#Down and Out in Paris and London
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Les étoiles proposent un spectacle gratuit. Ça ne coûte rien de se servir de ses yeux.
George Orwell, Dans la dèche à Paris et à Londres (Down and Out in Paris and London)
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The stars are a free show; it don’t cost anything to use your eyes.
#George Orwell#Dans la dèche à Paris et à Londres#livre#book#citation#citation française#littérature#littérature anglaise#autobiographie#Down and Out in Paris and London#quote#english quote
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books read in 2024 - no. 12
down and out in paris and london by george orwell
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Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell, 1933
#george orwell#down and out in paris and london#literature#book qoute#animal farm#orwell 1984#1984#classic literature
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Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell just taught me a Hindustani swear word "bahinchut" which after looking it up means "I am very familiar with the sexual organs of your sister." However, on the same site I found this on it also says to not use it because it is unforgivable. If I have any followers from India or that know this word do you care to weigh in?
Edit: Did some more research on the word apparently George Orwell butchered it "bhenchod" is the actual word.
Disclaimer: Do not use this word.
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George Orwell went to Eton as a kid on a won scholarship, and not due to coming from a family of means, one of the few boys in his year to do so.
As a younger man he set out to Paris, with almost no money in his pocket, to see what it would be like to survive in a metropolis without finance. Where he worked in any job he could get. Then travelled back to London, and did the same there, wherein he basically lived as what people would call a ‘bum’ or ‘tramp’ or ‘hobo’. This was back in the late 1920s/early 1930s, when there was no welfare state. Then he wrote a book about his experiences.
Similarly, he travelled around Northern English cities during the aftermath of the Great Depression, to explore how badly the populations had suffered economically.
He fought in the Spanish Civil War in Barcelona, and was shot in the neck by an opposing soldier, yet somehow survived. Before that, he narrowly avoided being arrested by a faction of Franco’s police, for fighting on the leftist side; and if he had been caught they would have executed him.
The phrase ‘Cold War’ actually originated from an essay he wrote in 1945 called ‘You and the Atom Bomb’. I.e., he was the person that coined that term, or theme, which would dominate the world for the next forty five years.
His wife died when he was in his forties. And he and his son moved to a remote part of Scotland. Where he wrote 1984 in a cottage. He couldn’t spend much time with his son because he was heavily ill during this period, and didn’t want to pass on the sickness to the boy.
Eric Blair was his real name; George Orwell was his pen name. He died at the age of 46. He wrote six novels and three works of non fiction.
#george orwell#1984#literature#english literature#eric blair#down and out in paris and london#homage to catalonia#you and the atom bomb
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“Money has become the grand test of virtue. By this test beggars fail, and for this they are despised. If one could earn even ten pounds a week at begging, it would become a respectable profession immediately. A beggar, looked at realistically, is simply a businessman, getting his living, like other business men, in a way that comes to hand. He has not, more than most modern people, sold his honour; he has merely made the mistake of choosing a trade at which it is impossible to grow rich.” - Down and out in Paris and London, George Orwell
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(Guy who has only read Down and Out in Paris and London) God, this restaraunt is so Orwellian
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small town kid here
never used an underground in my life
go to paris
the. the fuckign parisian métro. O.o
go to london
easy peasy lemon squeezy, i could do this blind lmao no problems at all
#i would have been so overwhelmed but once you manage to the parisian métro you can manage ANYTHING fr#london underground is so tame and easy to navigate in comparison its insane#oh and also ACCESSIBLE#LOOKING AT DOZENS OF STAIRS HERE#WHAT THE FUXK PARIS#ABOUT EVERYTHING THO#jeez just like. moving stairs (forgot the word) and lifts and the app and clear plans are SO GREAT#TAKE NOTES PARIS#a biscuit's rambles#me in paris: what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck if i wasnt with a group id die down here and still never find out much less my stati#me in london: sup fellow people Used To Big City Ways i know what im doing
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[…] lorsque vous vous trouvez au seuil de la misère, vous faites une découverte qui éclipse presque toutes les autres. Vous avez découvert l’ennui, les petites complications mesquines, les affres de la faim, mais vous avez en même temps fait cette découverte capitale : savoir que la misère a la vertu de rejeter le futur dans le néant.
George Orwell, Dans la dèche à Paris et à Londres (Down and Out in Paris and London)
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[...] You discover boredom and mean complications and the beginnings of hunger, but you also discover the great redeeming feature of poverty: the fact that it annihilates the future.
