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By Anthony Burgess

A super studying from the radical by way of one of many wittiest commentators and literary figures of this century. "Antony Burgess reads chapters of his novel A Clockwork Orange" with hair-raising force and effort. even though it is a fable set in an Orwellian destiny, this is often something yet a bedtime story."-- "New York occasions"

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Sample text

Dim was osooshing the last of the krovvy off. It was Dim who said now: "Right, right. Doobidoob. A bit tired, maybe, everybody is. " I was surprised and just that malenky bit poogly to sloosh Dim govoreeting that wise. Dim said: "Bedways is rightways now, so best we go homeways. " I was very surprised. The other two nodded, going right right right. I said: "You understand about that tolchock on the rot, Dim. It was the music, see. I get all bezoomny when any veck interferes with a ptitsa singing, as it might be.

You could tell them from their barberings and loose platties (big stringy sweaters mostly) that they'd been on rehearsals at the TV studios around the corner. The devotchkas among them had these very lively litsos and wide big rots, very red, show- ing a lot of teeth, and smecking away and not caring about the wicked world one whit. And then the disc on the stereo twanged off and out (it was Johnny Zhivago, a Russky koshka, singing 'Only Every Other Day'), and in the like inter- val, the short silence before the next one came on, one of these devotchkas - very fair and with a big smiling red rot and in her late thirties I'd say - suddenly came with a burst of singing, only a bar and a half and as though she was like giving an example of something they'd all been govoreeting about, and it was like for a moment, O my brothers, some great bird had flown into the milkbar, and I felt all the little malenky hairs on my plott standing endwise and the shivers crawling up like slow malenky lizards and then down again.

God bless you, boys," drinking. Not that it mattered much, really. About half an hour went by before there was any sign of life among the millicents, and then it was only two very young rozzes that came in, very pink under their big copper's shlemmies. " I said, innocent. " "Stealing and roughing. Two hospitalizations. " "I don't go for that nasty tone," I said. "I don't care much for these nasty insinuations. " "They've been in here all night, lads," the old sharps started to creech out. "God bless them, there's no better lot of boys living for kindness and generosity.

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A Clockwork Orange (UK edition) by Anthony Burgess


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