The Dreaded Revision – Even Orwell Did It!

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife” (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice)

“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.” (George Orwell, 1984)

The two sentences above are, perhaps, the most outstanding opening sentences in English literature. Each puts the reader in no doubt as to the nature of what is to follow, and the tone of what does follow is encapsulated within each respective sentence.

The creation of an opening sentence is, without doubt, the most challenging part of the novel writing process. Even after writing almost two hundred thousand words of my current novel, every time I open up the document I am met with my opening sentence, and I’m reminded that it’s just not good enough. However, though I read it every day, and remain thoroughly dissatisfied. I am loath to make any changes. The temptation to tinker is hard to resist, but I prefer to wait until I get that ‘Eureka’ moment. I’ll know it when it comes.

I have to admit that, despite the undoubted brilliance of Jane Austen’s work, I have yet to completely finish reading any of her novels. Orwell though, is just about my favourite writer (a toss up between Orwell and Haruki Murakami), and even his personal letters are outstandingly well written and a joy to read.

In addition to his novels and other books, he was a supreme essayist and book reviewer, but for me, his letters are spellbinding. Orwell would happily correspond with whomever took the time to write to him. Not just a thank you or an acknowledgement, but a full-blown reply, almost an essay in some instances. The man just lived to write.

Like most writers, his skill improved over time. He recognised shortcomings in some of his own early fictional works, and would happily have bought up all copies and had them pulped, if he had been able to. Eric Blair, as Orwell was baptised, was a bright boy from a reasonably upper middle class family. He was given a good education, which culminated in his winning a scholarship to Eton, where, despite his lack of effort, he undoubtedly benefited from first-class tutoring. His schoolboy writing was published (in school publications), so he obviously had a feel for the literary world from very early on in his life. Nevertheless, he still worked hard at his writing, and even his final work, 1984, was subject to several revisions before publication. The facsimile edition of the manuscript of 1984 (Peter Davison, 1984, George Orwell- Nineteen Eighty-Four: The Facsimile of the Extant Manuscript) has an earlier version of the first sentence, as follows:

“It was a cold day in early April, and a million radios were striking thirteen.”

I’m sure that most readers will agree that the final published sentence is much tighter and more profound than this one. The substitution of just one word, clocks instead of radios, puts the reader in no doubt that this is something radical. Whoever heard of a clock striking thirteen? A radio, however, can strike as many times as the broadcaster wants it to (well, at least the sound of striking can be broadcast). In addition, a million radios? What is the significance of that? There’s no need to speculate. Orwell did that for us, and the brilliance of the published sentence is the result.

The point I am trying to make is that extensive revision of a novel is inevitable, and necessary, and even a writer as accomplished as Orwell didn’t always get it right the first time. I have done a little research into Orwell’s writing of 1984, and learned of at least two or three drafts or revisions prior to the final manuscript. This gives me tremendous hope and encouragement. If a writer of Orwell’s stature needed to revise, sometimes excising whole passages, then the fact that I need to is nothing to become depressed about. I suppose there are writers who are, or have been able to create a final manuscript at the first attempt. I’d be interested to know who they are. I used to worry about not being able to write even a letter without revision, but no more. As long as I am able to recognise that something is just not quite right, and can improve upon it, that’s fine. Most works of art are the end result of an iterative process, and as long as the finished work fully satisfies the creator, that’s all that really matters.

I’ve probably made at least twenty revisions, so far, to the opening sentence of my current novel, and I still despair over it. But look what Orwell achieved with just a single word. I await similar inspiration.

Ian