, and it is for these works that he was perhaps best known during his lifetime. They include Why I Write and Politics and the English Language. His writing is at once insightful, poignant and entertaining, and continues to be read widely all over the world.
Eric Arthur Blair (George Orwell) was born in 1903 in India, where his father worked for the Civil Service. The family moved to England in 1907 and in 1917 Orwell entered Eton, where he contributed regularly to the various college magazines. From 1922 to 1927 he served with the Indian Imperial Police in Burma, an experience that inspired his first novel, Burmese Days (1934). Several years of poverty followed. He lived in Paris for two years before returning to England, where he worked successively as a private tutor, schoolteacher and bookshop assistant, and contributed reviews and articles to a number of periodicals. Down and Out in Paris and London was published in 1933. In 1936 he was commissioned by Victor Gollancz to visit areas of mass unemployment in Lancashire and Yorkshire, and The Road to Wigan Pier (1937) is a powerful description of the poverty he saw there.
At the end of 1936 Orwell went to Spain to fight for the Republicans and was wounded. Homage to Catalonia is his account of the civil war. He was admitted to a sanatorium in 1938 and from then on was never fully fit. He spent six months in Morocco and there wrote Coming Up for Air. During the Second World War he served in the Home Guard and worked for the BBC Eastern Service from 1941 to 1943. As literary editor of the Tribune he contributed a regular page of political and literary commentary, and he also wrote for the Observer and later for the Manchester Evening News. His unique political allegory, Animal Farm was published in 1945, and it was this novel, together with Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949), which brought him world-wide fame.
It was around this time that Orwell's unique political allegory Animal Farm (1945) was published. The novel is recognised as a classic of modern political satire and is simultaneously an engaging story and convincing allegory. It was this novel, together with Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949), which finally brought him world-wide fame. Nineteen Eighty-Four's ominous depiction of a repressive, totalitarian regime shocked contemporary readers, but ensures that the book remains perhaps the preeminent dystopian novel of modern literature.
Orwell's fiercely moral writing has consistently struck a chord with each passing generation. The intense honesty and insight of his essays and non-fiction made Orwell one of the foremost social commentators of his age. Added to this, his ability to construct elaborately imaginative fictional worlds, which he imbued with this acute sense of morality, has undoubtedly assured his contemporary and future relevance.
George Orwell died in London in January 1950.
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Life in Paris and London 100+ years ago is very well described in this book, and it is very entertaining and a very very enjoyable read.
The first half of the book sees Orwell in Paris. Although certainly not flush, he does not experience poverty until his meagre savings are stolen. Orwell’s aunt was, as we now know, in Paris at the time – although we do not know whether she helped him financially. Whether she did or not, it is certainly that he did experience financial hardship and that this led him to taking up work as a lowly dishwasher in hotels and restaurants. The scenes of hotel life are so vividly written that you have no problem imagining the organised chaos, sheer filth and wonderfully exotic characters that exist within the pages. Paris, at that time, had a huge Russian émigré population and Orwell is befriended by Boris, a Russian refugee and waiter. Through him, Orwell embarks on arduous attempts to find work. When work is finally obtained, the seventeen hour days, exhaustion and grinding work is offset by the possibility of eating regularly. Some of the characters in the Paris section of the book work so long that they seem trapped in kitchens and hotels around the city. If you go out for a meal after reading this book I will be very surprised!
In the book, Orwell returns to England after finally being driven to write to a friend to help him find work. When he arrives in London, he is lightly told that his employers had gone abroad for a month, but “I suppose you can hang on till then?” Of course, things did not happen quite this way – as we know, the London part of the book was written before the Paris section. Orwell was later to insist that the events within the book had taken place, albeit not in the order they are written here and it is not necessarily important that a little artistic tension is used to give the storyline a little tension.
The London section of the book sees Orwell living as a tramp in London. A real down and out, tramping from one hostel, or ‘spike’ to another. He shows the reality of that life – of being forced to move on constantly, because of rules which refused a man a bed two nights running, the way the tramps were forced into prayer meetings for a cup of tea and a bun, of their resentment and discomfort, of laws which meant the police could move tramps on if they were asleep and the general discomfort and filth they lived with.
This is moving journalism, which really presents a vivid portrait of a life on the edge. As Orwell points out, when funds are low panic sets in. When there is nothing, there is just existence from one meal to the next. He makes many valid points about how the poor are treated and how their life could be improved. Having just read a news report which suggested that so many people in Britain are reduced to using food banks due to problems with their benefit payments and punitive punishments, you have to sadly conclude that his conclusions about the treatments of people living in poverty are still more than valid.
The book starts with the Paris section and at a time just before the author falls on hard times. While it sounded dire to start off with, the transition in some way makes it much worse very rapidly and soon thereafter while not out for good, the author finds himself in a situation that seems practically impossible to climb out of. The description of the situation and the challenges associated with poverty are some of the most eloquent statements for more tolerance towards the less fortunate in our society.
