Status
Call number
Collection
Publication
Description
In 1936, George Orwell went to Spain to report on the civil war and instead joined the Worker's Party of Marxist Unity (P.O.U.M.) to fight against the Fascists. In this now justly famous account of his experience, he describes both the bleak and the comic aspects of trench warfare on the Aragon front, the Barcelona uprising in May 1937, his nearly fatal wounding just two weeks later, and his escape from Barcelona into France after the P.O.U.M. was suppressed. As important as the story of the war itself is Orwell's analysis of why the Communist Party sabotaged the workers' revolution and branded the P.O.U.M. as Trotskyist, which provides an essential key to understanding the outcome of the war and an ironic sidelight on international Communism. It was during this period in Spain that Orwell learned for himself the nature of totalitarianism in practice, an education that laid the groundwork for his great books Animal Farm and 1984.… (more)
User reviews
On the former: George Orwell (real name, Eric
On the latter: those with a simplistic understanding of the Spanish Civil War understand it to have been a proxy war between Hitler (supporting Franco) and Stalin (supporting the Nationalists). It was not that simple, especially on the anti-Franco side. There were many factions resisting Franco. In the end, the Soviet-supported factions ended up commandeering the Nationalist side, but that was only after heavy-handed assaults against competing factions.
Orwell fought against Franco and he was an admitted socialist, but he was no Communist. He deplored totalitarianism of any kind. But he also admits he was not much of a political thinker before his Spanish involvement, and as his was a faction that became a target for Soviet-backed persecution and brutality, it's likely his experiences in Spain that help mold him to produce his later thinly-disguised anti-Soviet allegories. In Homage to Catalonia, he intersperses his narrative chapters with those he labels his "political" ones, in which he describes all the complex factional infighting that was going on within the anti-Franco crowd. As all the factions were known by their initials, there are moments in these chapters where the reader can feel he is drowning in alphabet soup, but they do give a richer texture to what was keeping Spain in turmoil even far from the battlefront.
I have heretofore had only a cursory understanding of the Spanish Civil War myself. Coming away from Homage to Catalonia, I feel like a need to learn more.
The Spanish Civil War was a hugely complex, messy and above all political conflict, and is little known in the English-speaking world. All I really knew about it was the vague idea that it was a sort of dress rehearsal for World War II, and what I’d picked up from Hemongway’s vaguely boring novel For Whom The Bell Tolls. (By the way, I think it’s ironic that Hemingway cultivated an image of himself as a burly he-man but was a mere journalist in the war, while Orwell is considered to have been a nerdy journalist but actually fought in it.) Orwell examines the conflict in some depth, but does so from a personal perspective and – since he was writing for the audience of his time – assumes some pre-knowledge about the war. It’s primarily a private account with political commentary, rather than an examination of the war as a whole.
Orwell originally went to Spain as a foreign correspondent, but witnessing his beloved Socialism fighting aginst Fascism, he felt compelled to sign up to the militia and risk his life for something he believed in. Whatever your thoughts on socialism (and as always, Orwell will dispel many myths and over-simplified beliefs Western readers have about communism) I’m sure everybody will agree that this is a brave and noble thing to do. Along with his honesty and unparalleled writing ability, it’s one of the reasons he’s almost universally admired in all wings of politics.
The socialist forces, at the time, were a rag-tag group of various political parties, unions and militias which had joined together to fight the Fascist dictator Franco, whom I believe had overthrown the monarchy (again, Orwell assumes some existing knowledge of the war, so I may be wrong.) He joined a socialist party called the P.O.U.M, and was dispatched the front lines in the Catalonian mountains. Orwell gives an excellent account of the unadventurous realities of trench warfare, in which the outdated equipment of both sides meant that there were few battles, and most of the soldiers’ time was spent trying to keep warm.
While on leave in Barcelona he had the bad fortune (or good fortune, from a reader’s perspective) to be present for the outbreak of street fighting in Barcelona, where various factions on the socialist side turned on each other – a civil war within a civil war, if you will. This did much to disillusion Orwell about the cause he was fighting for, but he remained in Spain nonetheless, operating under the “lesser of two evils” mantra. Shortly after returning to the frontlines he was shot in the throat by a sniper – an event he describes with uncharacteristic emotion – and returned to the cities to find the mood ever darker. The P.O.U.M. was being unfairly blamed for the Barcelona fighting, and militia members were being demonised and marginalised. Shortly afterwards the government began to arrest them, and Orwell was forced to flee the country. This final quarter of the book, as his friends are thrown in prison and he fears for his life and eventually has to return to England with bittersweet memories, is the strongest section of Homage To Catalonia.
