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The Graduate Review The Graduate Review
Volume 10
Volume X
Article 10
November 2025
An “Other” Tongue: Nadsat as Anti-language in A Clockwork An “Other” Tongue: Nadsat as Anti-language in A Clockwork
Orange Orange
Ian Hugo
Southern Connecticut State University
Follow this and additional works at: https://vc.bridgew.edu/grad_rev
Part of the Anthropological Linguistics and Sociolinguistics Commons, Discourse and Text Linguistics
Commons, Linguistic Anthropology Commons, Literature in English, British Isles Commons, Modern
Literature Commons, Other Linguistics Commons, and the Reading and Language Commons
Recommended Citation Recommended Citation
Hugo, Ian (2025) An “Other” Tongue: Nadsat as Anti-language in A Clockwork Orange.
The Graduate
Review
, 10.
Available at: https://vc.bridgew.edu/grad_rev/vol10/iss1/10
This item is available as part of Virtual Commons, the open-access institutional repository of Bridgewater State
University, Bridgewater, Massachusetts.
Copyright © November 2025 Ian Hugo
1
Ian Hugo
Professor Andrew Smyth
Southern Connecticut State University
August 2025
An “Other” Tongue: Nadsat as Anti-language in A Clockwork Orange
“What’s it going to be then, eh?” So begins Anthony Burgess’s 1962 novella A
Clockwork Orange. It is the story of Alex, teenage leader of a gang of “droogs” in a dystopian
near-future, and the struggles he faces when society forces him to conform to its ways. Burgess’s
novella is notable for many reasons (its frank treatment of violence sparked outrage upon
publication, which only grew with Stanley Kubrick’s 1971 film adaptation), but perhaps none
more so than its use of “Nadsat,” a constructed language (or “conlang”) spoken by Alex and his
“droogs.” The Oxford English Dictionary defines a “constructed language” as “[a]n artificially
invented or created language as opposed to one which has evolved naturally,” notable examples
of conlangs including Tolkien’s Quenya and George R.R. Martin’s High Valyrian. “Nadsat” is a
Russian-influenced conlang, but rather than simply creating it to provide some extra “flavor” for
his story, it serves an important, functional purpose in A Clockwork Orange: in the text, Nadsat
exists as an anti-language that excludes those who do not speak it, obfuscates the violence that
occurs (violence which is predominantly Alex’s doing), and later “brainwashes” the reader,
making them complicit in Alex’s misdeeds. Language is a tool, and Alex wields Nadsat just as
expertly as he does a “nozh” (knife) or a “shlaga” (bat).
It is widely acknowledged that Nadsat is an “anti-language,” as evidenced by the work of
scholars such as Benet Vincent and Jim Clarke, Roger Fowler, and Joy McEntee. But for readers
unfamiliar with the concept, this term might be just as unintelligible as the manner of speech it
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describes. To begin to make sense of Alex’s strange way of speaking, one must turn to linguist
M.A.K. Halliday’s concept of “anti-language,” which this paper is largely indebted to. Using
Halliday’s work as a baseline, I intend to illustrate how Nadsat adheres to Halliday’s concepts of
“anti-language” and “anti-society,” drawing on the work of Fowler and Julie Carson to discuss
its peculiar literary quality. I aim to demonstrate how Nadsat serves to obfuscate the action of the
text, using Kristen Lucas and Jeremy P. Fyke’s discussion of euphemism as “ethical bleach” to
inform my own observations of how Nadsat functions as euphemism, as well as how it
“brainwashes” readers of the novella through its language. This latter idea builds upon the work
of McEntee as well as Clarke and Vincent, however I hope to expand the notion of
“brainwashing” beyond simply the text’s linguistic programming and into the realm of its
narrator’s antisocial world-view.
