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Shooting An Elephant (2003)

Shooting an Elephant (2003)

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Rating
4.09 of 5 Votes: 3
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ISBN
0141187395 (ISBN13: 9780141187396)
Language
English
Publisher
penguin

About book Shooting An Elephant (2003)

I have like... 6 pages of notes on this book. It was my pick for the Jordabecker Book Club and I think it was a good choice. We hadn't done a book of essays and we weren't sure how it would go, but it went well. If one particular essay didn't grip us, perhaps another would. I think we all found something we could relate to.I read "Shooting an Elephant" out loud to my 7th grade class. It ties in wonderfully with the standards. Here you go, I pulled a couple from The Indiana Dept of Education. Go ahead and click on it. For real. Then check the 7th grade box and the Social Studies box. Expand the standards and tell me how I should teach those in 180 45 minute classes. (I think I'm doing a pretty d*** good job by the way.) Anyway, here are the 2. Sorry about the tirade.7.1.17 Exploration, Conquest and Post-Colonial States: 1500 to the Present. Describe the impact of industrialization, urbanization and globalization in post-colonial South Africa, India, Japan, China and Kenya. (Core Standard) 7.1.18 Exploration, Conquest and Post-Colonial States: 1500 to the Present. Identify and describe recent conflicts and political issues between nations or cultural groups. (Core Standard) Example: Sudan (Darfur) and North and South Korea I realize "Shooting an Elephant" deals with Burma and not India, but it's still the British Raj and we watch a bunch of Gandhi excerpts.Anyway, that essay alone is platinum. Not to over-hype it, but it is. The British Empire dying, the elephant ambiguously representing both the Empire, and Burmese culture at the same time. Dang it's good. I read it out loud to the kids and we discuss it. Many of them understand the different levels after a little discussion, and I'll spoon-feed those that don't.But there's other gold in this book as well. I found "A Hanging" particularly moving and troubling.As someone who loves to read and promote literacy I loved "Why I Write," "Bookshop Memories," and "Confessions of a Book Reviewer." (Although, it made me wonder how often I'm duped into reading books that blow. But it also made me glad to review books for fun and personal intellectual expanse rather than for money.)I was disappointed in some of the essays though. With a title like, "Good Bad Books" you'd think you couldn't go wrong, but it was SOOOOO dated. Who knows? Maybe 75 years from now when somebody comes across Stephanie Meyer they'll have to (the 75 years in the future equivalent of)google the reference.The political writings were fun, and I could often see kindling for the great fires of 1984 and Animal Farm in them."How the Poor Die" was moving, but not as moving as "A Hanging." Our book club also read For Whom the Bell Tolls by Hemingway, so it reading, "Looking Back on the Spanish War" was a nice connection. I love it when that happens at book clubs.One last thing before this yeti of a review gets too far out of hand, Orwell argues in "The Sporting Spirit" that international organized sports are, contrary to what the Olympics and world cup people tell you, a bad institution. I'm sure most everyone would be quick to jump in and disagree. We've been programmed that way I guess. But bring up a one Diego Maradonna to any decent English Football fan and see if it breeds goodwill. I had the guys listen to The Business Handball and Maradona during book club at Starbucks to drive the point home.

Update Here is a free link to this very short story and other writing by Orwell.The end of the Empire came when those who had previously given up their arms and all their wealth to he-who-wears-a-pit-helmet and burns-in-the-sun realised that Jack was not only as good as his master, but his master was a total dickhead anyway. And it was past due time he went home to colder climes and the fat queen who wore a golden crown studded with jewels stolen from their lands. This story is about one of the sunburned crew realising that yeah, he is a dickhead and reflecting on the lengths he went to just to stop other people realising that. But they knew, they just didn't know they could do anything about it, deprived of arms and government as they were. All they could do was force him to behave in ways that would benefit themselves. In this case, he had to kill a mad elephant that he didn't want to or even seen the need to, but that was his role and elephant was their favourite food. The satisfaction of forcing the white man and his gun to perform his self-defined role was one thing, but defining their own roles another. Eventually though, revolution and independence became possible and then inevitable.Well, actually not. The British government has been trying to get its remaining outposts of empire to become independent since the mid-80s. The whiter the populace (ie Falklands) the less hard they try and vice versa. (The Labour government actually gave all the rights of passport and settlement that these pale islands enjoyed to the darker ones, which was something). The problem is that the non-independent islands are now in the position of power. They are all self-governing and the UK is responsible for defence, helps out with major island maintenance via its roving ships, sends old books to the libraries and provides a good place of tertiary education for those that wish it. The only irksome thing for the locals is having to have a meet-and-greet governor who generally lords it over everyone having gathered a coterie of cocktail-party going expats and rich, sycophantic locals around him. But the main benefit is that our often thoroughly-corrupt politicians cannot change the political system and elect themselves dictator president-for-life. So no one except the thoroughly-corrupt politicos actually wants independence. Empire died. Britain's cold and grey and poor, and we are sunny and warm and not too badly off. We can come to the mother country and work, you can't come here without a work permit. Karma.Great story. Very short. As well-written as everything else by Orwell.

