Anthony Burgess

Much has been said and written about A Clockwork Orange and I do not intend to wade into the debate. But I will say, having just finished the novel, that there was more here than I was expecting. (Indeed, I had shied away from reading the book because of its associations with violence.) To start, this is a novel about humanity and whether a human, when deprived of the ability to make moral decisions, still amounts to a -- well -- to a human. When Alex, Burgess's central droog, is subject to an intense regimen of therapeutic violence, he loses his ability to engage in violent acts: he has been compelled, in effect, toward good. But as Burgess wonders: is Alex a human at this point, or is he instead more like an animal or infant, knowing only what will produce a smile? This idea of adolescence is woven into the novel and when Alex, toward the end of the book, marks the passage of his youth, he seems to be hinting at some balance: some ability, perhaps, to move beyond violence -- but on his own accord. Of course Burgess was made famous in Clockwork as a result of his invented language. This in itself is worthy of a blog post. But just to say that Burgess's insistence on this language has a remarkable effect: namely that it can be learned by reader and that it provides a sharp -- even violent -- contrast with the traditional forms of English spoken by members of "the State." All told, this would not be among my favorite books, but there was more here to consider than I'd have thought, and that idea of choice, of choosing to be good, is one which will stay with me.