Before you, damn it, is nothing other than the society of the future, and your humble narrator, short Alex, will now tell you what state he is in here vliapalsia.
We sat, as always, in the Korova milk bar, where they serve the same milk plus, we also call it “milk with knives,” that is, they add all sorts of seduxene, codeine, bellarmine and it turns out v kaif. All of our caudles are in the same outfit that all maltshiki wore then: black tight-fitting pants with a metal cup sewn into the groin to protect you know what, a jacket with padded shoulders, a white bow tie and heavy govnodavy for kicking. Kisy all then wore colored wigs, long black dresses with a cutout, and grudi all wore badges. Well, we spoke, of course, in our own way, you hear yourself, as with all sorts of words, Russian, or something. That evening, when we got crazy, we first met one starikashku near the library and gave him a good toltchok (he crawled further onto the karatchkah, covered in blood), and all his books were allowed into the razdrai. Then we did krasting in one shop, then a big drasting with other maltchiks (I used a razor, it turned out great). And only then, towards nightfall, they carried out the “Uninvited Guest” operation: they broke into the cottage of one bloke, all four of them beat him up, and left him lying in a pool of blood. He, damn it, turned out to be some kind of writer, so pieces of his leaves were flying all over the house (it’s about some kind of clockwork orange, that, they say, you can’t turn a living person into a mechanism, that everyone, damn it, should have free will, down with violence and all that kind of stuff).
The next day I was alone and had a very nice time. I listened to great music on my favorite stereo - well, Haydn, Mozart, Bach. Other maltchildren don’t understand this, they are dark: they listen to popsu - all sorts of shit-hole-hole-hole-hole stuff. And I love real music, especially, damn it, when Ludwig van plays, for example, “Ode to Joy.” Then I feel such power, as if I were God myself, and I want to cut this whole world (that is, all this kal!) into pieces with my razor, and have scarlet fountains flood everything around. That day was still oblomiloss. I dragged two kismaloletok and finished them off to my favorite music.
And on the third day, suddenly everything was covered with chaos. Let's go take silver from one old kotcheryzhki. She made a fuss, I gave her a proper ro tykve, and then the cops came. The Maltchicki ran away and left me behind on purpose, suld. They didn’t like that I was in charge and that I considered them shady. Well, the cops broke into me both there and at the station.
I really wanted to get out of this kala. The second time I would have been more careful, and I have to settle accounts with someone. I even started playing tricks with the prison priest (everyone there called him the prison fistula), but he kept talking, damn it, about some kind of free will, about moral choice, about the human principle that finds itself in communication with God and every such kal. Well, then some big boss authorized an experiment on the medical correction of the incorrigible. The course of treatment is two weeks, and you go free corrected! The prison fistula wanted to dissuade me, but where could he! They began to treat me according to Dr. Brodsky’s method. They fed me well, but they injected me with some kind of damn Louis vaccine and took me to special movie shows. And it was terrible, just terrible! Some kind of hell. They showed everything that I used to like: drasting, krasting, sunshine with girls and in general all kinds of violence and horror. And from their vaccine, when I saw this, I had such nausea, such cramps and pain in my stomach that I would never have watched it. But they forced me, tied me to a chair, fixed my head, opened my eyes with struts, and even wiped away the tears when they flooded my eyes. And the most disgusting thing is that they played my favorite music (and Ludwig van all the time!), because, you see, it increased my sensitivity and developed the correct reflexes faster. And after two weeks it became so that without any vaccine, from just the thought of violence, everything hurt and made me feel sick, and I had to be kind just to feel normal. Then they released me, they didn’t deceive me.
But in freedom I felt worse than in prison. Everyone who could think of it beat me: my former victims, and the cops, and my former friends (some of them, damn it, had already become cops themselves by that time!), and I couldn’t answer anyone, because At the slightest such intention he became ill. But the most disgusting thing again is that I couldn’t listen to my music. This is just a nightmare that started from some Mendelssohn, not to mention Johann Sebastian or Ludwig van! My head was torn apart from pain.
