Content Disclosure: Mild Violence
Winston must have been ten or eleven when John Smith, his father, told him, “You should read Orwell’s 1984. The protagonist has the same name as you.”
Winston knew that he owed his name not to that Winston but to Churchill, whom John described as “the greatest statesman of all times.”
“The lion who roared when Britain needed him the most.” John was fond of clichés because, although he’d never set foot on British soil, he was a staunch supporter of the isle his ancestors had come from.
“I hope you grow up to be just like him—a stand-up man with strong values,” John hammered into his son throughout childhood.
Winston was willing to oblige, but he soon realized he’d never be able to match Churchill’s virtues, no matter how hard he tried. He preferred the other Winston, the one from the book, although he knew he was not a role model to follow.
He was weak. He betrayed the only person who truly cared about him. He cracked under pressure. Well, under torture, to be fair, but crack he did. Even before he was taken to the infamous Room 101 in the Ministry of Love, from where prisoners emerged broken, betraying principles such as loyalty, dignity, and integrity. And, like in Winston Smith’s case, love. But it made him more human. More relatable. More flesh, bones, and blood. Less like the Winston his father adored.
Winston recognized that fear was necessary to keep people safe and cope with potential hazards even before he read the book. Many war heroes admitted to being frightened in extreme situations. Fear forced them to choose between the standard fight-or-flight scenarios. At the same time, fear, whether real or imagined, had the power to break a person, and Winston Smith’s terror in Room 101 was not something he could fight or flee from; the only thing he could do was surrender and betray.
“What would my deepest fear be?” Winston wondered.
As much as he tried to think
