The Last Days of Orwell.

[B]eset by poor health in various manifestations, he had to finish off the novel’s manuscript, which he had then tentatively titled The Last Man in Europe, before his conditions finished him off. ‘I am not pleased with the book but I am not absolutely dissatisfied,’ he wrote his agent of the rough draft. ‘I think it is a good idea but the execution would have been better if I had not written it under the influence of TB.'”

In The Guardian, Robert McCrum tells of a desperately sick George Orwell’s race against time to finish 1984. “In late October 1947, oppressed with ‘wretched health’, Orwell recognised that his novel was still ‘a most dreadful mess and about two-thirds of it will have to be retyped entirely’.” Orwell died in January 1950. (As seen as OpenCulture, who also point the way to these jpgs of Orwell’s original manuscript.)

He Loved Big Brother.

“April the 4th, 1984. To the past, or to the future. To an age when thought is free. From the Age of Big Brother, from the Age of the Thought Police, from a dead man… greetings.” By way of Ed Rants: all of Michael Radford’s excellent film version of 1984, online.

Dead Man Writing.

“When we think about the authoritarian world that Orwell painted, the catchphrases are one thing, but when you read the book again, the specifics and relevance for now are stunning.” Apparently, Tim Robbins is thinking of bringing 1984 to the screen (again). Hmmm…I dunno. I enjoy Bob Roberts and Dead Man Walking, but thought Embedded was way over the top. And it’d be really hard to make a better or more faithful adaptation than the Michael Radford version with John Hurt and Richard Burton.

Sippin’ on Gin and Ingsoc.

“Just what does Tanqueray have in mind here? How is this foppish hipster supposed to sell gin?” Old friend Seth Stevenson assesses Tanqueray’s new spokesman, Tony Sinclair, who has come to grace a number of bus stops and billboards in my area. For the most part, I think gin is pretty vile — When it comes to the spirits, I’m a Jameson man. That being said, I did enjoy a glass of Victory Gin while re-watching Michael Radford’s powerful version of Nineteen Eighty-Four over the weekend. Winston Smith…now there’s a spokesman Tanqueray should get behind. Doubleplusgood.

The Crying of Lot 84.

“His anger, let us go so far as to say, was precious to him. He had lived his way into it – in Burma and Paris and London and on the road to Wigan pier, and in Spain, being shot at, and eventually wounded, by fascists – he had invested blood, pain and hard labour to earn his anger, and was as attached to it as any capitalist to his capital.” The Guardian excerpts Thomas Pynchon’s forthcoming intro to 1984. (Via Random Walks.)