M.A.K. Halliday coined the term “anti-language” in 1976 to describe the functioning of
an “anti-society.” For Halliday, an “anti-society” is “a society that is set up within another
society as a conscious alternative to it. It is a mode of resistance, resistance which may take the
form either of passive symbiosis or of active hostility and even destruction” (570). Anti-
languages are generated by anti-societies, and they function as “typical” languages do in
“typical” societies: “Either pair, a society and its language or an anti-society and its (anti-)
language, is, equally, an instance of the prevailing sociolinguistic order” (Halliday 570). Anti-
societies represent a lifestyle free from wider society’s conventions, which can be seen in Alex
and his droogs’ use of Nadsat in A Clockwork Orange (abbreviated as ACO from here on). In
stark opposition to the “traditional,” law-abiding mores of his parents and the adult world, Alex
and Nadsat (its name stemming from the Russian suffix -nadsat, which is more or less equivalent
to the English -teen) offer a violent, transgressive lifestyle that indulges in the worst of
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humanity’s urges (violence, rape, theft, etc.) and is actively hostile to its counterpart. Its
counterpart, its dominant society, is a nameless, totalitarian nation-state bent on controlling all
aspects of life (like Orwell’s Oceania in 1984, but more actively insidious). Its streets are rife
with crime and violence, doled out both by delinquent teens like Alex and the powers that be to
allegedly “keep the peace.” Not even households are safe: home invasions seem to be a fairly
regular occurrence, with assault and rape among their principal activities. People live in fear, but
not Alex. Why? Because Alex is who people fear, and he serves as the poster child for the
violence and selfishness of youth. By doing things his way, regardless of what other people
think, want, or feel, Alex creates his world, his anti-society, in his image.
Anti-societies shun societal norms and create their own “realities,” something observed
by sociologist Adam Podgórecki when studying the “second life” anti-society of Polish prisoners
in the late-1960s and early 1970s:
The ‘second life’ is a reconstruction of the individual and society. It provides an
alternative social structure, with its systems of values, of sanctions, of rewards and
punishment and this becomes the source of an alternative identity for its members,
through the patterns of acceptance and gratification. In other words, the ‘second life’ is an
alternative reality. (qtd. in Halliday 573)
But it is not enough to simply create an alternative reality; that alternative reality must then be
maintained, and the only way it can be maintained is through conversation. Sociologists Peter
Berger and Thomas Luckmann discuss this idea at length in their book The Social Construction
of Reality: “The most important vehicle of reality-maintenance is conversation. One may view
the individual's everyday life in terms of the working away of a conversational apparatus that
ongoingly maintains, modifies and reconstructs his subjective reality. Conversation means
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mainly, of course, that people speak with one another” (172). To continue living in this
alternative reality of Nadsat and “ultra-violence,” Alex must continue to speak Nadsat, whether it
is in conversation with his droogs or by “speaking” to the reader through his narration. If he does
not, his personal reality will collapse and he will be subsumed by the dominant society he
attempts to rebel against: the reality of adulthood, his parents, and, ultimately, his
“brainwashers.”
With this in mind, it becomes clear that there exists an inherent tension between society
and anti-society, between “reality” and “anti-reality.” This can be seen on levels both textual and
linguistic in ACO: the novella’s plot is concerned with traditional society attempting to snuff out
the criminal element in Alex, while Nadsat linguistically jostles for space with the traditional
English vernacular. Take the following passage, in which Alex’s doctors briefly discuss Nadsat
during a “treatment” session, the goal of which is to condition Alex to become sick at the sight or
thought of violence:
“You’re making me feel ill. I’m ill when I look at those filthy pervert films of yours. But
it’s not really the films that’s doing it. But I feel that if you’ll stop these films I’ll stop
feeling ill.” “Right,” said Dr. Brodsky. “It’s association, the oldest educational method in
the world. And what really causes you to feel ill?” “These grahzny sodding veshches that
come out of my gulliver and my plott,” I said, “that's what it is.” “Quaint,” said Dr.
Brodsky, like smiling, “the dialect of the tribe. Do you know anything of its provenance,
Branom?” “Odd bits of old rhyming slang,” said Dr. Branom, who did not look quite so
much like a friend any more. “A bit of gipsy talk, too. But most of the roots are Slav.
Propaganda. Subliminal penetration.” “All right, all right, all right,” said Dr. Brodsky,
like impatient and not interested any more. (129)
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In this passage we can see the tension that exists between Nadsat and standard English, and by
extension between anti-society and society. Alex is suffering and in great pain, both physically
and mentally. This is the kind of situation where an individual’s Fight or Flight response might
kick in, triggering the individual to either stay and “fight” the stressor or resort to “flight” and try
to escape it.