When I was feeling really bad, one muzhik picked me up. He explained to me what the hell they did to me. They deprived me of free will, turned me from a man into a clockwork orange! And now we must fight for freedom and human rights against state violence, against totalitarianism and all such kаl. And then, it must be said that this turned out to be exactly the same bastard whom we fell in with during Operation Uninvited Guest. His Kisa, it turns out, died after that, and he himself went a little crazy. Well, in general, because of this I had to do nogi from him. But his drugany, also some kind of human rights fighters, took me somewhere and locked me there so that I could lie down and calm down. And then, from behind the wall, I heard music that was just mine (Bach, “Brandenburg Quartet”), and I felt so bad: I was dying, but I couldn’t escape - I was locked. In general, it got stuck, and I looked out the window from the seventh floor...
I woke up in the hospital, and when they cured me, it turned out that this blow had ended all the enthusiasm for Dr. Brodsky. And again I can do drasting, and krasting, and sunn rynn and, most importantly, listen to the music of Ludwig van and enjoy my power, and I can bleed anyone to this music. I started drinking “milk with knives” again and walking with maltchikami, as expected. Back then they already wore such wide trousers, leather jackets and neckerchiefs, but they still wore govnodavy on their legs. But I didn’t hang around with them for long this time. I felt kind of bored and even kind of sick again. And suddenly I realized that now I just want something else: to have my own home, to have my wife waiting at home, to have a little baby...
And I realized that youth, even the most terrible one, passes, damn it, by itself, but a person, even the most zutkii, still remains a person. And every such kal.
So your modest narrator Alex will not tell you anything more, but will simply go into another life, singing his best music - holes-holes-holes-holes-hole...
- Well, what now, huh?
The company is like this: me, that is, Alex, and my three drugs, that is, Pete, Georgik and Tem, and Tem was really a dark guy, in the sense of stupid, and we were sitting in the Korova milk bar, making mozgoi about that , where to kill the evening - so vile, cold and gloomy winter evening, although dry. Milk bar “Korova” - it was a zavedenije, where they served “milk-plus”, although, damn it, you probably already forgot what kind of zavedenija they were: of course, nowadays everything changes so quickly, it is forgotten right before our eyes , nobody cares, no one even really reads newspapers these days. In general, they served “milk-plus” - that is, milk plus some additives. They didn’t have a permit to sell alcohol, but there was no law yet against mixing some of the new shtutshek into good old milk, and you could drink it with Velocet, Drenkrom, or even some other shtutshek , from which a quiet baldiozh comes, and for about fifteen minutes you feel that the Lord God himself with all his holy army is sitting in your left shoe, and sparks and fireworks are jumping through your brain. You could also pitt “milk with knives,” as we called it, it gave off tortsh, and I wanted dratsing, I wanted to gasitt someone in full, one for the whole kodloi, and on that evening from which I began my story, This is exactly what we drank.
Our pockets were full of babok, and therefore, to make a toltshok to some old hanyge in an alley, obtriasti him and watch him swim in a pool of blood while we count the loot and divide it among four, nothing to us, in general, it didn’t particularly force me, just as nothing forced me to do krasting in the shop of some shaking old ptitsy, and then rvatt kogti with the contents of the cash register. However, it is not without reason that they say that money is not everything.
Each of us four was prikinut in the latest fashion, which in those days meant a pair of black tight-fitting pants with an iron cup sewn into the step, like those in which children bake Easter cakes from sand, we called it the sandbox, and it fit under the pants , both for protection and as decoration, which in certain lighting stood out quite clearly, and so, I had this thing in the shape of a spider, Pete had a ruker (hand, that means), Georgie got this fancy one, in form tsvetujotshka, and Tem thought of adding something completely disgusting, like a clown morder (face, that is), - so after all, with Tem, what’s the demand, he generally thought poorly, both in zhizni and in general, well, dark, in in general, the darkest of us all. Then we were given short jackets without lapels, but with huge false shoulders (s myshtsoi, as we called them), in which we looked like caricatured strongmen from a comic book. Damn it, there were also ties that came with them, whitish ones that looked like they were made from mashed potatoes with a pattern drawn with a fork. We didn’t grow our hair too long and wore a powerful shoe, like a govnodav, to kick.
- Well, what now, huh?
