I picked up Animal Farm right after 1984. I expected something smaller and easier. It is smaller. It is not easier.
The plot is almost too neat. Animals kick out the farmer, promise a better world, and end up under a new set of tyrants. Orwell keeps it plain, which is exactly why it works. Nothing feels dressed up. You watch the hope drain out of the farm step by step.
That slow slide is the whole book. Nobody wakes up one morning and says the revolution is dead. The rules change a little. The language gets slippery. The animals get tired. They start doubting what they saw with their own eyes. By the time the truth is fully broken, they do not have much left to fight with.
Boxer got to me more than anyone else. He is loyal, decent, hardworking, and completely unequipped for the kind of lies being used against him. Napoleon is awful in a colder way. He does not need charm. He just needs control, patience, and the right people to repeat his version of events.
What stayed with me most is how familiar the book feels. Not because life is literally a farm run by pigs, obviously. Because Orwell understands how people get managed. Keep them busy. Keep them confused. Give them a slogan. Change the record. Do it again.
It is a sharp book. Mean, too. I finished it with that bad taste you get when a story stops feeling like a story and starts feeling like a pattern you have seen before.
If you have thoughts on the book, ping me on Twitter @aaqaishtyaq.