The weakest section is the chapters detailing the political rivalry between the internal factions of the socialists. They were doubtless important at the time, given the level of misinformation and propaganda Orwell had to dispel, and Orwell himself even admits that they can be tedious and dull to follow, “like the names of generals in a Chinese war.” I once felt that Orwell could write about almost anything and make it readable, but now I’m not so sure, and I felt my attention waning during the chapters were Orwell was speaking about leaders and organisations and governments that have long since been consigned to history.
And Homage To Catalonia, while excellent, fell short of my (probably unreasonable) expectations. There are a few brilliant moments in the book – Orwell’s memories of his first spell of trench warfare, his experience of being shot, and the sadness and anger he feels after being forced to leave Spain, when the things he had passionately believed in were swept away by dirty politics. I probably prefer Down And Out In Paris And London. But Homage To Catalonia is nonetheless an excellent, readable and important book, like all of his non-fiction it’s required reading for… well, pretty much anyone who reads.
The Spanish Civil War was one of the most decisive events of the 20th century. While the memory of this event fades into the background, reading this book brings it vividly back to life. One is transported in time immediately back to the trenches of the battlefields with their stench of human waste and long periods of boredom and sudden periods of danger and to the turbulent streets of Barcelona where rival factions fought each other for control of the Telephone Exchange Building. The importance of such a record would be difficult to overstate.
As one reads the record of the events taking place in Spain, taken from Orwell’s direct experience, one cannot escape noticing the similarity to events taking place in America today in the 21st century. As Lionel Trilling indicated in his excellent introduction to the book, Homage to Catalonia is a testimony to the nature of modern political life. He observes that politics is a relatively new thing in the world, and we do not yet know very much about it. That is hard to understand nowadays, given the 24 hour news cycle and the complete immersion of politics on the cable news television stations. Ideas play a large role in politics and have great power. These ideas are directly connected to another kind of power that is described in the book: the power of force.
In 1937, Orwell went to Spain to observe the civil war and to write about it. When he arrived in Barcelona, he got so caught up in the revolutionary furor that he decided to stay and fight. He joined the militia as private. The militia unit he joined by chance was a unit known as POUM (Party of Marxist Unification). The Spanish Civil war was a fight in defense of democracy against the Fascist enemy led by its chief proponent, Generalissimo Franco.
There were many rival factions taking up the fight against the Fascists: POUM, communists, Trotskyites, and anarchists. We see some of these same echoes today in the Occupy Wall Street Movement. There are many and various factions protesting the inequality of the 1% of the wealthiest Americans versus the 99% of the rest. These inequalities have brought great unrest to our country along with high unemployment, economic hardship, and social injustice. The militaristic mien of the jackbooted SWAT Teams breaking up the demonstrators in Oakland, Boston, and New York are reminiscent of Franco’s fascist brigades.
When Orwell first arrived in Barcelona, outward appearances revealed it to be a town where the wealthy classes had practically ceased to exist. Nobody said, “Senor” or “Don” anymore, but rather, “comrade.” Practically everyone wore rough working class clothes. Orwell recognized it immediately as situation worth fighting for. It was a worker’s state where the entire bourgeoisie had either left, been killed, or came over to the worker’s side. There was no unemployment and the cost of living was extremely low. Human beings were trying to behave as human beings and not as cogs in the capitalist machine. In barber shops (all barbers were anarchists) there were notices that barbers were no longer slaves. Orwell said, “A fat man eating quail while children are begging is a disgusting sight. But you are less likely to see it when you are within sight of guns.”
Orwell was quickly sent to the front to fight in the trenches. In trench warfare, according to him, five things are of paramount importance: firewood, food, tobacco, candles, and the enemy, in that order. The real preoccupation with both armies was trying to keep warm. Firewood was the only thing that really mattered. The trenches were more than 500 yards apart and in those circumstances no one gets hit except by accident. He describes a particular experience that eerily presages passages from 1984: “In the barn where we waited the place was alive with rats. They came swarming out of the ground on every side. If there is anything I hate more than another, it is a rat running over me in the darkness.” This particular horror is to found behind the doors of room 101.
In another scene, Orwell described a maneuver where he and his fellow soldiers were to attack a fascist position at night. The ground was muddy and wet and he was sodden from head to foot and was weighted down with a heavy rifle and bayonet and 150 cartridges. The patrol was successful in overrunning the enemy redoubt and had the fascists on the run. Suddenly the command to retire came. As Orwell and his men left the parapet and headed back across the 200 yards to their own parapet the fascists reappeared and began to attack the patrol. He had thought earlier that he could not run being as laden down as he was, but, “I learned you can always run when you think you have 50 armed men after you.”
Barcelona is a town with a long history of street fighting. While on leave in Barcelona after serving three and one half months at the front, the last thing Orwell wanted was to be mixed up in some meaningless street fight. To be marching up the street behind red flags inscribed with elevating slogans, and then be bumped off from an upper window by some total stranger with a sub-machine gun- that was not his idea of a useful way to die.
