I expect to be re-reading books more often in the years to come. So many that I’ve read seem distant and vague now, probably because I encountered them before I had gotten enough reading practice. If I haven’t explained it yet, I was a late-blooming reader. I never saw the point when I was younger… or maybe I was just too busy playing Nintendo. Either way, I didn’t retain much from books I read in school — even the ones I enjoyed — or the first few I read on my own volition.
Earlier this year I re-read and wrote about The Great Gatsby. Then this summer I cracked open my copy of Lord of the Flies. I can’t remember exactly how old I was when I first read the book (it seems like it was ninth grade). And I didn’t remember every major plot development in the story. What I do know is that it was the first book to affect me profoundly. The Call of the Wild came close, but it didn’t reach the same level of real-life application.
One of the things I didn’t recall was how much I related to the character of Ralph. Of course, I may be relating to Ralph more as a 26-year-old than I did as a 15-year-old. I’ve been through so much more in the past decade than I had experienced in adolescence. Perhaps that’s why teachers yap and yap about symbolism in books like LOTF; it’s a short-cut way to explain the story in comfortable terms.
I think it’s funny how the textbook symbolism nonsense often gets carried on longer than other important elements of the story. Before this re-read, I glanced at user comments on Amazon.com. One person stated frankly, as if it were an undeniable fact, exactly what Ralph, Jack, Piggy, Roger and Simon “stood for.” The comment author was implying that these were cardboard cutouts inserted for only one specific purpose. I wasn’t convinced in high school, and I’m not convinced now. But then again, I never accepted the lazy ways of most English teachers. What’s the point of teaching symbolism if you don’t acknowledge each and every time that there isn’t just one explanation — that there is no right answer?
I also hated when teachers would suggest that every word in a book was there because the author wanted it there. They’d argue that every phrase and passage must have a specific purpose or the author would have omitted it. That’s bullshit. Or at least, if it’s true, then none of those books are literature or art; they’re textbooks.
But as I was saying, I don’t think the main characters can be adequately explained with a single interpretation — though they do have their obvious traits. Ralph is a benevolent, intelligent leader devoted to goodwill and progress, while Jack is a violent, disturbed leader fueled by insecurity and anger. Piggy is the brainy problem solver who provides fire with his glasses despite constant rejection from the other boys. Roger is a sadistic creature who waits until Jack leads a tribe to unleash his fury. Simon is the mystic, the schizomaniac, the visionary, and who prefers solitude to the creeping madness of the tribe.
I acknowledge that Simon is the most interesting character in the book, but he’s also the most complicated. He’s the only one who can see past reason and logic and fear and anxiety, and get a sense of the bigger picture of life. He’s also the only one willing to climb up the mountain and examine the so-called “beast,” instead of going to war over frail beliefs. Simon tries to save the boys from themselves by offering the truth, and for that the mob destroys him (sound like a Bill Hicks segment?).
Here one is tempted to refer to him as a “Christ figure” who seeks to awaken the crowd to the truth around them and who is then crucified for it. I’m not sure if that’s appropriate. Maybe this kind of 20th Century literature was pointing towards the necessity for a new kind of leader, a post-Christian spiritual guide. But any attempt to describe such a leader in common terms only alludes to trite stereotypes of the past (although that could just mean that my theory is far from complete).
Obviously the concepts of leadership and governance were at the front of Golding’s mind during the writing process. “Everybody wants to rule the world,” as Tears for Fears sang over ’80s synth pop. But there are endless ways that people go about exerting their influence on the world, and endless aims that they hope to achieve through that influence. Aside from Simon’s story, another mysterious element of the book is Ralph and Jack’s development into arch-enemies. It brings to mind all the “fevered egos” (to reference Bill Hicks again) that run our world today. Most of those egos are trying to make money, regardless of what other goals they may purport. Greed isn’t much of a factor on the island, so the two oppositional goals take shape as (1, Ralph’s) keeping the fire lit in order to be rescued and (2, Jack’s) having fun, hunting pigs, wearing tribal paint, and generally acting like savages.
Somehow this brings to mind the American Civil War. It seems that, in addition to the more discussed abolition of slavery, part of Lincoln’s high regard arose from his determination to hold the states together. He thereby guaranteed that those two very different cultures and often conflicting forces would have to live with one another. So are we ultimately better off because of that… or might the United States have been better split into two separate countries? (Try to answer that question without considering your fondness of Florida’s beaches.) The older I get, the less tolerant I am of the conservative American mindset. And yet, it will always be there, no matter how I feel about it — and (of course) regardless of geography.
It’s clear that Ralph didn’t benefit from having to tolerate Jack’s psychotic tendencies, but Ralph didn’t necessarily have the best plan for island life either. As I was saying before, I relate to Ralph in a very unique way. I had an experience like his while acting as president of Spartan Ski Club at Michigan State University. I wanted to lead the group to progress through logical reasoning, but always felt that some of theme resented me for it. My reasoning was simple: stay organized and do the hard work in advance so that events are more fun for everyone. Their reasoning was more like, “We do this for fun. This isn’t a job. I don’t care about your rules. I do what I want! Let’s get drunk!” We even had a talking stick at our meetings, like the conch! So club leaders were left with the choice of being alienated (an maybe punished) or abandoning the quest and joining the savages. Naturally there’s not much room for Simon’s enlightenment or spiritual awakening in a ski club, but you get the point.
I also related unexpectedly to the afterword by E.L. Epstein, in which he wrote: “Conrad was appalled by this ‘heart of darkness,” and existentialists find in the denial of this freedom the source of perversion of all human values. Indeed one could, if one were so minded, go through the entire canon of modern literature, philosophy, and psychology and find this great basic drive defined as underlying the most fundamental conclusions of modern thought” (p. 206).
Upon reading this I thought, “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing!” And, appropriately, Lord of the Flies was one of the first creative works to propel me down this winding path. I still haven’t gotten to the level that Simon had reached, but I intend to keep the fire lit… or keep hunting… or keep gazing at a rotting pig head on a stick — or maybe all three.