There were three kisy (girls, that is) sitting side by side at the counter, but there were four of us, patsanov, and it’s like we either have one for everyone, or one for each. Kisy were dressed up, God forbid, in purple, orange and green wigs, each costing no less than three or four weeks of her salary, and the makeup matched (rainbows around the glazzjev and a widely painted rot). At that time they wore black dresses, long and very strict, and on the grudiah there were small silver badges with different male names– Joe, Mike and so on. It was believed that these were the mallshiki with whom they lay spatt when they were under fourteen. They all looked in our direction, and I almost said (quietly, of course, from the corner of my mouth) that wouldn’t it be better for the three of us to have a little porezvittsia, and let poor Tem, they say, rest, since we have only problems, that he should give him half a liter of white wine with a dose of synthemesc mixed in there, although still it would not be comradely. In appearance, Tem was very, very disgusting, the name suited him quite well, but in mahatshe he had no value, especially liho he used govnodavy.
- Well, what now, huh?
Hanurik, sitting next to me on a long velvet seat running along three walls of the room, was already in complete otjezde: glazzja glazed, sitting and muttering some kind of murniu like “The works of Aristotle’s grunt-grunt are becoming thoroughly awesome.” Hanurik was already fine, went into orbit, as they say, and I knew what it was, I tried it myself more than once, like everyone else, but that evening I suddenly thought that this was still a vile shtuka, a way out for panties, damn it. You drink this tricky milk, you fall over, but in the bashke there is one thing: everything around is bred and hrenovina, and in general all this has already happened before. You see everything normally, you even see it very clearly - tables, a jukebox, lamps, kisok and malltshikov - but it all seems to be somewhere far away, in the past, but in fact there is nothing at all. At the same time, you stare at your shoe or, say, a nail and look, look, as if in a trance, and at the same time you feel as if they took you by the scruff of the neck and shook you like a kitten. They shake you until everything is shaken out of you. Your name, the body, your very “I”, but you don’t care, you just look and wait until your shoe or your nail begins to turn yellow, yellow, yellow... Then before your eyes everything is going to explode - just a nuclear war - and your shoe, or a nail, or, there, the dirt on your trouser leg grows, grows, damn it, swells, and now the whole world, zaraza, has been obscured, and then you are ready to go straight to God in heaven. And you will return from there soggy, whimpering, the morder is distorted - hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! Normal, in general, but somehow cowardly. We did not come into this world to communicate with God. This can suck all the strength out of a guy, every last drop.
- Well, what now, huh?
The radio was playing with all its might, and in stereo, so that the singer’s golosnia seemed to move from one corner of the bar to another, fly up to the ceiling, then fall again and bounce from wall to wall. It was Bertie Lasky who did that old shtuku called “Peel the Paint Off Me.” One of the three kisoks at the counter, the one in a green wig, either stuck out her belly, then pulled it in again to the beat of what they called music. I felt a torment from the knives in the cunning milk, and I was ready to imitate something like “heaps and loads.” I yelled “Legs, legs, legs!” as if he had been stabbed to death, he cracked the departed hanygu across the vat, or, as we say, v tykvu, but he didn’t even feel it, continuing to mutter about “telephonic jabberland and granullandia, which are always a big hole.” When he returns from heaven, he will feel everything, and how!
-Where to? – Georgie asked.
“What difference does it make,” I say, “there’s glianem there—maybe something will turn up, damn it.”
In general, we rolled out into the vast winter landscape and walked first along Marganita Boulevard, and then turned onto Boothbay Avenue and there we found what we were looking for - a small toltshok, with which we could start the evening. We came across a tattered starikashka, a weak tshelovek in glasses, grasping the cold night air with his gaping hlebalom. With books and a stained umbrella under his arm, he left the public biblio on the corner, where in those days normal people rarely visited. And in general, in those days, respectable, as they say, decent people did not really walk the streets after dark - there was not enough police, but broken malltshipaltshiki like us were hanging around everywhere, so this stari professor was the only passerby on the entire street. In general, I approached him, everything was neat, and I said: “I’m sorry, damn it.”
The reader may think that the action Burgess describes is stupid and gratuitous cruelty, contrary to human nature. Is this true? Has man really become so isolated from nature that he has lost the desire to dominate, subjugate, influence and find personal benefits everywhere? No matter what methods he operates on, he still continues to live for the sake of fulfilling the program embedded in him. And the essence of this program lies precisely in unmotivated aggression, which should help intimidate the environment and achieve temporary satisfaction for the person. Certainly, characters“A Clockwork Orange” goes too far, destroying the reality around them, robbing passers-by and raping women, perceiving this theatrical performance. The production is visible, musical accompaniment palpable; disgust is exactly the reaction that the author wanted to achieve from the reader.
