Lord of the Flies

"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"

One of my all-time favorites! I read this again, as my daughter will be in a young adult play version of this, starting next week. It's so different to read it now, as a parent of a child who is about the same age as the older boys in here! It seems even more likely to me now, knowing who that age group is, and how some of them might react to being in a situation such as this! I can see Ralph, Piggy, Jack, Samneric, and the littluns in many of her friends and classmates today.

And I can see our political crisis in here too! Jack appeals to the same baser instincts that Trump and his cronies do. Fear over logic. Might over right. And, trying to excuse oneself for the actions one has show more participated in. I think a huge strength of this story lies in the last three pages. The shift of responsibility happens so fast in those paragraphs. From chiefs in a lethal power struggle to boys playing a game, just like that.

"... and Ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man's heart..."

I do too. show less

talk about reading a book at THE EXACT RIGHT MOMENT FOR IT TO FUCK UP YOUR LIFE FOREVER. but kinda in a good way. i read this in high school, because that's what you do ... you read this in high school. I also read it after high school. and recently i decided to make my english students read this book, which meant i got to read it again, and i got to prepare a bunch of questions about allegory, symbolism, macho bullshit, and BFF's, but i was struck more by how completely burned in my memory so many of the scenes are. i got to live the book and relive the book and teach the book.

i know it's sort of trite to give five stars to a what is considered a stone-cold classic, but i assure you that every time i read this i tremble with the show more feelings from previous readings, like residual pain, and then I get to experience a slew of new feelings on top of that. i think that's a sign of just a really good book. show less

I read Lord of the Flies for the first time in my 10th grade English class, and I remember liking it more than the usual assigned tedium, but I also remember the drowsy discussions on symbolism and theme that threatened to zap the life from Golding's novel.

This time around, I read it for fun. Ralph, Piggy, Jack and all the others are so awkwardly mid-20th century British that you can't help but want to be friends with them. Once the story gets going though, and the boys de-evolve into something timelessly primal, nearly everything all the way to the final moment is perfectly executed. The pacing, the character development, and that right amount of horrific violence that still causes me to shudder when I recall it—all of it is inspired.

I never read this in high-school; our 'existentialist' teacher taught the Eng Lit class and gave us Conrad and Lawrence instead. Never saw the movie(s) either, which is probably a good thing. I find two things about the whole discussion bizarre: first, that people are so obviously reacting to (what they think is) the philosophical impetus behind the novel, rather than the novel itself. I don't think humans are 'naturally' bad and will revert to hatred and slaughter if left to their own devices. On the other hand, Golding's book isn't exactly created from nothing: there are plenty of references in this one to older books that insist that everything would be lovely and charming on a distant island, and that people are 'naturally' good, show more and will naturally work hard to save themselves if they need saving, from Defoe to 'Coral Island.' This book makes more sense as one stage in a discussion than it does as a pronouncement from on high about Human Nature. I guess it's taught as that kind of a pronouncement in schools though.
Then, it doesn't take too much sense to notice that these boys are not 'natural' at all: they are highly socialized persons who are completely unprepared for what they have to deal with. Golding might have wanted to show the 'defect of human nature,' but since he's just as much a product of history as the rest of us he really shows the defect of his own society, which is also perhaps your own.
If you've been told this is the gospel of our times, you'll hate it. If you can't be bothered to read it on its own merits (rather than reading it as your eighth grade teacher told you to), there's no point, and you should just check the wikipedia entry. And if you just want another Hemingway-lite style writer, you won't like the prose. But that's not Golding's fault. It's yours: it's an allegory, not a novel, and there's no point judging it as if it was a work of realism. show less

Unlike large numbers of schoolchildren, I was never forced to read this book for class. But it's impossible not to know the story anyway, as it shows up in zillions of pop culture references, zillions of homages and parodies and works-inspired-by. Whether you've read it or not, you know what it's about, right? British schoolboys, stranded on a deserted island with no adults, slowly turn into murderous little barbarians, more or less. I always like to go back and visit the source material for these stories everybody knows, though. Often I get some interesting surprises.