#George Orwell#Dans la dèche à Paris et à Londres#livre#book#citation#citation française#littérature#littérature anglaise#autobiographie#Down and Out in Paris and London#quote#english quote
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zack and london one shot i’m intrigued 👀👀👀
(heather asked about this one as well, so i'm gonna go ahead and tag her! @theanti-heros ) thank you, bestie, I appreciate you so much! 💕💕
This is actually a scene i have planned for Danger on Deck, but I'm not sure when (or if) I'll be able to pick that up again, and I've been thinking about Zack & London a lot lately, so to get the brain rot out, I decided to just take the idea and try to make it a stand-alone one-shot 🤷🏻♀️
It's basically Zack realizing he's probably not as straight as he thought and deciding to confide in London about it since she's openly bi and dating Maddie, therefore she could understand firsthand what he's feeling
#asks#pearl tag 💗#sorry if this is kinda incoherent. my brain is fuzzy today laksdjf#there's also a part where Zack tries to convince himself that he's talking to london because she most likely won't listen so he can just.#get the thoughts out#but he knows deep down that not's true#i kinda touch on london's whole 'airhead. not caring' thing as basically being at least partially a persona#ala paris hilton#but that's a story for another day. the mention is super brief
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Book 11 Down and Out in Paris and London
Dewey gave me 914 Geography and Travel Europe this week. I had a few promising choices, so I went with Robert Louis Stevenson's Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes. His prose is a little overflowerful at times, but reading was going smoothly until he started hitting his title donkey to make it go. Ok, that was standard practice and I gritted my teeth past those parts. Then the donkey wouldn't move off a side road so he started beating it in the face with a stick. So I decided George Orwell had to be a better choice than this. Well....
This is a story of what it's like to live in abject poverty both in Paris and London. The book starts out with [TW!!] a story about a guy who would boast about raping a sex slave. [/TW] An inauspicious start. Geroge Orwell died at only age 46 and the world lost a terrific writer. We also lost a virulent racist and misogynist. The book is full of some pretty vile Antisemitism that isn't at all untypical of a early 20th century European (surely America too, but I haven't read quite as bad in American books of the time). There's also some anti-Black racism that did surprise me as I was used to stories of Brits being disgusted at how we treated Black soldiers in WWII. There's plenty to offend other people too, especially Armenians.
However, I think your typical racist wouldn't like the book either, because besides being a book, it extols the need for helping the poor do better than they are. Orwell details some pretty awful practices at workhouses like throwing out perfectly good food and purposefully rendering the food inedible to anyone digging in the trash for it. Just so the poor wouldn't get too comfortable living off charity, and instead getting a diet of tea, bread and margarine only.
Being naive, I assumed all of the book was a factual account of what happened to Orwell when he was completely destitute, however, some further research (a quick glance at wikipedia) shows there's doubt on how much is factual and how much is made up whole-cloth, plus saying Orwell could have lived better but he wanted to do the research. It's a smooth read (except when you stop to cringe at the racism), and an interesting look into poverty in two different worlds (if true). Apparently in Paris no one cared if you slept or sat down in the streets, but in London it was strictly prohibited. There were a series of charitable houses around the country that Tramps would circulate to visit because visiting one more than once a month led to jail time. By law essentially the abject poor had to be constantly traveling around the country. Orwell reflects that the poor diet, the lack of ability to work (in part due to malnutrition and being forcibly peripatetic), and a lack of women in the society made life worse than it had to be. He laments that women wouldn't sleep with someone lower class (oh, gee, how dare women not fall over themselves for a guy who constantly smokes cigarette butts he picks up off the ground).
SHOULD YOU READ THIS BOOK? I would say no. It's a smooth read on an interesting subject and if you really need to know what it's like for a mid 20th century Parisian dishwasher or an English Tramp then you could do worse. But if you don't have to, then spare yourself the gross racism and read Grapes of Wrath if you just want a look at poverty and how the system screws people over.
BEST LINE: "Well, say the opposite of what the Daily Mail says, then you can't be wrong." So tru.
ART PROJECT: The funniest story in the book is about a guy who is on his fifth day without food (hi-larious!) he sees a picture on his wall of St. Eloise and prays to her that if she gets him 3-4 francs for food he'll light a candle in her honor. Well, a friend shows up and finds an oil can he has in his room that can be returned to the store for 3 francs and change - the miracle occurred! So he got food, but was lamenting he had to light a candle to St. Eloise rather than buy some tobacco with his change when the friend points out the picture he was praying to was the hotel namesake, Suzanne May, not Eloise. So he's off the hook! hyuk hyuk. I looked for a picture of Suzanne May, but alas there's none. So I looked up St Eloise only to discover it was who we call Heloise in English. She's famous for having a love affair with her teacher Abelard and naming their lovechild Astrolabe. And when I saw how sad she looked in this famous painting by Edmund Blair Leighton (How appropriate for an Eric Blair book!) the comic wrote itself.