There are also two other responses that fall under the Fight or Flight umbrella, which are
Freeze and Fawn. Fawn would appear to be the best option for Alex, which is when “an
individual attempts to appease or reconcile the threat in order to avoid harm. This can involve
people-pleasing behaviors, submission or attempting to gain favor with the source of danger”
(“What Happens”). Alex could use language to beg his doctors for respite; in fact he does, but he
uses the “wrong” language. He uses Nadsat to to make his plea, choosing not to code-switch into
standard English, which he is perfectly capable of doing: he puts on “a very refined manner of
speech” when trying to gain entry into strangers’ homes, “a real gentleman's goloss,” as he calls
it (Burgess 23). And this works: he succeeds in his charade, free to barge in and do the “ultra-
violent” as he pleases. So Alex knows that code-switching works, and it likely would work here:
the point of this therapy, the “Ludovico technique,” is to force Alex to conform, and by speaking
“their language,” Alex would show Drs. Branom and Brodsky that he has taken one step closer
to being “cured.” But, in true anti-language and anti-society fashion, Alex resists. This scene
shows that Alex does not want to be understood by the doctors and what they represent (the
dominant society that is attempting to subjugate him); if he did, he would code-switch to
minimize his pain and “get what he wants.” But this would be betraying himself: if Alex no
longer speaks Nadsat, is he really Alex?
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In his book 1985, a tribute and companion piece to George Orwell’s 1984, Burgess
offered the following explanation for Alex’s name, which ties into this idea of Alex’s identity:
“The name of the antihero is Alex, short for Alexander, which means ‘defender of men.’ Alex
has other connotations—a lex: a law unto himself); a lexis): a vocabulary (of his own); a (Greek)
lex: without a law. [...] Alex is a rich and noble name, and I intended its possessor to be
sympathetic, pitiable, and insidiously identifiable with us, as opposed to them” (95). Alex’s
“law” is lawlessness, and his language (Nadsat) facilitates this lawlessness. Nadsat is a language
of violence, and it is also a language entirely his own; no one had ever “heard” Nadsat before
Alex spoke it, making it his language. If he does not speak his language, he is not upholding his
“law” of lawlessness and rebellion, and if he is not upholding his “law,” he is not being true to
himself. Alex is true to himself, however, and in doing so he communicates (albeit in a
roundabout way) the fact that he does not want to be understood by the likes of Drs. Branom and
Brodsky and the adults of his world. And the feeling is mutual, which can be seen in the doctors’
reaction to Alex’s peculiar way of speech: Nadsat is recognized and then quickly dismissed by
speakers of “typical” language, evidenced by the fact that Dr. Branom no longer appears friendly
and Dr. Brodsky disregards his colleague’s explanation almost immediately.
The kind of dialect discrimination practiced by Alex’s doctors is unfortunately something
that many experience in their daily lives in the real world, albeit in different forms. Speakers of
AAVE (African-American Vernacular English) and other dialects have long faced discrimination
by non-speakers, something observed by Erin Bell; dialects are “often characterized as inferior to
dominant languages and speakers and writers may be made to feel inferior based on their use of a
non-standard dialect” (Bell). While there are obvious differences between systemic dialect
discrimination in our world and that of Alex’s brainwashing doctors in ACO, the core of the
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issue remains the same: Branom and Brodsky believe Alex to be inferior, a malcontent who
“ha[s] to be cured,” in large part due to the Nadsat that defines who he is (Burgess 121). So
while it may appear that Alex’s Nadsat outburst here is “one-sided” in contrast to the fairly level-
headed speech of the doctors, a willful child lashing out at adults who simply have his best
interests in mind, this is certainly not the case: in this scene Alex is undergoing what is
essentially a state-sanctioned “treatment” to eliminate his ability to do evil, thereby stripping him
of his free will (which follows the novella’s overarching theme). Though it may seem that Alex
is primarily the aggressor in the book (and indeed he often is), he is not always the aggressor;
this scene in particular shows the reciprocal tension between “society” and “anti-society” in
ACO.
