A few years ago, I got what, for a writer of political fiction, is a dream job. I was invited by the estate of George Orwell to write a retelling of Nineteen Eighty-Four from the point of view of Julia, the lover of the protagonist, Winston Smith. The concept had been in the air for years, until its writing seemed inevitable; by asking a trusted person to do it, they hoped to nudge it in a direction that did justice to the original. They wouldn’t pay me, but after I’d finished and published the novel, they would give it their support and help it find its way in the world.
It was a huge compliment but also a daunting responsibility, and I was immediately engrossed in work: rereading Nineteen Eighty-Four, sketching plans and ideas, researching the political history that drove Orwell to write his book, drafting my first pages. My opening chapter – like Orwell’s – was the well-known scene of the Two Minutes Hate.
