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The 21st chapter was printed in the original 1962 edition in the
UK. This was part of Burgess's plan, as the book was divided into three parts,
seven chapters each, ending with 21 or the age a boy becomes a man. (Back then,
now it is 18). Norton publishers in the USA didn't like it and wouldn't publish
the book unless Burgess dropped it, so he reluctantly agreed. Therefore from 1963
until the books' 25th anniversary in 1987 the chapter didn't exist in the US.
Believe it or not it was first exclusively published with the Resucked
Introduction in Rolling Stone Magazine #496 on 3/26/87, pgs 74-80, featuring The
Bangles on the cover. Later that year it was restored to all US paperback
releases.
In
the UK & Australia after the movie was released the paperback was switched to follow the
movie and was scaled back to 20 chapters. After Burgess' death it was once again
restored so in 1994 all books in the UK had the 21st chapter again. When Kubrick
was writing the screenplay he eventually became aware of the 21st chapter and
didn't like it. After he showed the film to Burgess he lied and said he didn't
know about the chapter as he went from the text of the the American edition.
Burgess was furious at his publisher, but later was extremely resentful of
Kubrick when he found out the truth.
Rolling
Stone #496 Cover
Rolling Stone article titling by Jay Vigon
Rolling Stone article photograph by Matthew Rolston
'What's it going to be then, eh?'
There was me, Your Humble Narrator, and my three droogs, that
is Len, Rick, and Bully, Bully
being called Bully because of his bolshy big neck and very
gromky goloss which was just like some bolshy great bull bellowing
auuuuuuuuh. We were sitting in the Korova Milkbar making up our rassoodocks what to do with the
evening, a flip dark chill winter bastard though dry. All round were chellovecks well away on milk plus vellocet and synthemesc
and drencrom and other veshches which take you far far far away from this
wicked and real world into the land to viddy Bog And All His Holy Angels And
Saints in your left sabog with lights
bursting and spurting all over your mozg.
What we were peeting was the old moloko with knives in it, as we used
to say, to sharpen you up and make you ready for a bit of dirty twenty-to-one,
but I've told you
all that before.
We were dressed in the heighth of fashion, which in those
days was these very wide trousers
and a very loose black shiny leather like jerkin over an
open-necked shirt with a like scarf tucked in. At this time too it was the
heighth of fashion to use the
old britva on the gulliver, so that most of
the gulliver was like bald and there was hair only on the sides. But it was
always the same on the old
nogas - real horrorshow bolshy big boots for
kicking litsos it.
'What's it going to be then, eh?'
I was like the oldest of we four, and they all looked
up to me as their leader, but I got
the idea sometimes that Bully had the thought in his
gulliver that he would like to take over, this being because of his gibness and the gromky goloss that
bellowed out of him when he was on the warpath.
But all the ideas came from Your Humble, O my brothers, and also there
was the veshch that I had been famous and had had my picture and
articles and all that cal in the gazettas.
Also I had by far the best job of all we four, being
in the National Gramodisc Archives on the music side with a real
horrorshow carman full of pretty polly at the week's end and a lot of nice free discs for my own malenky
self on the side.
This evening in the Korova there was a fair number of vecks
and ptitsas and devotchkas and
malchicks smecking and peeting away, and cutting through
their govoreeting and the burbling of the in-the-landers with their 'Gorgor
fallatuke and the worm sprays in filltip slaughterballs' and all that cal you could slooshy a popdisc on the stereo, this being Ned
Achimota singing 'That Day, Yeah,
That Day'. At the counter were three devotchkas dressed in
the heighth of nadsat fashion, that is to say long uncombed hair dyed white and false groodies sticking
out a metre or more and very very tight short
skirts with all like frothy white underneath, and Bully kept saying:
'Hey, get in there we could, three of us. Old Len is not like
interested. Leave old Len alone with his
God.' And Len kept saying: 'Yarbles yarbles. Where is
the spirit of all for one and one for all, eh boy?' Suddenly I felt both
very very tired and also full of tingly energy, and I said:
'Out out out out out.'
'Where to?' said Rick, who had a litso like a frog's.
'Oh, just to viddy what's doing in the great outside,'
I said. But somehow, my brothers, I
felt very bored and a bit hopeless, and I had been feeling
that a lot these days. So I turned to the chelloveck nearest me on the big plush seat that ran right round
the whole mesto, a chelloveck, that is, who
was burbling away under the influence, and I fisted him real
skorry ack ack ack in the belly.
