Orwell, George — Nineteen eighty-four [732]

Winston stopped reading, chiefly in order to appreciate the fact that he was reading, in comfort and safety. He was alone: no telescreen, no ear at the keyhole, no nervous impulse to glance over his shoulder or cover the page with his hand. The sweet summer air played against his cheek. From somewhere far away there floated the faint shouts of children: in the room itself there was no sound except the insect voice of the clock. He settled deeper into the armchair and put his feet up on the fender. It was bliss, it was eternity. — Orwell, George, Nineteen eighty-four, 732

Note

Reading becomes an act of self-conscious appreciation; safety itself is a physical novelty. The ‘insect voice of the clock’ is a telling detail — even ordinary time is rendered alien, and the negative definition of contentment (‘no telescreen’) shows how thoroughly surveillance defines the interior life.