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All that year the animals worked like slaves. But they were happy in their work; they grudged no effort or sacrifice, well aware that everything that they did was for the benefit of themselves and those of their kind who would come after them, and not for a pack of idle, thieving human beings. (6.1)
So far, it actually seems like the dream is going pretty well. Sure, in our utopia no one would have to work—but a utopia where no one worked would cease being a utopia pretty fast.
Years passed. The seasons came and went, the short animal lives fled by. A time came when there was no one who remembered the old days before the Rebellion, except Clover, Benjamin, Moses the raven, and a number of the pigs. (10.1)
Ouch. The subtext here is that the animals are now living the dream that their parents dreamed—but no one is around to realize how different the reality actually is. Well, no one who cares, anyway.
Only old Benjamin professed to remember every detail of his long life and to know that things never had been, nor ever could be much better or much worse-hunger, hardship, and disappointment being, so he said, the unalterable law of life. (10.6)
If it's true that things can't even be much better or worse, then why is Orwell even bothering to write Animal Farm? Does he agree with Benjamin? Or are we supposed to think that capitalism is still better than communism, no matter how bad it is? (This is where things get tricky.)