Animal Farm
A Political Satire on the Corrupting Influence of Power
byGeorge Orwell, Russell Baker, C.M. Woodhouse
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Summary
"Animal Farm (1945) is a classic satirical novella that allegorically depicts the Russian Revolution of 1917 and its aftermath by transplanting events to a small English farm. After animals stage an uprising against their human farmer, a political battle ensues between an idealistic pig, Snowball, and a power-hungry pig, Napoleon, illustrating the evolution from revolution against tyranny to a new totalitarianism."
Introduction
In the quiet darkness of an English farm, animals gather in secret to hear the dying words of their eldest member—a vision of freedom that will ignite a revolution and transform their world forever. This deceptively simple tale unfolds with the clarity of a fable yet carries the weight of history's darkest political betrayals. Written in the shadow of totalitarian regimes that promised equality but delivered tyranny, this story strips away the grand rhetoric of revolution to reveal the raw mechanics of power and corruption. Through the eyes of horses, pigs, and sheep, readers witness how noble ideals can be twisted, how language itself becomes a weapon, and how those who fight hardest for liberation may find themselves under a yoke more cruel than the one they overthrew. The barnyard becomes a mirror reflecting humanity's most troubling patterns—the seduction of power, the malleability of truth, and the tragic ease with which revolutionaries become indistinguishable from tyrants. This narrative invites readers to examine not just historical events, but the eternal human struggles with authority, equality, and the price of freedom. Within these pages lies a warning that remains urgently relevant: that vigilance against oppression must be eternal, for tyranny wears many faces, and the most dangerous may be the one that speaks in the language of liberation.
The Dream of Rebellion and the Rise of Animalism
On Manor Farm, the animals lived under the careless rule of Mr. Jones, a farmer whose drinking had made him neglectful and cruel. One night, after Jones stumbled drunkenly to bed, the animals gathered in the big barn to hear old Major, a prize boar respected by all. Major had dreamed a dream, but before sharing it, he spoke words that would change everything. He painted their existence in stark terms: lives of toil and misery, bodies worked until usefulness ended, then slaughter. The fruits of their labor stolen by humans who produced nothing themselves. Man, he declared, was the enemy—the sole reason for their suffering. Remove Man, and paradise would follow. Major's vision was intoxicating. He taught them a song called "Beasts of England," an anthem of the golden future when animals would be free. The melody spread through the barn like wildfire, each creature joining until the rafters shook with their voices. The song promised a day when tyrant Man would be overthrown, when rings would vanish from noses and harnesses from backs, when the fields of England would belong to beasts alone. The animals sang it five times through, their excitement building until Mr. Jones, awakened by the noise, fired his gun into the darkness and scattered them to their sleeping places. Three days later, Major died peacefully, but his words took root. The pigs, being the cleverest animals, developed Major's teachings into a complete system called Animalism. Snowball and Napoleon, two young boars, led secret meetings in the barn after Jones slept, explaining the principles to others. Not all were convinced—some spoke of loyalty to their master, others questioned why they should care about events after their deaths. But two cart-horses, Boxer and Clover, became faithful disciples, absorbing everything and passing it to others through simple arguments. They attended every meeting, leading the singing of "Beasts of England" that closed each gathering. The Rebellion came sooner than anyone expected, triggered not by careful planning but by Jones's neglect reaching its breaking point. On Midsummer's Eve, Jones went to town and drank so heavily he didn't return until the following afternoon. His men forgot to feed the animals. When evening came and the creatures still hadn't eaten, a cow broke into the store-shed with her horn. The starving animals began helping themselves. Jones and his men rushed in with whips, but this time the animals fought back. With one accord, they attacked their tormentors, butting and kicking from all sides. The men, terrified by this uprising of creatures they'd always beaten and maltreated, fled in panic. Within minutes, Jones was expelled and Manor Farm belonged to the animals. They raced around the boundaries to ensure no human remained, then destroyed every hated instrument of their oppression—bits, nose-rings, whips—throwing them all on a bonfire. The farm was renamed Animal Farm, and on the barn wall, Snowball painted the Seven Commandments that would govern their new society, the final one declaring: "All animals are equal."
The Corruption of Power and Napoleon's Tyranny
The early days of Animal Farm brought unprecedented joy. The animals worked harder than ever, but the harvest was theirs. Every mouthful of food tasted sweeter because they'd produced it themselves, not for a grudging master but for their own benefit. Boxer, the powerful cart-horse, became the hero of every crisis, his personal motto "I will work harder" inspiring all. The pigs naturally assumed leadership, directing operations while others labored. Snowball busied himself organizing committees and teaching reading and writing. Napoleon took a different approach—he took nine puppies from their mothers and raised them in secret, claiming responsibility for their education. As months passed, subtle changes emerged. The pigs began taking the milk and windfall apples for themselves. Squealer, a brilliant talker among the pigs, explained this wasn't selfishness but necessity—milk and apples contained substances vital to pig health, and pig health was essential for managing the farm. "Surely there is no one among you who wants to see Jones come back?" he asked, and the animals, terrified of that possibility, accepted the explanation. When the pigs moved into the farmhouse and began sleeping in beds, Squealer again provided justification. The Fourth Commandment, when checked, read "No animal shall sleep in a bed with sheets," and they'd removed the sheets. The pigs needed rest for their brainwork. Didn't the animals want them too tired to carry out their duties? The greatest conflict arose over Snowball's plan to build a windmill. He spent weeks designing it, promising that once built, it would provide electricity and reduce the animals' workload to three days per week. Napoleon opposed it from the start, arguing they needed to focus on food production. The farm divided into factions: "Vote for Snowball and the three-day week" versus "Vote for Napoleon and the full manger." On the day of the final vote, as Snowball's eloquent speech seemed certain to win approval, Napoleon uttered a strange whimper. Nine enormous dogs—the puppies he'd taken months before, now grown fierce as wolves—burst into the barn and chased Snowball off the farm. He was never seen again. Napoleon announced there would be no more Sunday debates. A special committee of pigs would make all decisions in private. When four young pigs protested, the dogs' menacing growls silenced them immediately. Squealer explained that Napoleon had made a sacrifice taking this burden upon himself—leadership was no pleasure but a heavy responsibility. Besides, hadn't Snowball been a traitor? Three weeks later, Napoleon announced the windmill would be built after all, claiming it had always been his idea and Snowball had stolen the plans. The animals worked harder than ever, their rations gradually reduced while the pigs grew fatter. When the windmill was finally near completion, a November gale destroyed it completely. Napoleon immediately blamed Snowball, pronouncing a death sentence on him and declaring the windmill would be rebuilt through the winter, whatever the cost.