When Orwell saw an actual flesh and blood worker in conflict with his natural enemy, the policeman, he did not have to ask himself which side he was on. Completely innocent people were being arrested owing to police bungling. He reached the point that every time a door banged he reached for his pistol.
Foreign journalists in Spain were hopelessly at the mercy of the Ministry of Propaganda, though one would think that the very name of this ministry would be a sufficient warning. Watching a fat Russian agent explaining that a particular event was an anarchist plot was the first time Orwell, according to his account, had seen a person whose profession was telling lies, unless of course, one counts journalists. One is reminded again of today’s Fox News which studies have shown its viewers to be the most uniformed. Its entertainers, posing as newscasters, have a way of stating their biased opinions as fact.
The fighting began on July 18, 1936. Most anti-fascists in Europe felt a “thrill” of hope. Here at last was democracy standing up to Fascism. For years, the so called democratic countries had been surrendering to Fascism: The Japanese, Hitler, and Mussolini. When Franco tried to overthrow the center left government in Spain, the Spanish people rose up against him. Franco was not really comparable to Hitler or Mussolini. His rising was a military mutiny backed by the aristocracy and the Church. It was an attempt not so much to install fascism but to restore feudalism. The Spanish working class resisted by revolt. Land was seized by the peasants and factories were seized by trade unions. Churches were destroyed and priests were driven out or killed. In certain areas of revolt as many as three thousand people died on the streets in a single day. Men and women armed with sticks of dynamite rushed across open squares and stormed stone buildings held by soldiers with machine guns. Anarchists and socialists were the backbone of the movement. The entire issue had been reduced to Fascism versus democracy.
The war, in which Orwell claims to have played so ineffectual a part, left him with memories that were mostly evil, and yet he did not wish that he had missed it. The whole experience left him with not less, but more belief in the decency of human beings.
One thing it is not is a work of propaganda. Orwell is too honest for that. He makes his own biases absolutely clear at several points throughout the book, and urges us to remember that his knowledge of events is only from one particular point of view. He also backs everything up with evidence – his own observations mostly, or quoting from books and newspaper articles to discuss events beyond his own personal experience. And, while he has a natural sympathy for the group he joined, the POUM, he is also quite critical of them in some places, and the same applies to other groups – praise where it’s due, but criticism when he feels it’s warranted. The fascists, of course, don’t get exactly neutral treatment, as you’d expect from someone who signed up to fight them, but other than that his descriptions come across as quite even-handed.
In some ways, of course, this is a book of its time, but I wouldn’t say it’s only of historical interest. I have no particular interest in the Spanish Civil War, but I liked this book when I first read it years ago, and enjoyed the second reading too, including the excellent introduction by Lionel Trilling. Beyond the historically specific parts about 1930s Spain, this is a wonderful depiction of the reality of war – not so much the blood and guts (though there’s some of that) but more the incredible boredom and discomfort. There are memorable descriptions of hunger, of lice on the testicles, of cold, sentry duty, incompetence and mixups, unsubstantiated rumours and panics, petty pleasures and embarrassing fears.
Then there’s Orwell’s writing, which is always elegant and sometimes sublime. I particularly loved the final passage, when he is returning to England after months of hardship in Spain, a bullet in the neck, being hunted down by his own comrades for the crime of being POUM instead of PSUC, seeing friends killed and jailed. Then, abruptly, he finds himself on a train meandering through southern England:
"It is difficult when you pass that way, especially when you are peacefully recovering from sea-sickness with the plush cushions of a boat-train carriage under your bum, to believe that anything is really happening anywhere. Earthquakes in Japan, famines in China, revolutions in Mexico? Don’t worry, the milk will be on the doorstep tomorrow morning, the New Statesman will come out on Friday. The industrial towns were far away, a smudge of smoke and misery hidden by the curve of the earth’s surface. Down here it was still the England I had known in my childhood: the railway-cuttings smothered in wild flowers, the deep meadows where the great shining horses browse and meditate, the slow-moving streams bordered by willows, the green bosoms of the elms, the larkspurs in the cottage gardens; and then the huge peaceful wilderness of outer London, the barges on the miry river, the familiar streets, the posters telling of cricket matches and Royal weddings, the men in bowler hats, the pigeons in Trafalgar Square, the red buses, the blue policemen–all sleeping the deep, deep sleep of England, from which I sometimes fear that we shall never wake till we are jerked out of it by the roar of bombs."
George Orwell’s memoir about his experiences as a volunteer in the Spanish Civil War fighting the fascists. He was a soldier in the POUM (Partido Obrero
Orwell describes the fatigue and frustrations on the frontlines, where troops were equipped with outdated weapons, were poorly trained, and only sporadically encountered the enemy’s troops. His account is infused with irony and humor. He relates his excursions in Barcelona, and the street-fighting that occasionally ensued.