But he felt it not, brothers, only burbling away with his 'Cart cart virtue, where in toptails lieth the poppoppicorns?'
So we scatted out into the big
winter nochy.
We walked down Marghanita Boulevard and there were no
millicents patrolling that way, so
when we met a starry veck coming away from a news-kiosk where
he had been kupetting a gazetta I said to Bully: 'All right, Bully boy, thou
canst if thou like wishest.'
More and more these days I had been just giving the orders and standing back to viddy them being carried out.
So Bully cracked into him er er er, and
the other two tripped him and kicked at him, smecking away, while he was down and then let him crawl off
to where he lived, like simpering
to himself. Bully said:
'How about a nice yummy glass of something to keep out
the cold, O Alex?' For we were not
too far from the Duke of New York. The other two nodded yes
yes yes but all looked at me to viddy whether that was all right. I nodded too and so off we ittied.
Inside the snug there were these starry ptitsas or sharps or baboochkas you will remember from the beginning and
they all started on their:
'Evening, lads, God bless you, boys, best lads living, that's what you are,' waiting for us to say: 'What's it going
to be, girls?' Bully rang the
collocoll and a waiter came in rubbing his rookers on his
grazzy apron. 'Cutter on the table, droogies,' said Bully, pulling out his own rattling and chinking mound
of deng. 'Scotchmen for us and the same for
the old baboochkas, eh?' And then I said:
'Ah, to hell. Let them buy their own.' I didn't know what it
was, but these
last days I had become like mean. There had come into my gulliver a like desire to keep all my pretty polly
to myself, to like hoard it all up for some
reason. Bully said:
'What gives, bratty? What's coming over old Alex?'
'Ah, to hell,' I said. 'I don't know. I don't know. What it
is is I don't like just throwing away my hard-earned pretty polly, that's
what it is.'
'Earned?' said Rick. 'Earned? It doesn't have to be earned,
as well thou knowest, old droogie. Took, that's all, just took, like.' And
he smecked real gromky and I
viddied one or two of his zoobies weren't all that
horrorshow.
'Ah,' I said, 'I've got some thinking to do.' But viddying
these baboochkas looking all eager
like for some free alc, I like shrugged my pletchoes and
pulled out my own cutter from my trouser carman, notes and coin all mixed
together, and plonked it tinkle crackle on the table.
'Scotchmen all round, right,' said the waiter.
But for some reason I said:
'No, boy, for me make it one small beer, right.' Len said:
'This I do not much go for,' and he began to put his rooker
on my gulliver, like kidding I must
have fever, but I like snarled doggy-wise for him to
give over skorry. 'All right, all right, droog,' he said. 'As thou like
sayest.' But Bully was having a smot with his rot open at something that
had come out of my carman with the pretty polly I'd put on the
table. He said:
'Well well well. And we never knew.'
'Give me that,' I snarled and grabbed it skorry. I
couldn't explain how it had got
there, brothers, but it was a photograph I had scissored out of the
old gazetta and it was of a baby. It was of a baby gurgling goo goo goo with all like moloko dribbling from
its rot and looking up and like smecking at
everybody, and it was all nagoy and its flesh was like in all folds with
being a very fat baby. There was then like a bit of haw haw haw
struggling to get hold of this bit of paper from me, so I had to snarl
again at them and I grabbed the
photo and tore it up into tiny teeny pieces and let it
fall like a bit of snow on to the floor. The whisky came in then and the
starry baboochkas said: 'Good health, lads, God bless you, boys, the best
lads living, that's what you are,' and all that cal. And one of them who
was all lines and wrinkles and no zoobies in her shrunken old rot
said: 'Don't tear up money, son. If
you don't need it give it them as does,' which was
very bold and forward of her. But Rick said:
'Money that was not, O baboochka. It was a picture of a dear
little itsy witsy bitsy bit of a baby.' I
said:
'I'm getting just that bit tired, that I am. It's you who's
the babies, you lot. Scoffing and
grinning and all you can do is smeck and give people
bolshy cowardly tolchocks when they can't give them back.' Bully said:
'Well now, we always thought it was you who was the king of
that and also the teacher. Not
well, that's the trouble with thou, old droogie.'
I viddied this sloppy glass of beer I had on the table
in front of me and felt like all
vomity within, so I went 'Aaaaah' and poured all the frothy
vonny cal all over the floor. One of the starry pitsas said:
'Waste not want not.' I said:
'Look, droogies. Listen. Tonight I am somehow just not in the
mood. I know not why or how it is,
but there it is. You three go your own ways this
nightwise, leaving me out. Tomorrow we shall meet same place same time, me
hoping to be like a lot better.'
