down and out in paris and london

This was my first book by George Orwell, and I’m so glad I picked this up before 1984. It’s a vivid, honest account of poverty that neither moralises nor romanticises. It simply shows what life looks like when survival becomes the main concern.

What struck me most is how relevant it still feels, despite being written in the early 1930s, at the time of the Great Depression and high unemployment. Orwell shows that when people are starving, dignity and morality become luxuries. Anyone placed in similar conditions could end up the same way. It is not as simple as it might seem: the reasons someone becomes homeless often go far beyond lazily classifying them as unwilling to find work. That insight alone makes the book worth reading.

The contrast between working endlessly as a plongeur in Paris and drifting through poverty as a skriever in London highlights two different kinds of hardship – exhaustion versus hopeless idleness. Both are quietly devastating.

As a non-native English speaker, I also learned a lot from the language, especially the older slang, which adds to the book’s authenticity.