#george orwell#down and out#paris#london#52books#dewey decimal system#52booksproject#Heloise#heloise x abelard#oh god the racism
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midnights vs tortured poets department
1. lavender haze / fortnight
2. maroon / the tortured poets department
3. anti-hero / my boy only breaks his favorite toys
4. snow on the beach / down bad
5. you’re on your own, kid / so long, london
6. midnight rain / but daddy i love him
7. question / fresh out the slammer
8. vigilante shit / florida
9. bejewled / guilty as sin
10. labyrinth / who’s afraid of little old me
11. karma / i can fix him
12. sweet nothing / loml
13. mastermind / i can do it with a broken heart
14. the great war / the smallest man who ever lived
15. bigger than the whole sky / the alchemy
16. paris / clara bow
17. high infidelity / the black dog
18. glitch / imgonnagetyouback
19. would’ve, could’ve, should’ve / the albatross
20. dear reader / chloe or sam or sophia or marcus
21. hits different / how did it end
22. you’re losing me / so high school
#lavender haze#maroon#my boy only breaks his favourite toys#down bad#so long london#but daddy i love him#fresh out the slammer#vigilante shit#guilty as sin#who’s afraid of little old me#karma#loml#i can do it with a broken heart#the smallest man who ever lived#the alchemy#paris#high infidelity#imgonnagetyouback#would’ve could’ve should’ve#chloe or sam or sophia or marcus#how did it end#so high school#taylor swift
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flashing lights
words: 2.4k
warnings: 18+ only, brief smut, p in v sex, model!reader (a bit of influencer too but primarily a model), soft rafe, marriage, pregnancy
“so thats your new girl?” topper asks, eyes on you as you twirl to the music, long legs on show in the simple black dress.
“yeah, shes here for a month on vacation.” rafes also looking at you, unable to let his gaze stray, in case a man comes up and attempts to dance with you. you may not be an official item yet, considering you only met a couple days ago, but rafe is determined to spend the entire month that you’re here with you, and not let any other men pull your focus away.
“she looks so familiar.” the voice rings out before rafe even realizes that there's other people now sat in the circle of chairs and couches, too wrapped up in you.
the girl, who rafe recognizes from high school, begins to tap on her phone. “wait, shes a model.”
“yeah, she told me.” rafe shrugs it off. he could have guessed your profession anyways, with how naturally stunning you are, and your height almost rivaling his, only a few inches shorter.
“no, like really famous model.” the girl turns her phone towards rafe, and he hates having to drag his eyes away from you to look at the screen, pulled open to a google search of your name.
“holy shit!” topper says for rafe, taking the phone from the girl as he clicks the first link to open up your instagram. “she has 20 MILLION followers, rafe.”
rafe glances from the phone to you as you turn to smile at him, still dancing to the music, glad to be free of all the attention and camera flashes. its why you chose the outer banks in the first place, somewhere more tucked away to take a month away from the spotlight.
“why are you so surprised, look at her.” rafe states before standing up, tired of letting you dance alone as he joins you on the makeshift dance floor, his hands coming to your waist as you give him a dazzling smile.
-- two years later --
camera lights flash and shouts ring out, but rafe is used to it now.
he smiles and waves, shocked that anyone would care about him, a nobody from north carolina, his only claim to fame is being your boyfriend, for a little over two years now.
rafe walks inside, having enough of the screaming and crowds as he takes in the area, chairs set up along a runway, a large prada sign on the white wall. your prestige has only grown since rafe began to date you, despite coming back to the outer banks several times to take a break and visit him. since rafe began to travel with you, you’ve gone from paris to milan to new york to london, gracing the covers of magazines and walking runways.
he tries to attend every show, taking on a pseudo-management role himself. your favorite part is dressing rafe in the mornings, having received clothing from so many brands, both mens and womens fit. rafe lets you choose, knowing you have the eye for fashion, and he loves to see how happy you get when he wears your outfit.
rafe walks through the seats until he finds the one with his name on it, front row. he sits down, scrolling on his phone as people begin to file in until the room is packed full.