'Oh,' said Bully, 'right sorry I am.' But you could viddy a
like gleam in his glazzies, because now he would be taking over for this
nochy. Power power, everybody like
wants power. 'We can postpone till tomorrow,' said Bully, 'what we in mind had. Namely, that bit of shop-crasting
in Gagarin Street. Flip horrorshow
takings there, droog, for the having.'
'No,' I said. 'You postpone nothing. You just carry on in
your own like style. Now,' I said, 'I
itty off.' And I got up from my chair.
'Where to, then?' asked Rick.
'That know I not,' I said. 'Just to be on like my own and
sort things out.' You could viddy
the old baboochkas were real puzzled at me going out like
that and like all morose and not the bright and smecking malchickiwick you will remember. But I said: 'Ah,
to hell, to hell,' and scatted out all on my oddy knocky into the street.
It was dark and there was a wind sharp as a nozh
getting up, and there were very
very few lewdies about. There were these patrol cars with brutal rozzes inside
them like cruising about, and now and then on the corner you would
viddy a couple of very young millicents stamping against the bitchy cold and
letting out steam breath on the
winter air, O my brothers. I suppose really
a lot of the old ultra-violence and crasting was dying out now, the rozzes being so brutal with who
they caught, though it had become like a fight
between naughty nadsats and the rozzes who could be more skorry with the
nozh and the britva and the stick and even the gun. But what was the
matter with me these days was that I didn't like care much. It was
like something soft getting into me
and I could not pony why. What I wanted these days I did not know. Even the music I liked to slooshy in my own
malenky den was what I would have
smecked at before, brothers. I was slooshying more like
malenky romantic songs, what they call Lieder, just a goloss and a piano,
very quiet and like yearny, different from when it had been all bolshy
orchestras and me lying on the bed between the violins and the trombones
and kettledrums. There was something happening inside me, and I
wondered if it was like some
disease or if it was what they had done to me that time upsetting my gulliver and perhaps going to make me real
bezoomny.
So thinking like this with my gulliver bent and my rookers
stuck in my trouser carmans I
walked the town, brothers, and at last I began to feel
very tired and also in great need of a nice bolshy chasha of milky chai.
Thinking about this chai, I got a sudden like picture of me sitting
before a bolshy fire in an armchair
peeting away at this chai, and what was funny and very very strange was that I seemed to have turned into a
very starry chelloveck, about
seventy years old, because I could viddy my own voloss, which was very grey, and I also had whiskers, and these were
very grey too. I could viddy myself
as an old man, sitting by a fire, and then the like picture vanished. But it was very like strange.
I came to one of these tea-and-coffee mestos,
brothers, and I could viddy through
the long long window that it was full of very dull lewdies, like
ordinary, who had these very patient and expressionless litsos and would do no harm to no one, all sitting
there and govoreeting like quietly and peeting
away at their nice harmless chai and coffee. I ittied inside and
went up to the counter and bought me a nice hot chai with
plenty of moloko, then I ittied to
one of these tables and sat down to peet it. There was a
like young couple at this table, peeting and smoking filter-tip cancers, and
govoreeting and smecking very
quietly between themselves, but I took no notice
of them and just went on peeting away and like dreaming and wondering what was going to happen to me. But I viddied that the
devotchka at this table who was
with this chelloveck was real horrorshow, not the sort you would want to like throw down and give the old in-out in-out
to, but with a horrorshow plott and
litso and a smiling rot and very very fair voloss and all that cal. And then the veck with her, who had a hat on
his gulliver and had his litso like
turned away from me, swivelled round to viddy the boshy big clock they had on the wall in this mesto, and then I
viddied who he was and then he
viddied who I was. It was Pete, one of my three droogs from those days when it was Georgie and Dim and him and me. It was
Pete like looking older though he
could not now be more than nineteen and a bit, and he had a bit of a moustache and an ordinary day-suit and this
hat on. I said:
'Well well well, droogie, what gives? Very very long time no
viddy.' He said:
'It's little Alex, isn't it?'
'None other,' I said. 'A
long long long time since those dead and gone good
days. And now poor Georgie, they told me, is underground and
old Dim is a brutal millicent, and here
is thou and here is I, and what news hast thou,
old droogie?'
'He talks funny, doesn't he?' said the devotchka, like
giggling.
'This,' said Pete to the devotchka, 'is an old friend. His
name is Alex. May I,' he said to
me, 'introduce my wife?'