Is Burgess so far from reality? IN peaceful life there are restrictions in place to prevent people from breaking the law. But if you look into the recent past, turning to the experience of wars, you won’t be able to find a clearer example. A person turned into a beast, seeing the brutal attitude towards himself, doing the same in response. Worse, the man treated those he was supposed to protect brutally. There are many reasons motivating aggression - they are all internally justified, but more often it is possible to find only one explanation, based on which you understand that this is characteristic of a person, it is worth eliminating the restrictions.
Burgess describes a reality that bears little resemblance to real life. His characters are completely saturated with negativity, acting too predictably and without remorse. The only thing the reader thinks about is how exactly did society degenerate at one point? The generation on display consists entirely of marginalized people who terrify the entire area. Their parents are presented as downtrodden amorphous creatures, observing with detachment the asocial activities of their own children. Is it about upbringing? No. The reader clearly understands that Burgess is not saying something.
One gets the feeling that the current government specifically pursued a policy to eradicate humanistic principles, preferring to build a society of degenerates whose anarchic impulses allow them to realize the need for a society in which the rule of the strong will play an important role. Burgess did not create a cloying utopia (it would have to be broken), he ignored militarization (military juntas are already widely represented on the planet), he simply allowed the representatives of the bottom to feel the opportunity to prevail over the meek people who dominate them, whose liberal opinion cannot be relied upon from - for the difficulty of predicting the future. The authorities always strive to maintain their positions, just like any individual person - no one wants to give up hard-won benefits.
Still, Burgess tried to change the situation for the better. He tried to correct human nature, for which he used the tools available to his imagination. Burgess began to proceed from the opposite, eradicating violence with violence. It’s as if they are knocking out a wedge with a wedge, approaching the solution to the problem from the opposite side. If you set a goal, then you will be able to convince any person, for which you will have to influence his psyche one way or another, and using rather cruel methods. Known fact that there is nothing better than the use of electric current when you need to develop an automatic aversion to a certain moment. So Burgess gave the reader hope for a better future, so that people would not destroy themselves, but with the help of science would come to mutual understanding.
Burgess's version has a right to exist. He is right in many respects, but in other respects he showed those people who always imagine themselves to be superhumans, without actually representing anything of themselves. They are simply following nature's call that populations must self-regulate. Therefore, aggression cannot be eradicated from a person.
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– Ryu Murakami
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Like, reviewer about interesting book. in my memory, after which I really wanted to see Kubrick’s film. “A Clockwork Orange” is a novel by Anthony Burgess, written in 1962, which formed the basis of the film of the same name, shot in 1971 by Stanley Kubrick. cruel. Imbued with cruelty, but this makes it even more interesting. Reading is just for entertainment, nothing more. But quite high quality.
I read the book in electronic form. It won’t be difficult to download the book “A Clockwork Orange.” If you want to buy in paper form, then
The history of writing the novel
Burgess wrote his novel immediately after doctors diagnosed him with a brain tumor and told him he had about a year to live. The author later said in an interview with the Village Voice: “This damn book is a work soaked through with pain... I was trying to get rid of the memories of my first wife, who was brutally beaten by four deserters during World War II American army. She was pregnant and then lost the child. After everything that happened, she fell into a wild depression and even tried to commit suicide. Later she quietly drank herself to death and died.”
The novel received its title “A Clockwork Orange” from an expression that was once widely circulated among the London Cockneys, the inhabitants of the working classes of the East End. Older Cockneys refer to things that are unusual or strange as “crooked as a clockwork orange,” that is, they are things of the most bizarre and incomprehensible kind. Anthony Burgess lived in Malaysia for seven years, and in Malay the word “orang” means “person”, and in English “orange” means “orange”.
Difficulties of translation into Russian
Burgess, wanting to enliven his novel, saturates it with slang words from the so-called “nadtsat”, taken from the Russian and Gypsy languages. At the time when Burgess was thinking about the language of the novel, he found himself in Leningrad, where he decided to create some kind of international language, which was the eleventh. The main difficulty of translating the novel into Russian is that these words look as unusual for a Russian-speaking reader as they do for an English-speaking reader.
