A Clockwork Orange

After Alex is beaten and left by the dubious police officers, he wanders up the road to a cottage bearing the sign HOME. The irony is two-fold: First, Alex is homesick, having been not only rejected by his parents but also replaced by a new (and presumably better) pseudo-son. He laments, “Home, home, home, it was home I was wanting, and it was HOME I came to, brothers” (175). One way or another, he stumbles onto a home, though it will not be the comfort it initially appears to be. Second, this HOME turns out to be the residence of one of his former victims, whose wife died as a result of the physical and sexual assault conducted by Alex and his droogs two years earlier. Alex is curiously unconcerned with this coincidence—he knows he and his gang wore masks to conceal their identities—which also reveals his continuing lack of remorse. He will take this man’s hospitality without regret. The cure that has been offered to him is merely a superficial, chemically induced one.

The man, who Alex discovers is named F. Alexander, recognizes Alex from the stories in the news. He laments Alex’s fate: “‘Another victim,’ he said, like sighing. ‘A victim of the modern age’” (177). There is irony in the man’s declaration, for one could easily argue that F. Alexander is a real victim, while Alex is the victim of his violent instincts. When Alex tells his story to F. Alexander, he carefully manipulates the truth and downplays his culpability in the death of the “old ptitsa”: “There was no real harm meant. Unfortunately the lady strained her good old heart in trying to throw me out, though I was quite ready to go of my own accord, and then she died” (179). Again, Alex’s “cure” does nothing to change his fundamental self; he remains self-absorbed and self-serving.

F. Alexander’s comment, “victim of the modern age,” is repeated more than once. This reminds the reader that the Alexes of this dystopian present are not so much born as created. Alex is the product of a society that manifested and endured two World Wars in little more than 30 years; that tolerates, even encourages, glamorized violence in the media and theft; that incites its citizens to consume more and more goods to fill a moral void (see Themes, particularly Free Will as Essential to Humanity). In addition, the “State” or the “Government” lacks moral authority—what was sanctioned in Alex’s case is only one example—and has a vested interest in maintaining a monopoly of power. Indeed, Alex is again objectified (and victimized) by F. Alexander and his political dissenters. Instead of being used for the Government’s gain, he will be used for the Government’s fall. As F. Alexander puts it, “I think you can be used, poor boy. I think you can help dislodge this overbearing Government” (180).

F. Alexander’s friends go even further in their fervor over Alex’s symbolic value: “A martyr to the cause of Liberty,” one of them says. “You have your part to play and don’t forget it” (188). Implicitly threatening, these men dehumanize Alex—or compound the dehumanization that he already suffered at the hands of Dr. Brodsky. Through it all, Alex continually tries to assert his humanity, albeit in his signature self-aggrandizing and self-pitying. He yells at the men, “I’m not an idiot you can impose on, you stupid bratchnies. Ordinary prestoopnicks are stupid, but I’m not ordinary and nor am I dim” (189). Alex still has high regard for himself; the reader is both drawn in and put off by Alex’s defense. On the one hand, he makes a legitimate point that he should have control over his own destiny. On the other hand, he continually makes the case for his rarified status, never admitting, even to himself, that he has behaved like a common criminal. He still casts blame on everyone else for his troubles, and his self-pity stays intact until the very end. Before he jumps out the window, ostensibly to his death, he yells, “Goodbye, goodbye, may Bog forgive you for a ruined life” (193). He gives nary a thought to the lives he has ruined.

The jump and subsequent healing allow the authorities to fix their mistake, and the doctors at the hospital reverse Ludovico’s Technique. Alex is “cured” yet again, as the doctors themselves put it (201). When Alex is released from the hospital, the reader finds him right where they first met him: at the Korova Milkbar with a new set of droogs, asking the same question. “What’s it going to be then, eh?” (206). Not only is Alex engaging in the same kinds of violent, criminal activities, but he is dealing with the same power struggles—even though he is the oldest of the group, and even though he is infamous because of his experiences. He notes, wryly, “I got the idea sometimes that Bully had the thought in his gulliver that he would like to take over” (207). Later, he shows a deeper (and wearier) understanding of the human impulse: “Power power, everybody like wants power” (211). He has grown tired of the game, and he yearns for something more meaningful in his life. Now 18, Alex feels himself growing up. When the others order Scotch at the bar, Alex asks for “one small beer, right” (210). In this case, moderation is proof of maturation.

Running into Pete, who now has a wife, puts Alex in a deeply contemplative state of mind. He starts to think about his own future, how nice it would be to come “home from work to a good hot plate of dinner” and to hear the “gurgling goo goo goo [of] my son” (217). Out of nowhere, it seems, Alex has grown bored of his random acts of violence and feels an urge to settle down. It must be noted, however, that his daydreams are rife with outdated gender expectations: His wife stays at home, caring for their son and cooking dinner, which she then serves to him. In addition, his desire is not for a child but explicitly for a son: “My son, my son. When I had my son I would explain all that to him when he was starry enough to like understand” (217-18). He then goes on to suggest that, of course, his son would not actually understand; his son would commit all the same mistakes and get involved in the same violent and criminal acts. Alex sees the cycle continuing: “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” (218). This “boys will be boys” mentality serves to excuse Alex—and his imagined generations—his trespasses. He remains free of remorse to the bitter end. It is only youthful folly and exuberance that led him astray.

Finally, it must be noted that when A Clockwork Orange was originally published in America, the final chapter was excised. According to Burgess, the American publisher thought that the “twenty-first chapter was a sellout” (ix). It was “bland,” and American audiences would reject the premise that characters such as Alex could demonstrate “moral progress” (ix). Happily, for Burgess, subsequent editions beginning in the 1980s restored the final chapter. It has since ignited much debate. On the one hand, the final chapter allows for the possibility of moral progress and the capacity for change; it demonstrates the typical conclusion of the coming-of-age tale, as the narrator grows up. On the other hand, the final chapter is unconvincing as before these last few pages, Alex shows no signs of emotional maturity, intellectual growth, or spiritual understanding. One could argue that he remains stunted, ready now for someone else to take care of his needs besides his parents or the State.