The Ministry of Truth—Minitrue, in Newspeak—was startlingly different from any other object in sight. It was anenormous pyramidal structure of glittering white concrete,soaring up, terrace after terrace,three hundred metres into theair. From where Winston stood it was just possible to read, pickedout on its white face in elegant lettering,the three slogans of theParty:
WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH.
The Ministry of Truth contained, it was said, three thousandrooms above ground level, and corresponding ramificationsbelow.Scattered about London there were just three otherbuildings of similar appearance and size. So completely did theydwarf the surrounding architecture that from the roof of VictoryMansions you could see all four of them simultaneously. Theywere the homes of the four Ministries between which the entireapparatus of government was divided. The Ministry of Truth,which concerned itself with news,entertainment, education and the fine arts. The Ministry of Peace,which concerned itself withwar. The Ministry of Love, which maintained law and order. Andthe Ministry of Plenty, which was responsible for economicaffairs. Their names, in Newspeak: Minitrue,Minipax, Miniluv, andMiniplenty.
The Ministry of Love was the really frightening one. Therewere no windows in it at all. Winston had never been inside theMinistry of Love, nor within half a kilometre of it. It was a placeimpossible to enter except on official business, and then only bypenetrating through a maze of barbed-wire entanglements, steeldoors and hidden machine-gun nests. Even the streets leading upto its outer barriers were roamed by gorilla-faced guards in blackuniforms, armed with jointed truncheons.
Winston turned round abruptly. He had set his features intothe expression of quiet optimism which it was advisable to wearwhen facing the telescreen. He crossed the room into the tinykitchen. By leaving the Ministry at this time of day he hadsacrificed his lunch in the canteen, and he was aware that there was no food in the kitchen except a hunk of dark-coloured breadwhich had got to be saved for tomorrow’s breakfast. He tookdown from the shelf a bottle of colourless liquid with a plainwhite label marked VICTORY GIN. It gave off a sickly, oily smell,as of Chinese rice-spirit. Winston poured out nearly a teacupful,nerved himself for a shock, and gulped it down like a dose ofmedicine.
Instantly his face turned scarlet and the water ran out of hiseyes.The stuff was like nitric acid, and moreover, in swallowing itone had the sensation of being hit on the back of the head with arubber club.The next moment, however, the burning in his bellydied down and the world began to look more cheerful. He took acigarette from a crumpled packet marked VICTORY CIGARETTESand incautiously held it upright, whereupon the tobacco fell outonto the floor. With the next he was more successful. He wentback to the living room and sat down at a small table that stoodto the left of the telescreen. From the table drawer he took out apenholder, a bottle of ink and a thick,quarto-sized blank book with a red back and a marbled cover.
For some reason the telescreen in the living room was in anunusual position. Instead of being placed, as was normal, in theend wall, where it could command the whole room, it was in thelonger wall, opposite the window. To one side of it there was ashallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and which,when the flats were built, had probably been intended to holdbookshelves. By sitting in the alcove, and keeping well back,Winston was able to remain outside the range of the telescreen,so far as sight went. He could be heard, of course, but so long ashe stayed in his present position he could not be seen. It waspartly the unusual geography of the room that had suggested tohim the thing that he was now about to do.
But it had also been suggested by the book that he had justtaken out of the drawer. It was a peculiarly beautiful book. Itssmooth creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, was of a kind thathad not been manufactured for at least forty years past. He couldguess, however,that the book was much older than that. He had .
For some reason the telescreen in the living room was in anunusual position. Instead of being placed, as was normal, in theend wall, where it could command the whole room, it was in thelonger wall, opposite the window. To one side of it there was ashallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and which,when the flats were built, had probably been intended to holdbookshelves. By sitting in the alcove, and keeping well back,Winston was able to remain outside the range of the telescreen,so far as sight went. He could be heard, of course, but so long ashe stayed in his present position he could not be seen. It waspartly the unusual geography of the room that had suggested tohim the thing that he was now about to do.
But it had also been suggested by the book that he had justtaken out of the drawer. It was a peculiarly beautiful book. Itssmooth creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, was of a kind thathad not been manufactured for at least forty years past. He couldguess, however,that the book was much older than that. He hadseen it lying in the window of a frowsy little junk shop in aslummy quarter of the town(just what quarter he did not nowremember) and had been stricken immediately by anoverwhelming desire to possess it. Party members weresupposed not to go into ordinary shops (“dealing on the freemarket,” it was called), but the rule was not strictly kept,because there were various things, such as shoelaces and razorblades, which it was impossible to get hold of in any other way.He had given a quick glance up and down the street and thenhad slipped inside and bought the book for two dollars fifty. Atthe time he was not conscious of wanting it for any particularpurpose. He had carried it guiltily home in his briefcase. Evenwith nothing written in it, it was a compromising possession.
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