V. Boshnyak came up with the idea of typing these words in Latin, thus distinguishing them from the text in Russian. Here, for example, is Alex’s altercation with the leader of an enemy gang:
Who do I see! Wow! Is it really fat and smelly, is it really our vile and vile Billyboy, koziol and svolotsh! How are you, kal in the pot, castor oil bladder? Well, come here, I’ll tear off your beitsy, if you still have them, you drotshenyi eunuch!
In E. Sinelshchikov’s translation, the “Russian” words are translated into English and given in Cyrillic in the text.
At the sight of the uninvited guests, the girl made the letter “O” with her brightly painted mouth, and the young man in horny glasses raised his head from the typewriter and looked at us in bewilderment. Paper sheets were scattered all over the table in front of him. To the right of the tie-pen they were folded into a neat column. That evening we were lucky to have intelligent men.
Basically in the novel, the characters use ordinary Russian common words as slang - “boy”, “face”, “tea”, etc.
Because of the same “11th”, Stanley Kubrick bequeathed the film “A Clockwork Orange” to be shown in Russian distribution exclusively with subtitles.
Interesting facts about the book “A Clockwork Orange”
- The novel mentions some famous Soviet places - Victory Park, the Melodiya store and some others.
- Some editions omit the 21st chapter, in which Alex meets Pete and rethinks his attitude towards life. Kubrick's film is based on this version of the book.
- Members of the British punk band The Adicts imitated the film's main characters, which is why they were nicknamed "Clockwork Punk". In addition, the group’s third album is called “Smart Alex”
- The title comes from this novel musical groups Mechanical Orange, Moloko, The Devotchkas and Devotchka.
- The Brazilian metal band Sepultura released the concept album A-Lex in 2009, based on this work.
- In 2007, a dramatization of the novel written by Ukrainian writer Oleg Sery.
- The Russian group "Bi-2" released an album called "Moloko". On the cover of the disc there are musicians dressed in the style of the heroes of the novel.
- The German band Die Toten Hosen released the album Ein kleines bisschen Horrorschau in 1988, dedicated to the book
Reviews of the book “A Clockwork Orange” by Anthony Burgess
I won't say anything about Alex. Without any retelling of the text, I will go straight to the meaning of the book (as it seemed to me)
I think that the author did not want the reader to put himself before the choice of which side he is on - good or evil, because good that adjusts the so-called evil to its mechanism is evil, since it interferes with the very living thing that is in us. We see this, of course, in the moment when Alex is zombified in the hospital. I think that at the age of 16 I will not give an answer about the existence of good as such. I’ll just add that large number goodness, this is a reflection of hypocrisy, and of course, evil actions should not be encouraged, no matter how sincere they are, even in this (intellectual, classics-loving) Alex.
Well, if for small nuances, then I would never believe that all these things, and the printed text came from a 15 - 18 year old guy (as previous responses said)
Like this interesting review with lifelib:
The review contains spoilers and obscenities.
Hmmm... after I removed everything from my first mental version of the review for Orange swear words, there are only two left - die, bitch
. In the second version there were 600 words (“die, bitch
“- repeat 300 times). I had to wait for the emotions to subside in order to regain the ability to speak clearly.Everyone knows what the book is about, right? No? Well, I'll be brief then. There are 4 geeks sitting at that table in the Korova bar. Shorty Alex is their ideological inspirer. He is 15 years old. Now they will roll out “charged” milk “with knives” so that it will last all night and go outside to have fun. Today on the program: to warm up, take a break from some grandpa, yeah, there’s just the right one coming, with books in his hands. Tear books, beat grandfather and strip him for complete jokes. What's next? Robbery of a store, beat the saleswoman until she blisters with blood. And then the highlight of the program - an unexpected guest. This is real fun, my friends! Break into a house on the outskirts, beat the owner, tie him up, and then, in front of his eyes, organize a group “good old show-stopping” with his wife. Before going to bed, Alex will definitely listen to something from the classics - Mozart or Beethoven, imagining how he rapes and beats, and daydreams so much that he even cums from an excess of feelings. (Kill, kill the creature!) As a result of a medical experiment, he develops a peculiar allergy to violence. Just thinking about it makes him feel nauseous and in pain. Dear, the poor thing was deprived of the right to choose! Ahah! This is inhumane! After all, every person should have free will! For a person, yes, it should. Such scum does not. Why does he need this freedom? What can he pick up there? Who else is in the gateway today? Which, in fact, is what he does as soon as he gets his right to choose back.
