1984 – a tradition

April 4^th 1984 was a Wednesday. I was at school that day. We were winding down for the Easter holidays. Our English teacher threw a wild card lesson into the mix. I forget what we were studying at the time. He read the first section of 1984 to us; those first few pages where the clock strikes thirteen, Winston heads home to his little room and begins his diary. I could read the passion for this story in my teacher’s eyes and voice; I could feel the tension in Winston’s illicit action as he began to write in the diary. I was hooked.

Today is April 4^th. It is a Saturday. I am now a teacher; and I am embarking on my Easter break. I’m still in touch with that teacher from my teenage days thanks to the good side of social media connections. I’m sure he would be happy to know I am about to embark on my not-quite-sure-how-many-years-now reread (it was in the 1990s – that much I recall) of this incredible novel. I might let him know later today.

It’s a small tradition, but one that has settled into a clear and valuable space over the decades. The date matters, of course, because of it being the day Winston starts his diary; but today I am launching this journal and so it gives me a frisson of nerdy excitement to begin it alongside Winston’s own diary date. For added nerdy excitement, I should add that I am typing this while listening to the sumptuous 1984 film soundtrack from The Eurythmics. I also plan on watching the film this evening.

I’ve read this book more times than I can properly count now. I’ve even had opportunities in recent years to teach snippets of it in the classroom. It’s my favourite non-horror novel, and one I return to not out of habit alone, but because it keeps offering something new and oftentimes prescient.

I don’t read it in quite the same way each time. Sometimes I notice the political edges more sharply; other years it’s the smaller, more human moments that stay with me. There’s something comforting in that; both in the rereading, and in the reminder that a strong piece of fiction doesn’t stay still. It travels with us over the decades.

I hope you enjoyed reading this and that you will stick around for more. It felt like the perfect spot to begin.