So, I did finally get around to reading this, and I'm honestly not sure what to make of it. I have to say, I didn't always get along with the writing style, for reasons I show more can't entirely put my finger on. The fact that I often had trouble telling which character was speaking is probably part of it, but I don't think it's just that. I don't know... Sometimes it was oddly compelling, and sometimes it was mildly annoying, and I have no explanation for either response.

It is a powerfully symbolic book. The author has something very definite to say about human nature and the fragile veneer that is civilization. Just about everything plays into that, directly or metaphorically, and there's some pretty effective imagery behind it. On the other hand, I can't help but think that it's all a bit too symbolic. I mean, there are places where it's practically jumping up and down shouting, "Look at my symbolism! Look at it! Do you get the idea yet?" And while everything the kids do in the story is plausible enough, if you're in a cynical mood, they seldom felt to me quite like real, living, breathing kids. I always felt a certain emotional distance from them, which is too bad. I can't help but think that the more real and visceral the events in this book might have felt, the more effectively disturbing they would have been.

I also don't fully agree with the novel's view of human nature. Yes, there's a lot of ugliness in human beings, and yes, I can imagine something like this happening, but thematically, it just all seems a little too simplistic. It's also pretty clearly informed by certain colonialist ideas about the nature of "civilization" and "savagery" that are problematic. "Savage" here means both "violent, selfish, irrational and amoral" and "one of those people who paint their faces, go half-naked, do tribal dances and chants, and have beliefs that look to us like superstition." The truth is, of course, that people in tribal societies are as capable of being prosocial as anybody, and this particular notion of savagery, which William Golding's own culture liked to congratulate itself on having long since overcome, is largely a myth, anyway. And the more I think about that, the less the whole thing works for me, however eloquently it might strive to make its point.

So. Whatever I was hoping for from this book, I don't think I quite got it. But I am glad to have finally read it, and it certainly did get me thinking a bit. show less

Gosh, this is even bleaker than my hazy memories remember! Is this the message we want to impart to all GCSE children out of all the books in the world?

In the unlikely event that there are people left out there who don't know the plot, this is the story of a posse of school children who are stranded on a tropical island, after their plane crashes when they are being evacuated (there is a hazy WWIII theme going on in the background).

Despite some initial good will the boys soon schism - Ralph, the athletic upstanding son of a navel officer and all around Hero representing civilisation and keeping the fire going in the hope of rescue, and Jack representing savagery and hunting and the barbaric darkness in the heart of man if civilisation show more should ever falter.

The book powers on and is unputdownable. Despite the characters being cyphers to tell the story, you still find yourself feeling for them. Poor Simon, with his deep intuitive understanding, too terrified to speak. Piggy, with his weight and his asthma and his spectacles, being the main force for educated reason, but also mocked by all.

Like many books of its time, the most interesting characters are killed to help the Hero have his story arc. Yes, I'm pleased that brave Ralph makes it out alive, but the fat ones and the weak ones are foils to show the evilness of humanity and add terror to Ralph's story.

It is of course, deeply racist. The drawing of the loss of civilisation is deeply entwined with images of n*ggers, island savages, face paint and hunting with spears. As though civilisation and reason and caring for the weak are a White Mans prerogative, and all island people were savage reasonless hunters.

I found myself more inclined to read it as a christian allegory this time. The fire must be kept burning, because our eyes must be on Rescue from the Island, not on indulging our base desires for meat and hunting.

And I know the point is to set up a false dichotomy to tell a morality tale about the darkness of the human condition, but really, you can't help but think there is a huge excluded middle if you face onto it as a story, not an analogy. Ralph is sensible to want to build a fire, but there is some chance all other humans have been wiped out, and Jack is right that hunting has a place in survival as well.

It definitely felt like it had been written by someone well versed in office politics. The slow sliding away, the slights, the factions, the half-had arguments with no resolution that turn into bitter burning hatred...

Anyway, I definitely see why it is a classic, and it is an unputdownable and moving read. But wow, it's dark! show less

The conch shell never stood a chance.

I first read this book in high school, trapped in a classroom with fluorescent lights and the smell of chalk dust. I hated it. The boys were cruel, the ending felt cheap, and I was convinced Golding had never met an actual child.

I reread it last week, fifteen years later, and now I cannot stop thinking about it. That is the mark of a book that earned its place.

