What also becomes clear in reading old reviews is that critics who are contemporaries of the author are likely to be caught up in ideological differences that seem important in the moment but may blind them to lasting quality. When V.S. Pritchett reviews 1984, for example, in 1949, it is clear that he has been reading Orwell for some time: He speaks of Orwell’s “faults as a writer – monotony, nagging, the lonely schoolboy shambling down the one dispiriting track,” and it seems that he’s referring to Orwell’s entire oeuvre. When he writes that Orwell “is like some dour Protestant or Jansenist who sees his faith corrupted by the ‘doublethink’ of the Roman Catholic Church” it’s clear that he’s talking about the social and political role that Orwell has been playing in British media at the time of writing; he is judging a personality rather than a book. It’s an interesting lesson for reviewers today, who also have a hard time separating celebrity from the works at hand.