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As seen in /my link textAlthough a writer, Orwell was primarily a journalist. As a result, the sheer necessity to extricate himself from the depiction of something he his witnessing first-hand is quite evident along his works. What differentiates him from his other novelist-journalists of his epoch such as Steinbeck or Hemmingway is the ability to drop a considerable amount of humanity into his accounts. The essay “A Hanging” – in which Orwell describes how it was to witness a public execution of a prisoner in India – is a perfect example of this. In it, he not only expresses his contempt for the man who is about to die, but he also acknowledges the wrongness of the situation. In “How the Poor Die”, he recounts his memories of his unpleasant stay at Hôpital X in Paris. Once again, he shows affection towards the unfortunate people who died alone and helpless in the corridors of the establishment.tOther than his empathy, Orwell holds a pragmatic view regarding writing, language and communication. “The prevention of Literature” and “Politics and the English Language” are the most conspicuous examples. In these two essays, he argues about the pretentiousness of certain writers, who use ideas to convey words, and not the other way around. One can say that these points of view might have emerged during his years working as a journalist, yet the arguments he utilizes hold enough poignancy to persuade the reader. In essence, and from his perspective, the “ego” should not count when writing. He reveals he writes only when he has something to tell the audience, and not exclusively as means of self-recreation.Defining someone as “ahead of his time” might be regarded as a cliché or commonplace. But when it comes to portraying George, this needs to be done. This book should be seen as essential. That is, if you the reader wants to explore the mind of a man who lived through most of the pivotal points in the first half of the XX century, although not always fully belonging.
—Daniel Gonçalves

A few months ago I was quite impressed by George Orwell's Down And Out In Paris And London, in which he recounts his experiences on the fringes of society with a healthy measure of social commentary and sparkling wit. I was keen to read some more of Orwell's non-fiction, and this collection of essays seemed to fit the bill quite nicely.The essays span a period from the early thirties to the late forties, shortly before Orwell's premature death in January 1950. They cover a number of topics, some personal and some political, ranging from his experiences as a policeman in Burma, lofty dissections of the works of Charles Dickens and Jonathan Swift, all the way down to simple observations about the coming of spring.I didn't enjoy this book as much as Down And Out, because a lot of the political essays were largely theoretical - I preferred those in which Orwell discusses his own experiences, such as Shooting An Elephant, How The Poor Die, and Such, Such Were The Joys. Unfortunately these were a minority in the book, and it was somtimes hard going reading about politics sixty-five years out of date, or a 60-page analysis on Dickens when I've never read a lick of the man's writing.Nonetheless, Orwell was one of the most gifted writers of the 20th century (and easily its greatest journalist), and even when discussing unfamiliar subjects his prose is easy and enjoyable to read. He is exceptionally articulate, and his similes are quite imaginative:[Dickens'] imagination overwhelms everything, like a kind of weed.When there is a gap between one's real and one's declared aims, one turns as it were instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like a cuttlefish spurting out ink.At eight years old you were suddenly taken out of this warm nest and thrown into a world of force and fraud and secrecy, like a goldfish into a tank full of pike.He also expresses some thoughts I've had myself while travelling through Asia:With one part of my mind I thought of the British Raj as an unbreakable tyranny, as something clamped down, in saecula saeculorum, upon the will of prostrate peoples; with another part I thought that the greatest joy in the world would be to drive a bayonet through a Buddhist priest's guts.While I didn't enjoy this as much as Down And Out, I still believe that all of Orwell's non-fiction is worth reading. Orwell was above all an honest writer, a man who could admit his errors and confront what he truly believed and write in plain English what he thought. That's a rare thing. He was not just one of the greatest writers of our age, but also one of the noblest.He also totally shot an elephant in the face. What a man!
—Mitchell

A largely chronological compilation of Orwell’s shorter pieces which incorporate all his best known essays. Even a passing familiarity with Orwell’s work and favoured subject will give you an idea of the subjects here – Britain and its empire, the British class system, poverty, totalitarianism and literature. Orwell’s great strength lay in reportage (arguably his best known fictions are merely reportage in disguise) and this collection demonstrates exactly why.The collection is bookended by the two pieces presented out of order and their placing marks them as the most important pieces. Why I Write begins the book by exploring the question suggested by the title and Politics and the English Language closes by unifying Orwell’s literary and political sides by linking a perceived decline in standards of English with the way politicians debase it. Clearly it’s a subject which still has currency, particularly as I read this during a General Election campaign where all parties are attempting to hammer messages by repetition. In between there’s a clear-eyed yet affectionate piece on Charles Dickens, reminiscences of the mundane horrors of Burma, the Spanish Civil War, poverty and the English public school system, and intelligent pieces covering both highbrow and lowbrow literature. Most wonderful of all is the shaft of rare and pure joy Orwell derives from the common toad – he may be an unsparing critic for the most part but here there’s an all too rare joy. As an extra treat, there’s a fine introduction from Jeremy Paxman which manages to admire without being rose tinted. A fine microcosm of Orwell’s work, and the book to start with if you’ve never read any of his books before.
—Jon Arnold

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