This book starts very strong with the descriptions of the lives of miners in what are now the run down and neglected parts of England. The middle is an interesting bit of self reflection on George's own life and how he came to view class, empire, Socialism in the way that he did. And then by the end it gets a bit trite with him talking grandiosely about what is and isn't possible (amongst other things), from his own perspective but acting as if it is a universal truth. This is even pre-television so I can't hold it against him too, but it doesn't hold up so well compared to the rest of the book. The first half, with the miners, was excellent.

Orwell starts this book with a view into the everyday lives of coal miners in the north of England. He describes their living conditions, diets, habits, and opinions. Then abruptly he breaks with his sociological essay and dives into the merits of Socialism and critiques their attempts to win wider political support. Throughout he offers a fascinating look at 1930s England and the politics of the day.

Unfortunately much of what Orwell predicted for the future panned out in the few years after the book was published. And even more unfortunately his voice gains new relevancy in light of the recent American election.

A worthwhile read ultimately, but not a book I will pick up again.

"We are living in a world in which nobody is free, in which hardly anybody is secure, in which it is almost impossible to be honest and to remain alive."

"It is only when you meet someone of a different culture from yourself that you begin to realise what your own beliefs really are."

"This is the inevitable fate of the sentimentalist. All his opinions change into their opposites at the first brush of reality."

"If there is one man to whom I do feel myself inferior, it is a coal-miner."

"The train bore me away, through the monstrous scenery of slag-heaps, chimneys, piled scrap-iron, foul canals, paths of cindery mud criss-crossed by the prints of clogs. This was March, but the weather had been horribly cold and everywhere there were mounds of blackened snow. As we moved slowly through the outskirts of the town we passed row after row of little grey slum houses running at right angles to the embankment. At the back of one of the houses a young woman was kneeling on the stones, poking a stick up the leaden waste-pipe which ran from the sink inside and which I suppose was blocked. I had time to see everything about her—her sacking apron, her clumsy clogs, her arms reddened by the cold. She looked up as the train passed, and I was almost near enough to catch her eye. She had a round pale face, the usual exhausted face of the slum girl who is twenty-five and looks forty, thanks to miscarriages and drudgery; and it wore, for the second in which I saw it, the most desolate, hopeless expression I have ever-seen. It struck me then that we are mistaken when we say that ‘It isn’t the same for them as it would be for us,’ and that people bred in the slums can imagine nothing but the slums. For what I saw in her face was not the ignorant suffering of an animal. She knew well enough what was happening to her—understood as well as I did how dreadful a destiny it was to be kneeling there in the bitter cold, on the slimy stones of a slum backyard, poking a stick up a foul drain-pipe."

"To begin with, there is the frightful debauchery of taste that has already been effected by a century of mechanisation. This is almost too obvious and too generally admitted to need pointing out. But as a single instance, take taste in its narrowest sense - the taste for decent food. In the highly mechanical countries, thanks to tinned food, cold storage, synthetic flavouring matters, etc., the palate it almost a dead organ. As you can see by looking at any greengrocer’s shop, what the majority of English people mean by an apple is a lump of highly-coloured cotton wool from America or Australia; they will devour these things, apparently with pleasure, and let the English apples rot under the trees. It is the shiny, standardized, machine-made look of the American apple that appeals to them; the superior taste of the English apple is something they simply do not notice. Or look at the factory-made, foil wrapped cheeses and ‘blended’ butter in an grocer’s; look at the hideous rows of tins which usurp more and more of the space in any food-shop, even a dairy; look at a sixpenny Swiss roll or a twopenny ice-cream; look at the filthy chemical by-product that people will pour down their throats under the name of beer. Wherever you look you will see some slick machine-made article triumphing over the old-fashioned article that still tastes of something other than sawdust. And what applies to food applies also to furniture, houses, clothes, books, amusements and everything else that makes up our environment. These are now millions of people, and they are increasing every year, to whom the blaring of a radio is not only a more acceptable but a more normal background to their thoughts than the lowing of cattle or the song of birds. The mechanisation of the world could never proceed very far while taste, even the taste-buds of the tongue, remained uncorrupted, because in that case most of the products of the machine would be simply unwanted. In a healthy world there would be no demand for tinned food, aspirins, gramophones, gas-pipe chairs, machine guns, daily newspapers, telephones, motor-cars, etc. etc.; and on the other hand there would be a constant demand for the things the machine cannot produce. But meanwhile the machine is here, and its corrupting effects are almost irresistible. One inveighs against it, but one goes on using it. Even a bare-arse savage, given the change, will learn the vices of civilisation within a few months. Mechanisation leads to the decay of taste, the decay of taste leads to demand for machine-made articles and hence to more mechanisation, and so a vicious circle is established."