He was shot in the neck, and attempts to convey the experience:
“Roughly speaking it was the sensation of being at the centre of an explosion. There seemed to be a loud bang and a blinding flash of light all round me, and I felt a tremendous shock—no pain, only a violent shock, such as you get from an electric terminal; with it a sense of utter weakness, a feeling of being stricken and shrivelled up to nothing.”
He thought he would die:
“There must have been about two minutes during which I assumed that I was killed. And that too was interesting—I mean it is interesting to know what your thoughts would be at such a time. My first thought, conventionally enough, was for my wife. My second was a violent resentment at having to leave this world which, when all is said and done, suits me so well. I had time to feel this very vividly. The stupid mischance infuriated me. The meaninglessness of it! To be bumped off, not even in battle, but in this stale corner of the trenches, thanks to a moment’s carelessness!”
Eventually the POUM was outlawed, becoming a scapegoat for war, and Orwell (and his supportive wife) had to flee Spain to avoid arrest, and a high probability of execution. It is written in a straight-forward manner and is an interesting first-hand account of what it was like to live through this piece of history. It is easy to find the seeds of his future anti-totalitarian works in this memoir.
“Now that I can see this period in perspective I do not altogether regret it. I wish, indeed, that I could have served the Spanish Government a little more effectively; but from a personal point of view—from the point of view of my own development—those first three or four months that I spent in the line were less futile than I then thought. They formed a kind of interregnum in my life, quite different from anything that had gone before and perhaps from anything that is to come, and they taught me things that I could not have learned in any other way.”
Overall, he writes with such sincerity and earnestness -- freely admitting when he can't hope to adequately express the emotional impact of a certain situation, or warning you of his potential bias -- that I would bet against being able to find another work of literature that more realistically conveys the insanity of war. The fact that Orwell is an Everyman -- idealistic, afraid, and by no means a born soldier -- only heightens the impact. His modesty is inspiring in that you can easily imagine yourself in his shoes.
When it was written, this book formed part of a growing contingent of anti-Stalinist literature. For that reason and the political circumstance of WWII (in which Russia was badly needed as an ally), the book was suppressed and/or ignored by most of the Western world. Decades later, after it has gained in popularity, we can see that Orwell's was one of the few voices of reason during that era. As a book, Homage is a greatly entertaining read. As an artifact of pre-WWII Europe, it is priceless.
At the age of 33, Orwell headed to Spain, after
Orwell is frustrated by the lack of decent weapons, but somehow he survives (despite getting shot in the throat!) and is ultimately sent back to Barcelona where he gets caught up in a conflict over a Telephone Exchange (as unlikely as that seems!). His wife Eileen is in Spain with him during the war. Ultimately the Orwells, together with many other members of the POUM have to leave Spain in a hurry.
It’s not as dry as I expected it to be and I found it most enjoyable. I found Orwell’s writing this book as enjoyable as in others, although Down and Out in Paris and London remains my favourite of his non-fiction full-length books. In this one, a bit of Orwell’s human side comes out. At one point, his hotel room is raided by plain clothed policemen, searching for evidence of Orwell’s involvement with POUM, it having been declared an illegal organisation at the start of the conflict, and they remove all of Orwell’s paperwork. He laments its loss, and is largely concerned with the fact that they had taken letters he had yet to reply to. He writes “incidentally, they took a number of letters I had received from readers. Some of them have not been answered, and of course I have not the addresses. If anyone wrote to me about my last book, and who did not get an answer, happens to read these lines, will he please accept this as an apology?” – it is great to hear that Orwell cared enough to reply to his readers and was concerned that he hadn't done so.
One thing that amused me was his thoughts on Sagrada Família , the famous Catholic church in Barcelona. “...I went to have a look at the cathedral - a modern cathedral, and one of the most hideous buildings in the world...” LOL – this is on my ‘to do’ list – I really want to see it. Clearly Orwell wasn’t impressed! :lol:
The book contains two appendices – formerly chapters 5 and 11 – which concentrate on the politics of the war. Orwell urges the reader to “skip” these if they are not interested in the deep politics of the situation. I must admit to having skim read them! The rest of the book was really enjoyable though and it is with a little sadness that I look forward to my last full-length offering of his, Burmese Days, knowing it is the last for me apart from the essays.
An account of Orwell's time spent in the anarchist militia during the Spanish Civil war. From his experiences in the front-line with the rag tag troops to being under attack by the communist goverment while in Barcelona intermingled with an explanation of the wider political forces
This book should be a must read for all teenagers, should be read along with All Quiet on the Western Front.