Until this past week, I'd never even opened a copy of Lord of the Flies. Cue gasping. So many people give the, 'Oh my God didn't you even read it in school?' speech. No, I didn't. But there's always such a buzz (if you'll excuse the pun) around this book. I didn't read it ten years ago, so why not read it now?Why not?
My experience reading this would have been far better if I was an eleven year old boy. If I have a son one day, I will happily give him a copy to read. Maybe a bunch of young boys washed up on an island doesn't ping me, but I expected that. Lord of the Flies, I was lead to believe, wasn't just about the story.
Only it was. It was nice and all, and a cosy cute thing to read while I'm on the mend. But...Nobel Prize for Literature? I actually don't get it. Not that the book was bad, it just didn't...do anything. I felt like and sympathy for only one of the boys, and really couldn't have cared less about the others. And the writing? A couple of nice phrases here and there but no b
That, and I haven't even heard of any of the other books Golding has written. Hrm. So, maybe the Nobel Prize for Literature isn't such a fun deal? Maybe it really just means, 'Cheers mate, that was a pretty decent book and we can teach it to kids at school and talk about themes and discuss whether or not they had guessed that very mediocre ending.'Yeah, so it was okay and stuff but...underwhelmed.
[Had much more fun looking at artwork and pictures!]