And the ending is a joke! It turns out (here I must speak in the tone of an exalted professor who has just done greatest discovery) our Alex was such an evil reptile because he was young! Too young! He is a rebel! And now he has begun to grow up and he already wants a chubby baby and some loving kitty at the stove. I don't believe it. If you are a moral monster, then this will last for a long time. So... die, bitch
.And Burgess has my admiration. The book is captivating and delivers.
Well, one more opinion from Imkhoneta:
A long time ago I watched a film, I was about 15 years old. I really liked the film, it started my love for Malcolm McDowell. But, as I understand now, I realized little in the film. After more than 15 years, I remembered the film and decided to read the book. It's hard to read at first because of the slang. The eye always stumbles over the spelling of Russian words in transliteration, and this interferes with perception. I even stopped reading for a while. But then you get used to it, the book is amazing. Now I'm rewatching the film to see what I like better. Probably the movie and the book are not comparable. These things are masterpieces. And, most importantly, nothing changes in society. Violence begets violence. It is impossible to live honestly in society. If you are honest and decent, then they will label you a lyuli. And the cops themselves behave like out-and-out bandits. Everyone uses Alex for their own purposes, but he turns the whole world. The book makes you think. I will definitely re-read it to formulate my thoughts more clearly.
Story
Burgess wrote his novel immediately after doctors diagnosed him with a brain tumor and told him he had about a year to live. The author later told the Village Voice: “This damn book is a work of pain... I was trying to get rid of the memories of my first wife, who was brutally beaten by four deserters of the American army during World War II. She was pregnant and then lost the child. After everything that happened, she fell into a wild depression and even tried to commit suicide. Later she quietly drank herself to death and died.”
Name
The novel received its name “A Clockwork Orange” from an expression that was once widely circulated among London cockneys - inhabitants of the working classes of the East End. Older Cockneys refer to things that are unusual or strange as “crooked as a clockwork orange,” that is, they are things of the most bizarre and incomprehensible kind. Anthony Burgess lived in Malaysia for seven years, and in Malay the word “orang” means “person”, and in English “orange” means “orange”
Plot
Alex served there for two years, and suddenly the opportunity to be released appeared: amnesty is promised to anyone who agrees to conduct an experiment on himself. Alex, without really thinking about what they are going to do with him, agrees. And the experiment is as follows: Alex is brainwashed, making him incapable not only of violence, but also of sexual intercourse. Even Beethoven's music hurts him.
Alex's ordeals after his release from prison make up the third part of the novel. One by one, Alex meets all his victims on the way and takes his soul away from him. Burgess emphasizes their cruelty. Even those who see him for the first time do not miss the opportunity to abuse a defenseless teenager. After unsuccessful attempt After driving Alex to suicide, he suffers a concussion, and after treatment, all the reflexes instilled in him disappear - Alex goes out into the street healthy again.
Characters
- Alex - main character, teenager, the embodiment of teenage aggression and rebellion. Alex is the leader of a youth gang, which, along with others like him, wanders the streets at night, fights with other gangs, attacks defenseless passers-by, maims people, and robs shops. Alex gets great pleasure from beatings and rapes. He stimulates his aggression with drugs and listening to the music of Beethoven. Alex is incorrigible, he is confused by the attempts of those around him and the state to make him law-abiding and manageable.
- Tem- Alex’s accomplice and, perhaps, his antipode. " ...And indeed the guy is dark- hence the nickname. In the original his name is Dim (from English dim). He is not distinguished by intelligence and education, although he is physically developed: “ ...The one who, for all his stupidity, alone was worth three in anger and mastery of all the vile tricks of a fight" Alex describes him with obvious disgust. Tyom's favorite weapon is a chain with which he hits the enemy's eyes. He eventually leaves the gang and becomes a police officer.
- Georgie- Alex's friend was jealous of his dominant role in the gang, which led to a conflict between them. Subsequently, this conflict became the reason for Alex's excessive bravado and he, overestimating his capabilities, killed an old woman and went to prison. Georgik was killed when he attempted to rob the house of a “capitalist”. The destinies of Tem, Georgica and Pete reflect three possible paths that a teenager in the world of Alexa can take.