The Tragic Fall of Boxer and Final Transformation
The animals labored through a bitter winter rebuilding the windmill, their lives growing harder while the pigs' comfort increased. Napoleon rarely appeared in public now, attended always by his dogs and a black cockerel that crowed before he spoke. He was no longer called simply Napoleon but "our Leader, Comrade Napoleon," with titles like "Father of All Animals" and "Terror of Mankind." Meanwhile, Squealer spread rumors that Snowball crept onto the farm at night, sabotaging their work. Every mishap was blamed on this invisible enemy. Then came a darker turn—Napoleon's dogs dragged four pigs before him, and they confessed to conspiring with Snowball. The dogs tore out their throats. More animals came forward with confessions, each slaughtered on the spot until corpses piled at Napoleon's feet. The remaining animals crept away, shaken and miserable, unable to understand how this horror had emerged from Major's dream of a society free from hunger and the whip. Boxer responded to each crisis the same way: "I will work harder." His strength seemed inexhaustible, his loyalty absolute. He adopted a second motto: "Napoleon is always right." Even as conditions worsened and the gap between the pigs' luxury and the other animals' deprivation grew wider, Boxer never wavered. He rose earlier each morning, worked later each evening, his massive frame straining against loads that would break lesser creatures. When the rebuilt windmill was finally completed, Napoleon sold a pile of timber to Frederick, a neighboring farmer, for what seemed a good price. But the banknotes proved to be forgeries, and Frederick immediately attacked with fifteen armed men. They used explosives to blow up the windmill. The animals drove them off in a savage battle, but at terrible cost. Squealer called it a victory, though the windmill—the fruit of years of labor—was gone. The animals began rebuilding once more, but Boxer was no longer the horse he'd been. His coat had lost its shine, his great haunches seemed shrunken. Still he refused to slow down, determined to see the windmill completed before his twelfth birthday, when he could retire to the corner of the pasture set aside for aged animals. One summer evening, he collapsed while dragging stone. He lay between the cart shafts, unable to rise, blood trickling from his mouth. "It is my lung," he whispered to Clover. "It does not matter. I think you will be able to finish the windmill without me." Squealer arrived with news that Napoleon was sending Boxer to a veterinary hospital in town for treatment. Two days later, a van came to collect him. Benjamin, the cynical donkey who'd remained silent through all the farm's changes, suddenly galloped toward the other animals, braying frantically. He'd read the writing on the van's side: "Alfred Simmonds, Horse Slaughterer and Glue Boiler." They were taking Boxer to the knacker's. The animals ran after the van, crying out, and for a moment Boxer's face appeared at the window. They heard the drumming of his hoofs as he tried to kick his way out, but his strength had left him. The van disappeared down the road. Years passed. Most who remembered the Rebellion were dead. The farm was more prosperous, the windmill completed, but the animals' lives remained hard while the pigs grew indistinguishable from humans in their habits and privileges. One evening, the sheep—who'd been away for a week learning a new song—returned, and moments later the animals witnessed something that froze them in horror. Squealer emerged from the farmhouse walking on his hind legs, followed by a file of pigs doing the same. Finally came Napoleon himself, upright and majestic, carrying a whip. The sheep burst into their new chant: "Four legs good, two legs better!" When the shocked animals checked the barn wall where the Seven Commandments had been written, only one remained: "All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others." Soon after, neighboring farmers visited for a celebration. The animals crept to the farmhouse windows and watched pigs and humans sitting together, playing cards, indistinguishable in their behavior and interests. An argument erupted over the game, voices shouting in anger. The watching animals looked from pig to man, and from man to pig again, but it was impossible to say which was which. The transformation was complete—the revolutionaries had become the tyrants, and Major's dream had died not with a bang but with the quiet corruption of power.
Summary
This tale endures because it captures a pattern that repeats across history and human societies: the tragedy of revolutions that devour their own ideals. Through the simple lens of farm animals, it reveals how power corrupts with inexorable logic, how language becomes a tool of oppression, and how those who suffer most may be the least equipped to recognize their manipulation. The story's genius lies not in its allegory to specific historical events, but in its exposure of universal mechanisms—the way fear silences dissent, the way incremental changes escape notice until transformation is complete, the way noble slogans can mask ignoble actions. It reminds readers that equality is not a destination reached through revolution but a constant struggle requiring vigilance, that freedom demands not just the overthrow of tyrants but the rejection of tyranny in all its forms, including the tyranny of those who claim to speak for the oppressed. The final image of pigs and humans indistinguishable at the card table serves as an eternal warning: without constant watchfulness and the courage to question authority, any society risks repeating this cycle. The work's lasting power lies in its insistence that the price of liberty is not paid once but must be paid again and again, in small acts of resistance and large acts of conscience, by every generation that wishes to remain free.
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