What it is:

A plane crashes on a deserted island. The only survivors are a group of British schoolboys, ages roughly six to twelve. No adults. No rules. At first, they celebrate: no parents, no homework, no bedtime. They elect a leader (Ralph), establish a signal fire, and use a conch shell to govern who gets to speak. But another boy, Jack, show more wants to hunt. Not for survival, for the thrill of the kill. Slowly, the veneer of civilization peels away. The conch shatters. The fire dies. And by the final chapter, the island is burning and the boys are hunting Ralph like an animal.

The brilliance (and why it haunted me):

1. The descent is gradual and terrifying. Golding does not turn the boys into monsters overnight. They start as recognizable children: scared, bored, eager to please. Piggy is the rational one, mocked for his weight and his glasses. Simon is the quiet, mystical one, who sees the truth and is killed for it. Jack is the charismatic bully who promises meat and freedom. The horror is not that they become evil. The horror is how natural it feels. One small compromise. Then another. Then you are painting your face and sharpening a stick on both ends.

2. The symbolism is heavy but earned. The conch is democracy. Piggy's glasses are reason and technology. The beast is the darkness inside each of them. Some readers find this too obvious. But Golding was writing in the shadow of World War II, the Holocaust, and Hiroshima. He was not trying to be subtle. He was trying to warn us.

3. The prose is lean and muscular. Golding writes with a journalist's clarity and a poet's ear for rhythm. Descriptions of the island: the pink granite, the platform, the creepers are vivid without being decorative. The dialogue sounds like real children, which makes their cruelty even more unsettling.

4. The ending is controversial, and that is the point. A naval officer arrives, sees the burning island and the painted savages, and says: "I should have thought that a pack of British boys... would have been able to put up a better show than that." He is relieved to have saved them. He does not realize he is looking into a mirror. The adult world, after all, had just finished dropping atomic bombs.

Where it stumbles (and why I cannot give it five stars):

1. The characterization is uneven. Ralph and Jack are fully realized. Piggy is memorable but almost a caricature (the fat, asthmatic intellectual who is always right and always ignored). Simon is barely a character at all; he exists mostly as a Christ figure who sees the truth and is sacrificed. The "littluns" are a nameless, faceless mob. Golding is more interested in the group than the individuals, which is fine, but it left me wanting more from the supporting cast.

2. The middle drags. The novel is short (about 200 pages), but there is a stretch where the conflict between Ralph and Jack becomes repetitive: Ralph calls a meeting, Jack defies him, the signal fire goes out, rinse, repeat. The momentum stalls until Simon's death.

3. The treatment of the "beast" is muddled. The dead parachutist is a brilliant image, but the transition from "external monster" to "internal darkness" is abrupt. The scene where Simon confronts the Lord of the Flies (the pig's head on a stick) is iconic, but it also feels like Golding explaining his thesis rather than trusting the reader to find it.

4. The lack of girls is not a flaw, but it is worth noting. Golding was writing about a specific kind of male socialization. The book is not universal, and that is fine. But modern readers (especially young women) may feel the absence keenly.

Who should read this:

Anyone who wants to understand why "civilization is a thin veneer" is a cliché that refuses to die.
Students of psychology, political science, and ethics.
Readers who appreciate allegory over realism.
People who want to be disturbed, not entertained.

Who should skip it:

If you need sympathetic characters to root for (there are none).
If heavy-handed symbolism frustrates you.
If you prefer your darkness with a side of hope (there is none).

Final verdict:

Lord of the Flies is not a pleasant book. It is not a subtle book. It is a necessary book; a cold shower of a novel that forces you to look at what happens when the structures of authority vanish and the only thing left is the naked human animal. Golding wrote it as a rebuttal to The Coral Island, a Victorian adventure novel where British boys on an island remain noble and Christian. He wanted to say: That is a lie. This is the truth.

I still do not like this book. But I respect it more than most novels I love. Four stars, because it is flawed and repetitive and occasionally preachy.

The conch shell is broken. Piggy's glasses are ground into sand. And the officer who rescues the boys turns his ship away from the burning island, never understanding that he is looking at his own reflection. show less