My rot fell wide open then. 'Wife?' I like gasped. 'Wife wife
wife? Ah no, that cannot be. Too
young art thou to be married, old droog. Impossible
impossible.'
This devotchka who was like Pete's wife (impossible
impossible) giggled again and said
to Pete: 'Did you used to talk like that too?'
'Well,' said Pete, and he like smiled. 'I'm nearly twenty.
Old enough to be hitched, and it's been
two months already. You were very young and very
forward, remember.'
'Well,' I like gaped still. 'Over this get can I not,
old droogie. Pete married. Well
well well.'
'We have a small flat,' said Pete. 'I am earning very
small money at State Marine
Insurance, but things will get better, that I know. And Georgina here-'
'What again is that name?' I said, rot still open like
bezoomny. Pete's wife (wife, brothers) like giggled again.
'Georgina,' said Pete. 'Georgina works too. Typing, you know.
We manage, we manage.' I could not,
brothers, take my glazzies off him, really. He was like grown up now, with a grown-up goloss and all. 'You
must,' said Pete, 'come and see us
sometime. You still,' he said, 'look very young, despite
all your terrible experiences. Yes yes yes, we've read all about them. But, of course, you are very
young still.'
'Eighteen,' I said, 'just gone.'
'Eighteen, eh?' said Pete. 'As old as that. Well well
well. Now,' he said, 'we have to be
going.' And he like gave this Georgina of his a like loving
look and pressed one of her rookers between his and she gave him one of
these looks back, O my brothers. 'Yes,' said Pete, turning back to me,
'we're off to a little party at Greg's.'
'Greg?' I said.
'Oh, of course,' said Pete, 'you wouldn't know Greg, would
you? Greg is after your time. While
you were away Greg came into the picture. He runs
little parties, you know. Mostly wine-cup and word-games. But very nice,
very pleasant, you know. Harmless, if you see what I mean.'
'Yes,' I said. 'Harmless. Yes yes, I viddy that real
horrorshow.' And this Georgina
devotchka giggled again at my slovos. And then these two ittied off
to their vonny word-games at this Greg's, whoever he was. I was left all on my oddy knocky with my milky
chai, which was getting cold now, like thinking
and wondering.
Perhaps that was it, I kept thinking. Perhaps I was getting
too old for the sort of jeezny I
had been leading, brothers. I was eighteen now, just gone.
Eighteen was not a young age. At eighteen old Wolfgang Amadeus had written
concertos and symphonies
and operas and oratorios and all that cal, no, not
cal, heavenly music. And then there was old Felix M. with his Midsummer
Night's Dream Overture. And there were others. And there was this like
French poet set by old Benjy
Britt, who had done all his best poetry by the
age of fifteen, O my brothers. Arthur, his first name. Eighteen was not all that young an age, then. But
what was I going to do?
Walking the dark chill bastards of winter streets after
ittying off from this chai and coffee mesto, I kept viddying like visions,
like these cartoons in the gazettas.
There was Your Humble Narrator Alex coming home
from work to a good hot plate of dinner, and there was this ptitsa all
welcoming and greeting like loving. But I could not viddy her all that
horrorshow, brothers, I could not think who it might be. But I had this
sudden very strong idea that if I walked into the room next to this room
where the fire was burning away and my hot dinner laid on the table,
there I should find what I really
wanted, and now it all tied up, that picture
scissored out of the gazetta and meeting old Pete like that. For in that
other room in a cot was laying gurgling goo goo goo my son. Yes yes yes,
brothers, my son. And now I felt this bolshy big hollow inside my plott,
feeling very surprised too at myself. I knew what was happening, O my
brothers. I was like growing up.
Yes yes yes, there it was. Youth must go, ah yes. But youth
is only being in a way like it
might be an animal. No, it is not just being an animal so much
as being like one of these malenky toys you viddy being sold in the streets,
like little chellovecks
made out of tin and with a spring inside and then a
winding handle on the outside and you wind it up grrr grrr grrr and off
ititties, like walking, O my
brothers. But it itties in a straight line and
bangs straight into things bang bang and it cannot help what it is doing.
Being young is like being like one of these malenky machines.
My son, my son. When I had my son I would explain all that to
him when he was starry enough to
like understand. But then I knew he would not understand or would not want to understand at all and would
do all the veshches I had done, yes
perhaps even killing some poor starry forella surrounded
with mewing kots and koshkas, and I would not be able to really
stop him. And nor would he be able to stop his own son, brothers. And so it
would itty on to like the end of
the world, round and round and round, like some
bolshy gigantic like chelloveck, like old Bog Himself (by courtesy of Korova Milkbar) turning and turning and turning a vonny
grahzny orange in his gigantic
rookers.