So how is Nadsat—and by extension, anti-language in general—meant to fight back? By
“renewing” itself. By continually reasserting its subjective reality, “...the speakers of an anti-
language are constantly striving to maintain a counter-reality that is under pressure from the
established world” writes Halliday. “This is why the language is constantly renewing itself—to
sustain the vitality that it needs if it is to function at all” (582). In order to “fight back” against
society, Nadsat must come up with “new” language; if it does not, it will cease to resist and,
therefore, cease to exist. This renewal occurs through the processes of “relexicalization” and
“overlexicalization,” both of which are concepts coined by Halliday. Relexicalization involves
the utilization of new words for old concepts (i.e. something that already has a word in the
dominant language of society), which can be seen in the typical parlance of Nadsat: “chelloveck”
for “man,” “cheena” for “woman,” “malchick” for “boy,” etc. Halliday writes that this
relexicalization is partial, not total, and particularly focused around the anti-society’s
preoccupations: “The principle is that of same grammar, different vocabulary; but different
8
vocabulary only in certain areas, typically those that are central to the activities of the subculture
and that set it off most sharply from the established society” (571). This is why we see multiple
Nadsat words for things like money (“cutter,” “deng,” “golly,” “polly,” “pretty polly”), acts of
violence (“tolchock,” “vred,” “fist,” “crack,” “punchipunching,” “razrez,” and the umbrella term
“ultra-violence”), and police (“millicent,” “rozz,” “bruiseboys”), because these are all things that
figure prominently in the Nadsat anti-society.
The “overlexicalization” of anti-language is twofold, and this certainly applies to Nadsat.
First, it appears in manner of speech: the speaking of an anti-language is often performative and
over-the-top, giving it a sense of “flair” that goes beyond using words to simply communicate
meaning. When Alex asks F. Alexander and his political cronies “What goes on, bratties? What
dost thou in mind for thy little droog have?,” we see the overlexicalization of Nadsat at play,
both in what Alex says and how he says it (182). Rather than simply saying something like
“What’s going on? What do you have in mind for me?,” Alex deliberately phrases his question in
a way that bucks contemporary cultural and syntactical norms, thus setting him apart from his
addressees and what they represent— in this case, the dominant society Alex is rebelling against
and its dominant language. This kind of language hearkens back to another time, to the era of
Shakespeare and Elizabethan theater, which brings up Roger Fowler’s main criticism of ACO’s
anti-language process: that it is “phoney.” Fowler argues that Alex’s language, through its
elaborate syntax and wordplay, is “absorbed in a context which transforms [Alex’s words] from
deviations to poeticisms: the context is no longer that of urban delinquency and violence, but one
of high literariness, […] If Burgess is trying to argue the authenticity of the values of the anti-
society, he does so by assimilating the anti-language to an extreme form of the high language,
the language of literary modernism” (270).
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So while Alex’s overlexicalization in this conversation sets him apart from his
immediate, textual audience (F. Alexander’s friends, who speak “normally” and are planning to
use Alex to affect societal change in the modern/dystopian here and now), it brings him closer to
his desired, metatextual audience, which is the middle-class, book-reading public. This is who
Alex is “telling” his story to through his narration, and it is their sympathy that Alex so
desperately appeals to (which will later be examined in more detail). By using words like “thou”
and “dost,” Alex accomplishes two things: first, he distinguishes himself from the run-of-the-mill
juvenile delinquents that readers are likely familiar with, whether from evening news reports or
the streetcorners in their town. Second, Alex demonstrates to this readership that he may have
more in common with them than they might have initially believed, because despite his violent,
antisocial tendencies, there is a refined thread running through him: Alex frequently speaks like a
Shakespeare character or a Modernist poet; he enjoys the works of Beethoven and Bach; he has
read the Bible and knows the story of Christ. As Fowler writes, “Alex's language characterizes
him as an anti-social deviant, a violent thug, but one who possesses the faculties of
discrimination and evaluation usually assumed to be the prerogative of the middle-class
intelligentsia” (270). It is these faculties that Alex wants his audience to respond to, even if they
might be able to relate more to F. Alexander and his friends than Your Humble Narrator Alex—
in fact, D.B. da Silva responds to Alex’s overlexicalized questions without skipping a beat,
explaining how they are going to use him to help their cause. Just as in the case of similarities
between Alex and his readership, this exchange suggests that Alex might have more in common
with the adults of the educated middle class than he cares to admit.
The other aspect of this exchange ties into Nadsat’s “high literariness” and illustrates how
this characteristic influences the power dynamics of its anti-society. When Alex speaks to F.
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