William Golding

Lord of the Flies

William Golding was born in 1911. He became famous after having written and published "Lord of the Flies” in 1954. Being thought to be a misanthrope and pessimist he wrote his novels in the spirit of existentialism. The literary works of Golding centre on the problems of moral degradation. The novelist put his characters into extraordinary circumstances making them reveal their true nature. The writer investigates the inner world of people in an objective and indifferent way.

His novel "Lord of the Flies” is about children who are quite civilised, nice and harmless at home. However when the fate had put them on an isolated island some of them became savages hardly controlling their actions.

 

 

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The bushes crashed ahead of them. Boys flung themselves wildly from the pig track and scrabbled in the creepers, screaming. Ralph saw Jack nudged aside and fall. Then there was a creature bounding along the pig track towards him, with tusks gleaming and an intimidating grunt. Ralph found he was able to measure the distance coldly and take aim. With the boar only five yards away, he flung the foolish wooden stick that he carried, saw it hit the great snout and hang there for a moment. The boar's note changed to a squeal and it swerved aside into the covert. The pig-run filled with shouting boys again, Jack came running back, and poked about in the under­growth.

"Through here —"

"But he'd do us !"

"Through here, I said —"

The boar was floundering away from them. They found another pig-run parallel to the first and Jack raced away. Ralph was full of fright and apprehension and pride.

"I hit him! The spear stuck in —"

Now they came, unexpectedly, to an open space by the sea.

Jack cast about on the bare rock and looked anxious.

"He's gone."

"I hit him," said Ralph again, "and the spear stuck in a bit."  He felt the need of witnesses.

"Didn't you see me?"

 Maurice nodded.

"I saw you. Right bang on his snout —Wheee!"

Ralph talked on, excitedly.

"I   hit   him   all   right. The spear stuck in. I wounded him! "

He sunned himself in their new respect and felt that hunting was good after all.

"I walloped him properly. That was the beast, I think!"

Jack came back.

"That wasn't the beast. That was a boar."

"I hit him."

"Why didn't you grab him? I tried −− "

Ralph's voice ran up.

"But a boar!"

Jack flushed suddenly.

"You said he'd do us. What did you want to throw for? Why didn't you wait?"

He held out his arm.

"Look."

He turned his left forearm for them all to see. On the outside was a rip; not much, but bloody.

"He did that with his tusks. I couldn't get my spear down in time. "

Attention focused on Jack.

"That's a wound, said Simon, "and you ought to suck it. Like Berengaria."

Jack sucked.

"I hit him," said Ralph indignantly. "I hit him with my spear, I wounded him."

He tried for their attention.

"He was coming along the path. I threw, like this — "

Robert snarled at him, Ralph entered into the play and everybody laughed. Presently they were all jabbing at Robert who made mock rushes.

Jack shouted.

"Make a ring!"

The circle moved in and round. Robert squealed in mock terror, then in real pain.

"Ow! Stop it! You're hurting!"

The butt end of a spear fell on his back as he blundered among them.

"Hold him!"

They got his arms and legs. Ralph, carried away by a sudden thick excitement, grabbed Eric's spear and jabbed at Robert with it.

"Kill him! Kill him!"

All at once, Robert was screaming and struggling with the strength of frenzy. Jack had him by the hair and was brandish­ing his knife. Behind him was Roger, fighting to get close. The chant rose ritually, as at the last moment of a dance or a hunt.

"Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Kill the pig! Bash him in!"

Ralph too was fighting to get near, to get a handful of that brown, vulnerable flesh. The desire to squeeze and hurt was over-mastering.

Jack's arm came down; the heaving circle cheered and made pig-dying noises. Then they lay quiet, panting, listening to Robert's frightened snivels. He wiped his face with a dirty arm, and made an effort to retrieve his status.

"Oh, my bum!"

He rubbed his rump ruefully, Jack rolled over.

"That was a good game,"

"Just a game," said Ralph uneasily. "I got jolly badly hurt at rugger once."

"We ought to have a drum," said Maurice, "then we could do it properly."

Ralph looked at him.

"How properly?"

"I dunno. You want a fire, I think, and a drum, and you keep time to the drum."

"You want a pig." said Roger, "like in a real hunt."

"Or someone to pretend," said Jack. "You could get someone to dress up as a pig and then he could act—you know, pretend to knock me over and all that— "

"You want a real pig," said Robert, still caressing his rump, "because you've got to kill him."

    "Use a littlun," said Jack, and everybody laughed.

 

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