I generally find it difficult to read non-fiction for long stretches of time. It's probably my short attention span and ostrich like ability to shut out the entire world, but essays and articles have always weighed heavily upon my reader's soul. Therefore, I approached George Orwell's Essays with a certain amount of hesitation. I was pretty sure that I would glance through the pages and move on to other books in a while. I didn't. I loved it. My favourite essay, predictably, is the one on Charles Dickens, but I have numerous other favourites too. Orwell is one author who always manages to get under my skin and this book wasn't an exception. It mindfucked me in all the right places and threatened to come at me with a sledgehammer if I didn't sit down. And THINK. About things. It's a pity that they just don't make authors like this anymore.
1 comment:
Recommended, then?
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