This might not sound like a grabby reference, or a killer hook for the algorithm. But Hitler is always hot. Also, it’s just a great review, even more so because it was written at a time when the world didn’t quite know what Hitler was “all about”.
True, you get a vibe off people. The ranting, visceral hatred. There were signs, clues, indications that this guy, this guy is not my kind of guy.
But the full Hitler-verse had yet to reveal itself. And for a while you worry Orwell’s going to get it wrong, not go hard enough, misread the full history as we now know it. He writes about how much he likes Hitler’s face because he looks pained and sad, like a wounded dog, giving off that sense of eternal injustice the German people really went for.
By this point you’re trying to catch his eye, coughing loudly, saying “Holocaust” into your fist. Don’t start talking about charisma. Luckily, it all turns out fine.
Orwell says that he would definitely kill Hitler if he got within arm’s reach of him. Then he describes, better than anyone before or since, the terrifying nature of the world Mein Kampf is proposing, above all its utter boredom, the eternal grey repetitions, same struggle, same triumph, same boot stamping on same face, same pitch of willed and empty hysteria. And yeah … you’re thinking about T20 franchise cricket, aren’t you?
The mind goes where the mind goes. You’re picturing a year-round cycle of brain-flooding noise. An endless will to power.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
