George Orwell, a talented leftist writer, has emerged as one of Britain's best satirists. Britons, chuckling at his new book, Animal Farm,† a 92-page laugh-and thought-provoking satire on Communism and the Soviet Union, are calling its author the most brilliant political satirist since Swift.
Beasts of the World, Unite! Farmer Jones had a good farm, but he drank too much. One night, by the mystic operations of the historical dialectic, a leftist political theoretician appeared among his farm animals. He was old Major, a prize Middle White hog. Major addressed the other creatures:
"Comrades, what is the nature of this life of ours? Let us face it: our lives are miserable, laborious, and short. No animal in England knows the meaning of happiness or leisure after he is a year old. No animal in England is free. . . .
"But is this simply part of the order of nature? . . . No, comrades, a thousand times no! ... Why then do we continue in this miserable condition? Because nearly the whole of the produce of our labour is stolen from us by human beings. There, comrades, is the answer to all our problems. . . . Only get rid of Man, and the produce of our labour would be our own. Almost overnight we could become rich and free. What then must we do? Why, work night and day, body and soul, for the overthrow of the human race! That is my message to you, comrades: Rebellion!"
Then old Major cleared his throat and taught his followers a song, "a stirring tune, something between Clementine and La Cucuracha," which the animals found as moving as some people find Arise, Ye Prisoners of Starvation!:
Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland, Beasts of every land and clime, Hearken to my joyful tidings Of the golden future time. . . .
Riches more than mind can picture, Wheat and barley, oats and hay, Clover, beans and mangel-wurzels Shall be ours upon that day. . . .
The Animalist Manifesto. The next three months were feverish with secret political activity. The work of indoctrination and organizing fell to the pigs, who were the cleverest of the farm animals. Two pigs were outstanding: Napoleon, a big, rather fierce-looking boar of a Stalinesque taciturnity and resoluteness, and Snowball, an ingenious pig of Trotsky-esque vivacity and eloquence. There was also a somewhat Molotovish barrow named Squealer, "with very round cheeks, twinkling eyes, nimble movements, and a shrill voice. He was a brilliant talker, and when he was arguing some difficult point he had a way of skipping from side to side and whisking his tail which was somehow very persuasive."
These three turned the ideas of old Major (he had died) into a complete system of thought called Animalism. Their most faithful converts were two cart horses, Boxer and Clover. These two had a hard time thinking anything out for themselves. But they absorbed everything the pigs taught them and passed it on to the other animals in simple form.
The Revolution came sooner and was won more easily than anybody expected. Before hay harvest, Farmer Jones got drunk for two days. Nobody milked the cows or fed the animals. At last the frenzied creatures broke into the feed room. When Jones and his men arrived with whips, the animals turned on them and chased them off the farm.