But first of all, brothers, there was this veshch of finding
some devotchka or other who would
be a mother to this son. I would have to start on that
tomorrow, I kept thinking. That was something like new to do. That was
something I would have to get started on, a new like chapter beginning.
That's what it's going to be then, brothers, as I come to the
like end of this tale. You have
been everywhere with your little droog Alex, suffering
with him, and you have viddied some of the most grahzny bratchnies old Bog ever made, all on to your old
droog Alex. And all it was was that I was young.
But now as I end this story, brothers, I am not young, not no longer,
oh no. Alex like groweth up, oh yes.
But where I itty now, O my brothers, is all on my oddy knocky,
where you cannot go. Tomorrow is
all like sweet flowers and the turning vonny earth
and the stars and the old Luna up there and your old droog Alex all on his oddy knocky seeking like a mate. And
all that cal. A terrible grahzny vonny world,
really, O my brothers. And so farewell from your little droog. And to
all others in this story profound shooms of lip-music brrrrrr. And they can kiss my sharries. But you, O my
brothers, remember sometimes thy little Alex
that was. Amen. And all that cal.
Alex is back to where he started the story in Chapter 1 in the Korova. Only the names of his droogs have changed to Len, Rick and Bully. Bully is looking to take over acting like Georgie. Alex is still in charge, but now because he is older and famous. Their hairstyles and clothes are also a bit different as it is years later and times change, but youth will always be the same. The first thing we are struck by though is Alex has a job. This shows responsibility. In the beginning Alex initiated the violence, now he is content for Bully to take the lead because it no longer holds interest for him. Now that he is earning money, he doesn't want to waste it, especially on drink for others like he used to in the beginning. He is becoming mean and doesn't know why. He is bored and depressed with his life. The days of gang fights and ultra-violence are gone, the police have become so brutal with the nadsats that it has stopped. He is content to just watch and not get involved and mocks his droogs for attacking the weak. He is still concerned about his appearance and notes that Rick's teeth are gross. He doesn't want hard liquor and doesn't want to explain to his droogs why he's changed, because he isn't sure himself. When he pulls out his money a picture of a baby falls out and his droogs mock him. He isn't even sure at first why he has it, then dumps his beer on the floor. He isn't in the mood anymore. He accuses his droogs of acting like children and leaves them to do whatever they want, promising to catch up with them tomorrow when he is feeling better. His taste in music has also changed to more romantic songs instead of big orchestral ones. He wants to be alone with his thoughts and thinks maybe he is sick or it is something to do with the treatment. He wants a cup of tea and feels older, even seeing himself as an old man. He sits in this place full of older people and notices an attractive woman who he'd like to be with, not rape or have dirty sex with. It turns out she's Pete's wife. He is now 20 and settled into a new way of life with his wife, new friends, drinking wine, word parties and such. Pete's wife Georgina laughs at the way Alex talks and can't believe Pete used to talk that way too. Alex realizes he is growing up and dreams of being older and having a son. He talks of a wind up toy with a coiled spring that represents pent up youthful energy. When the toy is released it hits into the wall over and over like a directionless youth. Growing up equals having direction. He imagines himself as a father telling this to his son, knowing he will not listen and his son will not listen to him, such is life and on and on it will go until the end of time. He won't be able to stop him and he might kill someone too. Alex wants a girlfriend, life goes on and he is still alone. He'll start looking for her tomorrow by himself and we can't follow. The story is over, remember Alex that was, not what will be.
...or why I love the 21st chapter.
I am asked about my thoughts on the 21st
chapter quite often. In fact when I do interviews I always ask the person's
opinion on it. To me, a perfect world would be all the books would have the 21st
chapter since day one and Kubrick would've filmed it for his movie. Then there
wouldn't be any controversy. Unfortunately that isn't the case. It seems if you
took all the ACO fans and put them together there would be a big love/hate
relationship with the 21st chapter. It would divide the room, because in my
experience, most people don't like it. This really baffles me.
I understand that people who love the movie say "No 21st
chapter there, so I don't like it." This is OK and it works, but it
would've been even better if it was there. One needs to take the book and film
as separate entities and therefore as long as you have the complete novel, you
should embrace the "other" version. Embrace it because there is more
to it, it goes beyond the film and it is the source.