"To write books you need not only comfort and solitude—and solitude is never easy to attain in a working-class home—you also need piece of mind. You can't settle in to anything, you can't command the spirit of hope in which anything has got to be created, with that dull evil cloud of unemployment hanging over you."

"Words are such feeble things."

Much like Hemingway's lost satchel or Genet's samizdat manuscripts, I'll piece this together from jumbled memories. How's that for hubris?

The Road To Wigan Pier was amongst the best books I've read this year. The route established by Orwell is more sinuous than expected. He examines a lodging house and then travels to the pits themselves. He finds valor in those who toil. He doesn't patronize.

He ponders the unemployment issue in England. He busts myths. He unrolls lengths of statistics. He then concludes his book by meandering back and forth between the theoretical and the autobiographical. It is easy to see how this spurned readers, both then and now.

My reasons for reading this now were related on Hadrian's Wall (sorry I couldn't resist.) but Orwell's book did serve as a pleasurable counterpoint to my own holiday experiences.

“A human being is primarily a bag for putting food into; the other functions and faculties may be more godlike, but in point of time they come afterwards. A man dies and is buried, and all his words and actions are forgotten, but the food he has eaten lives after him in the sound or rotten bones of his children. I think it could be plausibly argued that changes of diet are more important than changes of dynasty or even of religion....Yet it is curious how seldom the all-importance of food is recognized. You see statues everywhere to politicians, poets, bishops, but none to cooks or bacon-curers or market gardeners.”

Reading "The Road to Wigan Pier" by George Orwell was a compelling literary experience. This book explores the harsh realities faced by the working class in northern England before World War II. Orwell's journey through Lancashire and Yorkshire is vivid and heartbreaking as he documents the squalor, pollution, and relentless hardship endured by miners and their families.

The first part of the book is a detailed account of life in the mines & surrounding communities. Orwell's strength lies in his ability to observe without patronizing, presenting the miners' valor without romanticizing their plight. His description of the Brookers' boarding house stands out, painting a picture of disappointment and decay that underscores broader societal neglect.
The second part shifts to a more theoretical and autobiographical discourse. Orwell reflects on his upbringing and political evolutiona; he advocates for socialism while critically examining why many working-class individuals resist it. His honesty about his own prejudices adds a layer of personal vulnerability and introspection to his arguments.

Orwell's critique of socialism's failings, particularly its association with various "cranks" and the alienation of those it aims to help, remains relevant. He argues that for socialism to succeed, it must focus on its core principles of liberty and justice. One of the most poignant aspects of the book is Orwell's acknowledgment of his own limitations in bridging the class divide. Despite his commitment to socialism, he admits that his background and inherent biases prevent him from fully integrating with the working class he champions. This self-awareness makes Orwell's voice feel uniquely trustworthy and relatable.

The work is certainly not flawless; the second part can feel meandering and repetitive at times, and Orwell's political naivety occasionally surfaces. However, these issues are minor compared to the book's overall impact. Orwell's brutal honesty and sharp observations make this a crucial read for anyone interested in social justice, class struggles, and the development of political thought.Overall, Orwell's ability to blend personal narrative with broader social critique is front and center. This book challenges readers to confront their own prejudices and consider the systemic changes needed to create a more equitable society. Despite being written nearly a century ago, Orwell's insights into class and socialism continue to resonate even in modern times.