Book 2, Chapter 3 Summary & Analysis | LitCharts
- Part 2, Chapter 3 & 4 The main protagonist of Orwell's Julia. A member of a party and Winston's girlfriend. She also starts out with a strident Before going away, Julia said the name of a place where they could meet four. Free summary and analysis of Book 2, Chapter 3 in George Orwell's that won't Upon waking up, Julia instructs Winston on how to return to London. Winston says that it would not have mattered whether he pushed her or not, because. A summary of Book Two: Chapters I–III in George Orwell's Learn exactly what happened in this chapter, scene, or section of and what it means. Before Winston can fully comprehend this development, Parsons interrupts him with and plan a meeting in Victory Square where they will be able to hide from the.
She explains to him that depriving people of sex induces hysteria, which can be transformed by the Party into hatred of the Party's enemies and worship of Big Brother. Though not as educated as Winston, Julia has a much better understanding of the Party's manipulation of sex. Winston, in turn, tells Julia about a time when he was on a community hike with Katharine and nearly pushed his wife off a cliff.
He tells Julia that whether or not he pushed his wife doesn't matter, because failure in the face of the Party's oppression is inevitable. Winston adds that they will eventually be caught, that they are dead.
Julia, who believes only in private rebellion rather than organized revolt against the party, tells him to stop talking about dying, and begins planning their next meeting. Winston understands that the Party will see their actions as a revolt, and that the Party sees everything. Julia, who is not interested in overthrowing the Party, doesn't understand this.
She thinks her rebellion is private and small. But to the Party, any rebellion is a threat, because it could incite others to follow. But with luck, in the middle of the crowd, it would be safe to talk for a quarter of an hour and arrange another meeting.
I've got to put in two hours for the Junior Anti-Sex League, handing out leaflets, or something.
Give me a brush-down, would you? Have I got any twigs in my hair? Then good-bye, my love, good-bye! Even now he had not found out her surname or her address. However, it made no difference, for it was inconceivable that they could ever meet indoors or exchange any kind of written communication.
As it happened, they never went back to the clearing in the wood. During the month of May there was only one further occasion on which they actually succeeded in making love.
That was in another hidlng-place known to Julia, the belfry of a ruinous church in an almost-deserted stretch of country where an atomic bomb had fallen thirty years earlier. It was a good hiding-place when once you got there, but the getting there was very dangerous.
For the rest they could meet only in the streets, in a different place every evening and never for more than half an hour at a time. In the street it was usually possible to talk, after a fashion. As they drifted down the crowded pavements, not quite abreast and never looking at one another, they carried on a curious, intermittent conversation which flicked on and off like the beams of a lighthouse, suddenly nipped into silence by the approach of a Party uniform or the proximity of a telescreen, then taken up again minutes later in the middle of a sentence, then abruptly cut short as they parted at the agreed spot, then continued almost without introduction on the following day.
Julia appeared to be quite used to this kind of conversation, which she called 'talking by instalments'.
George Orwell - - Part 2, Chapter 3
She was also surprisingly adept at speaking without moving her lips. Just once in almost a month of nightly meetings they managed to exchange a kiss.
They were passing in silence down a side-street Julia would never speak when they were away from the main streets when there was a deafening roar, the earth heaved, and the air darkened, and Winston found himself lying on his side, bruised and terrified. A rocket bomb must have dropped quite near at hand. Suddenly he became aware of Julia's face a few centimetres from his own, deathly white, as white as chalk. Even her lips were white.
He clasped her against him and found that he was kissing a live warm face. But there was some powdery stuff that got in the way of his lips. Both of their faces were thickly coated with plaster. There were evenings when they reached their rendezvous and then had to walk past one another without a sign, because a patrol had just come round the corner or a helicopter was hovering overhead. Even if it had been less dangerous, it would still have been difficult to find time to meet.
Winston's working week was sixty hours, Julia's was even longer, and their free days varied according to the pressure of work and did not often coincide. Julia, in any case, seldom had an evening completely free. She spent an astonishing amount of time in attending lectures and demonstrations, distributing literature for the junior Anti-Sex League, preparing banners for Hate Week, making collections for the savings campaign, and such-like activities.
It paid, she said, it was camouflage. If you kept the small rules, you could break the big ones. She even induced Winston to mortgage yet another of his evenings by enrolling himself for the part-time munition work which was done voluntarily by zealous Party members.
So, one evening every week, Winston spent four hours of paralysing boredom, screwing together small bits of metal which were probably parts of bomb fuses, in a draughty, ill-lit workshop where the knocking of hammers mingled drearily with the music of the telescreens. When they met in the church tower the gaps in their fragmentary conversation were filled up.
It was a blazing afternoon. The air in the little square chamber above the bells was hot and stagnant, and smelt overpoweringly of pigeon dung. They sat talking for hours on the dusty, twig-littered floor, one or other of them getting up from time to time to cast a glance through the arrowslits and make sure that no one was coming. Julia was twenty-six years old.
She lived in a hostel with thirty other girls 'Always in the stink of women! How I hate women! She enjoyed her work, which consisted chiefly in running and servicing a powerful but tricky electric motor. She was 'not clever', but was fond of using her hands and felt at home with machinery.1984 Book 2 Chapter 3
She could describe the whole process of composing a novel, from the general directive issued by the Planning Committee down to the final touching-up by the Rewrite Squad. But she was not interested in the finished product. She 'didn't much care for reading,' she said.
Books were just a commodity that had to be produced, like jam or bootlaces. She had no memories of anything before the early sixties and the only person she had ever known who talked frequently of the days before the Revolution was a grandfather who had disappeared when she was eight.
At school she had been captain of the hockey team and had won the gymnastics trophy two years running. She had always borne an excellent character. She had even an infallibIe mark of good reputation been picked out to work in Pornosec, the sub-section of the Fiction Department which turned out cheap pornography for distribution among the proles. It was nicknamed Muck House by the people who worked in it, she remarked. There she had remained for a year, helping to produce booklets in sealed packets with titles like Spanking Stories or One Night in a Girls' School, to be bought furtively by proletarian youths who were under the impression that they were buying something illegal.
They only have six plots, but they swap them round a bit. Of course I was only on the kaleidoscopes. I was never in the Rewrite Squad. I'm not literary, dear -- not even enough for that. He looks out of the window and sees a woman that is between a washtub and a clothes line. Whenever her mouth is not corked with clothes pegs, she sings. It is a popular songcreated for the proles by a sub section of the Music Department.
Now in his mind there is only a word: The week of hate increases the working hours but fortunately he has received a free afternoon on the same day. At this moment there is a quick step on the stairs and Julia bursts into the room with a big bag full of prohibited goods: Winston was astonished and immediately asks Julia when she has found these goods. They fling their clothes off and climb onto the huge mahogany bed.
Down in the yard the woman has stopped singing.