The London bit points to some differences with Paris (harder to starve but conditions worse otherwise) but presents the same grim picture. There are a couple of chapters in the book, where Orwell tries to make sense out of why these conditions persist and why so little is don to end them. Some readers might find these very communist and be put off by them, on the other hand, Orwell does get some things right - namely the complete lack of understanding of people who have never been poor of what poverty really is like and how difficult it is to climb out of it once one finds oneself there (a message coming out much clearer from the chapters describing the situation than te summary ones analysing it).
This is most certainly not a feelgood book and unlike with the Animal Farm: A Fairy Story or Nineteen Eighty-four there is no (black / hidden) humour to be found here. It is heartrending and at times depressing but it is a book worth reading and I would very much recommend it to people across the political spectrum.
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Nietzsche once wrote, "Poets are shameless with their experiences: they exploit them." Orwell did not hesitate to exploit his experiences as a "plongeur" in Paris or a tramp in England.
If Trip Advisor Had been around in 1933 Orwell might have posted a review something like this: "Avoid all restaurants and hotels in Paris and beyond! The sanitary conditions are appalling. There is filth on the kitchen floors. Rats infest every kitchen. The staff could care less about their customers. How many Stars? Zero!"
Here is what Orwell actually wrote after working at the Hotel X in Paris, "The dirt in the Hotel X, as soon as one penetrated into the service quarters, was revolting. Our cafeteria had year-old filth in all the dark corners, and the bread-bin was infested with cockroaches. Once I suggested killing these beasts to Mario (he was in charge of the cafeteria). 'Why kill the poor animals?' he said reproachfully. The others laughed when I wanted to wash my hands before touching the butter...In the kitchen the dirt was worse. It is not figure of speech, it is a mere statement of fact to say that a French cook will spit in the soup--that is, if he is not going got drink it himself. He is an artist, but his art is not cleanliness. To a certain extent he is even dirty because he is an artist, for food, to look smart, needs dirty treatment. When a steak, for instance is brought up for the head cook's inspection, he does not handle it with a fork. He picks it up with his fingers and slaps it down, runs his thumb around the dish and licks to taste the gravy, runs it round and licks again, then steps back and contemplates the piece of meat like an artist judging a picture, then presses it lovingly into place with his fat, pink fingers, every one of which he has licked a hundred times that morning. When he is satisfied, he takes a cloth and wipes his fingerprints form the dish, and hands it to the waiter. And the waiter, of course, dips his fingers into the gravy--his nasty, greasy fingers which he is forever running through his brilliantined hair."
Orwell then moved on to work at a restaurant in Paris called the Auberge de Jehan Cottard as a plongeur or dishwasher. He wrote about his employer, "The Auberge was not the ordinary cheap eating-house frequented by students and workmen. We did not provide an adequate meal at less than twenty-five francs, and we were picturesque and artistic, which sent up our social standing. There were indecent pictures in the bar, and the Norman decorations--sham beams on the walls, electric lights done up as candlesticks, "peasant" pottery, even a mounting-block at the door--and the patron and the head Waiter were Russian officers, and many of the customers titled Russian refugees. In short, we were decidedly chic.
Nevertheless, the conditions behind the kitchen door were suitable for a a pigsty. For this is what our service arrangements were like.
The kitchen measured fifteen feet long by eight broad, and half this space was taken up by the stoves and tables. All the pots had to kept on shelves out of reach and there was only room for one dustbin. This dustbin used to be crammed full by midday, and the floor normally an inch deep in compost of trampled food...
There was no larder. Our substitute for one was a half-roof shed in the yard, with a tree growing in the middle of it. The meat, vegetables and so forth lay there on the bare earth, raided by rats and cats."
One of Orwell's colleague at the Auberge was a waiter named Jules. Orwell confides that 'Jules took a positive pleasure in seeing things dirty. In the afternoon, when he had not much to do, he used to stand in the kitchen doorway jeering at us for working too hard: 'Fool! Why do you wash that plate? Wipe it on your trousers. Who cares about the customers? They don't know what's going on. What is restaurant work? You are carving a chicken and it falls on the floor. You apologize, you bow, and you go out; and in five minutes you come back by another door--with the same chicken. That is restaurant work."
Has the restaurant world really changed much since 1933? One can certainly hope so, but there are many parts of the world where restaurant sanitation standards are little improved from the Paris of 1933.
Orwell then moved on to England where he tramped about the country moving from flop house to flop house. He survives on a "cuppa" and two slices with a bit of margarine. He is nearly molested at night by "Nancy" boys. He and other tramps are preached to by religious do-gooders and Salvation Army warriors.
He offers one piece of advice which is as sound for today's London as it was in 1933. Handbills were distributed on the streets of London by local merchants then as they are now. Orwell writes, "When you see a man distributing handbill you can do him a good turn by taking one, for he goes off duty when he has distributed all his bills."
Orwell writes with genuine understanding, sympathy and, often, humor in his descriptions of the grinding poverty of the working classes and those unfortunates who are unemployed and homeless. His account helps us to appreciate how fascism was able to exploit the suffering of so many throughout Europe during the Great Depression.
Check out George Orwell's Down and Out in Paris and London. At minimum, you may never think of restaurants and hotels in the same way again. Has George Orwell's review been helpful to you?
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