George Orwell - 1984

I have lived 36 years without reading 1984, and I do not think there is anything wrong with that. Still, I dusted off my copy - which has been on my shelf for at least a decade - and read it. 

Of course, George Orwell's writing is flawless and incredibly easy to read. The words turn into images right away and you never have to parse anything. That's kind of WHY I hated it so much. The images are so immediate and so vivid.

I would like to have NOT read it, to not be haunted by it. In this respect 1984 belongs to an exclusive class of stories that I absolutely regret watching or reading.

1. That episode of Black Mirror with the self-mutilating doctor and person trapped in a toy monkey. FFFUUUUUUGGGG. What was it? Black Museum.

2. H. P. Lovecraft's The Haunter of the Dark. Most of his writing, actually.

3. Robert Aickman's The Inner Room. FUUUUCKKKKAFLKALSFJA.

4. Requiem for a Dream. That last scene, oh my god.

And now, 5. George Orwell's 1984.

Heebiest-jeebiest lines ever: 

"Something changed in the music that trickled from the telescreen. A cracked and jeering note, a yellow note, came into it. [...]

Under the spreading chestnut tree

I sold you and you sold me—"

That I am currently coddling and cleansing my poor brain with Kafka's Metamorphosis, of all things, should tell you how messed up 1984 is. 

I. Hate. This. Book.