I'll be blunt: I didn't like this book. I felt this way for several reasons, primary among them that it attempts to hide its true nature by pretending to be something it's not. It masquerades as great literature, but in reality it's nothing more than cheap pulp fiction.
The genre of pulp fiction is defined by a few things: the roughness of the paper on which it was printed, the cheap price for which it was sold, the poor quality of the writing, the brief timescales over which the material was composed, and the lurid subject matter (see the above image, which I'll come to shortly.) While some of the books made pretense towards warning about the dangers of sex, drugs, and violence, their purpose at root was to play towards our prurient interest, to titillate. These were cheap books that could be bought down at the train station to read during a trip, or at the drug store to read over a lunch break. They could be entertaining, certainly exciting, but they did not edify or enlighten. Nobody thought they were great literature.A Clockwork Orange is positively swimming in sex, drugs, and violence. The main character, Alex, is the leader of a brutal criminal gang that terrorizes the community in which he lives. They commit savage acts of "ultra-violence" against random pedestrians, engage in bloody battles with other street gangs, and finance themselves by looting shops around town. It is not out of character for them to steal a car, drive to a nearby village, break into a cottage, and violently gang-rape a woman living there. And these escapades were precipitated by a trip to the milk bar, where milk laced with drugs could be got. (This idea, that consuming mind-altering drugs could effect wanton sex and violence, is a staple of pulp fiction. Think of 1936's Reefer Madness: it pretends to be a warning to polite society about the dangers of consuming marihuana, but at core it's just bald titillation.) Burgess, here, has hit the trifecta. These actions are made all the more tawdry by the fact that the perpetrators are teenagers (Alex himself is a mere fifteen.)
Now, all this is not to say that these things cannot be used in a great work. Pulp Fiction is a cult classic and my personal favorite film. It portrays these three things in spades. While the film does not teach us anything particularly profound about the human condition, I like the acting, directing, dialog, camera work, nonlinear storytelling, and use of music. I think Tarantino is being ironic in giving his film that name, and starting it with that title card. He's telling us to regard the film as nothing more than a cheap thrill. But when Jules and Vincent walk out of that diner and "Surf Rider" starts playing, you know you've really witnessed something truly spectacular.
A Clockwork Orange has something similar to this. Burgess gives Alex these lines on the Bible:
"...and I would read of these starry yahoodies tolchocking each other, and then peeting their Hebrew vino and getting on to the bed with their wives' like handmaidens, real horrorshow."Basically, what all that means is that Alex likes reading the Bible because he gains vicarious pleasure from the violence, intoxication, and sex in the old book. (I'll get to the problem of the vocabulary in another post.) He even fantasizes about being a Roman soldier scourging Jesus. Obviously, Alex is hugely missing the point of the book. This is an admonition to the reader not to mistake the book for some cheap pulp fiction. Unfortunately, that's crap.
The book is supposedly about what happens when the government takes away a man's ability to choose right from wrong. While this is literally true, there is only so much sex, drugs, and violence necessary to get that story told. Violence needs to be done both by and to Alex, and both of these things certainly happen. As far as the drugs are concerned, I don't think they need to be present at all. I think their inclusion constitutes needless, shameless, sensationalist scaremongering. And the same goes for sex. One of the first things Alex does in the book is to break into a man's home, beat him to a pulp, and force him to watch a gang rape of his wife, which he leads, and which results in her death. Including this could be an appropriate part of the story, if (as in the film version) Alex came to regret the action, but he doesn't. While he meets the husband again two years later, the man narrowly misses recognizing Alex before they part ways, and he meets with no consequence. This rape should be horrific enough for any literary purpose (though it truly serves none,) but we are treated to a second rape which occurs when Alex seduces two ten-year-old girls in a record store and plies them with alcohol. While we are spared the graphic details, the event's inclusion is unnecessary and becomes all the more disturbing when we consider that it is only there for our own titillation. Further, Alex encounters not one but two voluptuous, scandalously clad nurses over the course of his adventures. The fetishization of nurses is not uncommon, as evidenced by its perennial inclusion among the hyper-sexualized Halloween costumes available to young women, in pinups, dirty magazines, etc. Liking nurses is all well and good, but there is quite simply no excuse for including this flagrant gratification.
Adding to the book's pulp status is the fact that it was written in a mere three weeks. Doing some quick math, a 21-chapter book written in 21 days works out to one chapter written every day. Burgess has admitted that he only wrote the book for money anyway. This is the way many pulp books are written: en masse, over a brief period, during hiatus or sabbatical from other work. Each chapter takes only ten of fifteen minutes to read. In fact, I finished the book without ever even intended to start it. I was surprised by how quick a read it was - I just picked up idly while a had free minute here and there, and before I knew it the book was over. I hadn't even intended to start my project with this book, but I've already finished reading it. Everything about this book, from its content to its presentation, screams pulp fiction. And at base, that's what it is.
I won't say, though, that I didn't like any part of it. It was at least partially and enjoyable read. And when judged for what it is, pulp fiction, it does its job just fine. But when you try to hold it up against other books like Gatsby or Mockingbird, it just doesn't compare.
Now, I also want to talk about Burgess's use of language and his handling of the central theme, but I'll leave those to other posts.
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