- Pete- the calmest and friendliest person from Alex's gang. He subsequently leaves the gang and gets married. It was he who helped Alex change his point of view on life at the end of the novel.
- « Crystallography enthusiast" - one of Alex's victims. A frail elderly man who was first attacked by Alex’s gang, and then attacked the “cured” Alex in the company of the same old men. Burgess introduces it to emphasize the helplessness of the “cured” Alex, his inability to fight off even the weak old man.
- Dr. Branom- one of the scientists who conducted an experiment on Alex to cure aggression. In general, scientists are presented in the novel as ruthless towards the experimental subject (Alex is called “our subject”). As for Dr. Branom, he captivates Alex with his apparent friendliness, his smile - “such a smile that I kind of immediately believed him.” Branom tries to gain Alex's trust and calls himself a friend. It is possible that the prototype of Branom was J. Mengele, who gained confidence in his experimental subjects to make it easier to work with them.
- Doctor Brodsky- one of the scientists who conducted experiments on the main character, Alex.
- Joe- Alex's parents' lodger until he gets out of prison. Towards the end of the book, he goes home to get treatment because he was beaten by the police.
- P. R. Deltoid- a policeman assigned to Alex to subdue him.
- F. Alexander- a writer to whom Alex caused great trauma - in front of him he raped him along with his friends and killed his wife. Author of the book “A Clockwork Orange” based on the plot of the work. Towards the end, he conspires with his colleagues and drives Alex to attempt suicide by playing loud music for him, causing Alex great suffering. He is Burgess himself. Four American deserters raped his wife, and later she “quietly drank herself to death and died.”
Screen adaptation
Translation into Russian
Burgess, wanting to enliven his novel, saturates it with slang words from the so-called “nadsat”, taken from the Russian and Gypsy languages. At the time when Burgess was thinking about the language of the novel, he found himself in Leningrad, where he decided to create some kind of international language, which was Nadsat. The main difficulty of translating the novel into Russian is that these words look as unusual for a Russian-speaking reader as they do for an English-speaking reader.
V. Boshnyak came up with the idea of typing these words in Latin, thus distinguishing them from the text in Russian. Here, for example, is Alex’s altercation with the leader of an enemy gang:
Who do I see! Wow! Is it really fat and smelly, is it really our vile and vile Billyboy, koziol and svolotsh! How are you, kal in the pot, castor oil bladder? Well, come here, I’ll tear off your beitsy, if you still have them, you drotshenyi eunuch!
There is also a known translation in which “Russian” words are translated into English and given in Cyrillic in the text.
Basically in the novel, the characters use ordinary Russian common words as slang - “boy”, “face”, “tea”, etc.
- The novel mentions some famous Russian places- Victory Park, Melodiya store and some others.
- Some editions omit the 21st chapter, in which Alex meets Pete and rethinks his attitude towards life. Kubrick's film is based on this version of the book.
- The British punk band The Adicts imitated the film's main characters, which is why they were nicknamed "Clockwork Punk". In addition, the group’s third album is called “Smart Alex”
- From this novel came the names of the musical groups Mechanical Orange, Moloko, The Devotchkas and Devotchka.
- Brazilian metal band Sepultura released a concept album this year A-Lex based on this work.
- In 2007 in " Youth Theater» In Chernigov, a dramatization of the novel was staged, written by the Ukrainian writer Oleg Sery.
- The Russian group "Bi-2" released an album called "Milk". On the cover of the disc there are musicians dressed as the heroes of the novel.
- The German band Die Toten Hosen released the album Ein kleines bisschen Horrorschau in 1988, dedicated to the book.
Published in Russian
- The novel "A Clockwork Orange". Publishing house " Fiction", Leningrad, 1991. Translation from English by V. Boshnyak. ISBN 5-280-02370-1
Links
- A Clockwork Orange in Maxim Moshkov's library
Notes
Categories:
- Books in alphabetical order
- Novels 1962
- Works by Anthony Burgess
- Dystopian novels
- Literary works in alphabetical order
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See what “A Clockwork Orange” is in other dictionaries:
- “A Clockwork Orange” UK, 1972, 137 min. Philosophical dystopia. One of the most famous films in the history of world cinema, today probably will not make such a stunning impression on viewers as this... ... Encyclopedia of Cinema