It’s my own fault.

I COULD have followed up a Handmaid’s Tale with something light and Breezy. I COULD have started re-reading the Harry Potter series. I COULD have just gone and read about Italy.

Nope, I chose instead to follow up one depressing, dystopian novel with another; one of the most depressing books out there: 1984.

Thing is, with A Handmaid’s Tale, there’s a little bit of hope. Or at least, you can choose to read it that way. There’s no hope in 1984. It’s bleak.

Which is not to say it’s not a fascinating read. It absolutely is; I devoured it. Orwell lays out a world that has been completely dehumanized, and he does it in a way that makes it so convincingly realistic that it makes you fear for the potential that this kind of society could come about…and there would be nothing that any of us could do about it.

No, I don’t think we’re anywhere near the horrors that he envisions, but because he posits a clear basis about how it could come about, it does have me a bit on edge.

And of course it makes you feel immensely for it’s protagonist as he comes to understand his world and struggles to find a way to fight against it, futile thought that struggle might be.

Sadly, cottage reading week has come to an end. Now I really do need to focus on reading about my upcoming trip. More sadly, I didn’t have the opportunity to clean my literary palate.

Well, it’s not like I didn’t know what depression I was setting myself up for. Maybe I’ll just squeeze in a graphic novel before I crack into my Lonely Planet.

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