he waits as the show begins, models walking down the runway. they don’t shine to him, not like you do when you step out, your face blank in the typical model expression as you strut down the runway, dressed in all denim with a pair of chunky sunglasses on your nose.
rafe is in awe every time he sees you work, whether its watching your fluid poses during a photoshoot or your long legs stomping down a runway.
he waits with bated breath for your second outfit, changing into a slouchy menswear-esque ensemble, only pulled in at your waist as the fabric swishes around your ankles.
he claps when everyone steps out for the final walk, but he doesn’t cheer for the designer, even if it is prada, as he makes eye contact with you, only ever a brief glance while you're walking the runway, knowing if you look for too long you will become entranced with his handsomeness.
rafe waits for you after the show along with some of the other family members or partners of the models, long after all the celebrities have gone, either to an afterparty or on to a different show.
“hey baby.” rafe smiles when you step out, hair still slicked up in a ponytail, face caked with makeup, but now in a pair of loose jeans and a plain white crop top.
“hi handsome.” you coo, pressing your lips against rafes. “did you like the show?”
“i liked you in the show.” rafe says pointedly, making you blush. “are we going to the afterparty?”
“nah.” you shake your head. “i have that carolina herrera show in the morning, and i want to spend some time with you.”
“i’ll never argue against spending alone time with you.” rafe says, slotting his arm around your waist as you exit the building, surprised when photographers are still waiting outside. you wave briefly before rushing towards the car, knowing the picture of you and rafe are bound to be spread all over instagram and pinterest before you even make it back to your hotel room.
--
“rafe, i’ve got a question.” you hum, stepping out onto the balcony, eyes looking to the ocean. you’re on a paid for vacation by a makeup brand, simply wanting a couple instagram story posts using their products in a get ready with me. you are supposed to be relaxing the rest of the time, but you crept onto your phone to read the latest email from your agent.
“what is it babe?” rafe asks as he pulls you down onto his lap, scantily dressed in only his swimsuit, not that you have worn much other than a bikini this whole trip.
“what would you think about me doing a lingerie photoshoot?” you haven’t accepted any jobs that would call for you to show off a lot of skin or be paired with a male model since you started dating rafe, lucky to be in a place to reject jobs.
“who is it for?” rafe asks.
“calvin klein. i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t them.” you admit. you find their style of black and white classic photos far more tasteful than traditional lingerie pictures.
“as long as i can be there during the shoot.” rafe says. he’s taken the role of your advocate and protector during photoshoots, easily able to read your face and speak up for you if needed, considering sometimes the models voice gets drowned out.
“of course.” you nod.
“then absolutely.” rafe pulls you in closer to his body. “i need a new lockscreen anyways.”
you roll your eyes but can’t help the laugh that bursts out of you as you turn towards the ocean, watching the waves roll onto the sand.
--
you step out behind the curtain, a tight fitting sports bra contrasting the loose jeans, slung open and zipper undone to show off your underwear as well as the calvin klein jeans.
you look over to rafe, who has his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as his eyes skate down your bare torso.
you most over to the white backdrop as the photographer begins to test the lighting, taking occasional snaps as things are adjusted.
the photoshoot is run just like any other and you’re finished faster than expected considering they’re solo shots and no change in location or background.
you keep the underwear and jeans on, simply throwing on a sweatshirt before getting into the taxi home with rafe, this time to your new york city apartment, having collected various homes and apartments around the world, depending on wherever you were doing business at the time. you consider the outer banks home though, returning every extended break with rafe.
“did you like the shoot?” you ask when you get home, rafe laying on bed while you tug the sweatshirt and jeans off, leaving you in just the calvin klein bra and panties.
“get over here.” rafe says, not caring about your question. he’s been desperate for you since you appeared from behind the curtain, not even trying to hide it as he watched the photoshoot, your eyes occasionally moving to him, giving him reassurance you were still good.
rafe makes you keep the underwear on, simply pulling it to the side once he’s got your back against the mattress to slide his cock deep inside of you. you push the sports bra up to let your breasts free, rafes palm instantly coming to cover your tit as he thrusts into you.
“i think you should do more shoots like that.” rafe says with a moan, cock pulsing inside of you.
--
“its nice to be back home.” you sigh, quickly applying some makeup, mostly just mascara and a glowy primer.
“agreed.” rafe kisses your shoulder, watching over your shoulder as you finish and then adjust your white dress, having decided to take a couple pictures on the beach for you to post as well as just enjoy a walk on the sand.