Here's why I think the 21st chapter is the perfect ending to
the story. We ALL have to grow up sometime. For some it is much later than
others. We can't go on behaving as teenagers forever. If have passed those
years, think back how they were. For most of us...you live at home, you have no
job, no source of income, no real privacy. You probably don't get along with at
least one of your parents, so you feel alienated. You don't know what you want
to do with your life and are rebellious. You are probably experiencing love or
having sex for the first time. When hanging out with friends you like to do
things you shouldn't, you get in trouble. Your parents yell out you, you get
grounded. The idea of turning 30 seems impossible, a lifetime away and anyway
you hope you die before you get old, you don't trust older people. You are
growing up, but not fast enough, you think you know everything, you just need a
chance to prove yourself. You think no one understands you and you get depressed
sometimes. You hate going to school and don't understand why you have to learn
geometry or algebra in the first place. And on and on. Now, once you enter
adulthood most of these things change. You move out on your own or get a place
with someone. You get a job, start a career, have to pay the bills, buy a car,
get insurance, get married, have children, get divorced. All those issues from
your teenage years don't mean a thing as new ones have taken over.
Now this is where Alex is. He is 18 years old, on the verge
of adulthood. He has a job, he's making money, he's showing responsibility. He
doesn't want to commit crimes anymore. Since he's earning his money, he doesn't
want to waste it. This is growing up, this is life. You can't stay young
forever. You think you'll always like the same music or clothes from when you
are younger, but then again, that will change too. Alex clothes and taste in
music is changing, he likes the softer stuff. He no longer feeds on the big
classical scores. Change is normal. It isn't selling out, experimenting with
what is out there is maturity, not being close minded and saying "that
sucks". Maybe he'll go back to the classics someday, but we'll never know.
This is how life goes. If you are doing something wrong or
illegal, say shoplifting, and you do it 10, 25, 100 times and don't get caught -
you think it'll go on forever. Then one day you WILL get caught and everything
changes. You'll get arrested, pay a fine, etc. Then that part of your life will
be over. Eventually you might go back to it, but you'll be walking a fine line.
If you get caught again it is going to be worse. The feeling of it all also
changes. Before it was a rush and exciting, now it is dangerous to tempt fate
again and therefore boring to contemplate it. It can't go back to how it felt
before, your perspective has changed. This is how it is for Alex.
He's gotten in trouble, done his time and is not only bored with violence, he
doesn't want anymore trouble. The same thing with drinking or drugs. You may
drive home drunk a dozen times with no problems. Then one day you get pulled
over or hurt someone in an accident and it is all over. This is chapter 21, this
is reality. If you don't grow up, you'll die. This is what happened to Georgie.
He was still committing crimes and wound up getting killed. Even Dim and
Billyboy have jobs as police. While they are still corrupt, they have grown up
somewhat.
To some it seems this is the problem. They don't want Alex
growing up. They like him the way he is. Well, remember what Alex says at the
end, "But you, O my
brothers, remember sometimes thy little Alex
that was." Alex has grown up, but he wants you to remember the good old
days too. We can't travel with him anymore. There is nowhere else to go. He is
gong back to work, hitting the dating scene, settling down. There's no more
adventures to be told. There is no need for a sequel. What could it be? Alex
becoming a rock star? This wouldn't have anything to do with what happened
before and could be could anything, certainly not A Clockwork Orange 2. This is good. We know he
has matured, has learned and survived. What doesn't kill him makes him stronger.
He knows if he has a son he'll do all the same dumb crap he did and there's
nothing he can do or say to change that. This is also true. Who believes their
parents? We can't even believe they were ever our age since they are just old
farts who don't understand. Maybe some people will realize that it ends the way
it does when they too grow up. They just can't embrace a kinder, gentler Alex.
This is why to me the 21st chapter is perfect. Alex has grown
up, such is life. Alex wants companionship, a family. This is normal. He's done
what he's done and can't change it. Maybe even given the opportunity to change
it all, he wouldn't do it. Youth wasted on the young. It's a perfect analogy
when he describes a wind up toy full of energy just wasting it by crashing
aimlessly over and over again into a wall. If only you have all that energy and
vitality later in life when you are smart enough to put it to better use. Live
and learn. If you don't learn, then your destined to die young or end up in
jail. Like Alex, I don't like either of those possibilities.
Novel © 1962 Anthony Burgess
The rest © 2001-08 Alex D. Thrawn for www.MalcolmMcDowell.net