“alright, i’m ready.” you hum as you slip on your sandals. you lace your fingers with rafes before stepping out the back door. “you look handsome by the way.”
the suns golden light illuminates his skin. his outfit is simple, closer to what he wore before the fame. a simple white button down, loose fitting and you are sure would look delicious unbuttoned, showing off his muscles.
“thank you baby.” rafe presses a kiss to your cheek, leading you down the beach until you come across a picnic set up. you glance around before realizing its for you.
“oh my god, its just like our first date!” you gush, stepping away from rafe to look at the spread.
“before we eat, i have a question to ask you.” you turn around to realize that rafe is on one knee, a velvet jewelry box in his hand.
“oh, rafe.” you press your hand to your mouth, tears already coming to your eyes as he opens the box, revealing a sparkling diamond ring. “will you marry me?”
--
“how am i supposed to look good next to a literal model?” rafe asks as he looks towards the camera, looking almost nervous for once in his life.
“we’ve taken pictures together before rafe.” you roll your eyes, adjusting your wedding dress. it’s actually four weeks after your wedding, but you wanted to get professional photos done with your new husband and asked one of your photographer friends who was more than willing to let you into their studio if they could post some of the photos on their instagram and website.
“mirror selfies and shit, this is more serious.” rafe says as you tug him over to the backdrop.
“you look so handsome, babe. don’t worry.” you smooth your hands over his shoulders. “just think back to our wedding day, we took so many pictures then.”
“i was too distracted by how excited i was to marry you.” rafe says, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, the oscar de larenta dress you ended up deciding on being off the shoulder. it was a simple dress, but the closer you got you realized how intricate the lace detail is. “you look just like you did on our wedding day though, baby. the makeup artists did a great job.”
“just tanner.” you joke, having gone on your honeymoon already.
you look as the photographer begins to set up their lens, before you turn to whisper to rafe. “you can’t tell?” you question, pressing your hand to your stomach. you know there’s no way you’d already begin to show, considering your baby is no bigger than a seed, but that doesn’t stop you from getting worried about your pregnancy being discovered early.
“not at all.” rafe shakes his head, but can’t hide the smirk that comes to his face, knowing your tummy will soon swell with his child, having made sure of it many times on the honeymoon.
--
“i was thinking about how we could announce the baby.” you tell rafe as you pad into the kitchen. he’s still making the decaf coffee you were absolutely craving, more syrup and milk than coffee.
“how?” he hums, glancing over at you as you lean against the counter, rubbing your stomach, bump now obvious as you’re over 6 months along. you have managed to keep it a secret so far, saying you were taking a break from modeling to focus on your new marriage. there is of course a lot of speculation that you are pregnant, but it is to be expected.
“calvin klein shoot. like before, except i’ve got a big ol’ bump.” you laugh as rafe finishes you coffee off with some whip cream before sliding the mug to you. “and you can be in it too.”
rafe rolls his eyes as you giggle. “come on! the girls love you, you’re so handsome.”
“i’m not a model.” rafe argues back, but he already knows he’s going to agree, he’d do anything for you, his pregnant wife.
“yeah, but you’re hot like a model.” you shrug, taking a sip of coffee.
“i think this is just an excuse to get me shirtless and in underwear.” rafe laughs, pressing a kiss to your upper lip, cleaning off the whip cream that sat on your cupids bow.
“yeah, and what about it?”
--
“you know theres some hormone to make women forget the pain of birth?” you hum to rafe, keeping your voice soft. “because if you remembered then no one would never do it again.”
“really?” rafe whispers, his voice also hushed as to not wake the sleeping newborn cuddled up in his arms, wrapped in a soft hospital banket.
“yeah.” you nod. “but i don’t wanna forget a moment of this.”
“im sure you wont baby.” rafe kisses your head as your tiny daughter squirms in his arms, letting out a yawn in her slumber. “i suppose i need to use a different name for you now that we’ve got an actual baby.”
you giggle, resting your head against rafes shoulder as you look down on your perfect little girl, already an adorable mixture of you and rafe.
taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld
#rafe smut#rafe cameron smut#obx smut#outer banks smut#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron fic#rafe fic#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron x reader#rafe x reader#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe fanfic#obx fic#outer banksoute
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I have officially finished reading Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell and will now start reading Dracula by Bram Stoker. I will also continue to read Dom Casmurro by Machado de Assis.
#not an incorrect quote#down and out in paris and london#george orwell#dracula#bram stoker#dom casmurro#machado de assis
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