—From Lord of the Flies(Chapter 8)
William Golding
The silence accepted the gift and awed them.The head remained there, dim-eyed, grinning faintly, blood blackening between the teeth.All at once they were running away, as fast as they could, through the forest toward the open beach.
Simon stayed where he was, a small brown image, concealed by the leaves.Even if he shut his eyes the sow’s head still remained like an after-image.The half-shut eyes were dim with the infinite cynicism of adult life.They assured Simon that everything was a bad business.
“I know that.”
Simon discovered that he had spoken aloud.He opened his eyes quickly and there was the head grinning amusedly in the strange daylight, ignoring the flies, the spilled guts, even ignoring the indignity of being spiked on a stick.
He looked away, licking his dry lips.
A gift for the beast.Might not the beast come for it? The head, he thought, appeared to agree with him.Run away, said the head silently, go back to the others.It was a joke really—why should you bother? You were just wrong, that’s all.A little headache, something you ate, perhaps.Go back, child, said the head silently.
Simon looked up, feeling the weight of his wet hair, and gazed at the sky.Up there, for once, were clouds, great bulging towers that sprouted away over the island, grey and cream and copper-colored.The clouds were sitting on the land; they squeezed, produced moment by moment this close, tormenting heat.Even the butterflies deserted the open space where the obscene thing grinned and dripped.Simon lowered his head, carefully keeping his eyes shut, then sheltered them with his hand.There were no shadows under the trees but everywhere a pearly stillness, so that what was real seemed illusive and without definition.The pile of guts was a black blob of flies that buzzed like a saw.After a while these flies found Simon.Gorged, they alighted by his runnels of sweat and drank.They tickled under his nostrils and played leapfrog on his thighs.They were black and iridescent green and without number; and in front of Simon, the Lord of the Flies hung on his stick and grinned.At last Simon gave up and looked back; saw the white teeth and dim eyes, the blood—and his gaze was held by that ancient, inescapable recognition.In Simon’s right temple, a pulse began to beat on the brain.
“You are a silly little boy,”said the Lord of the Flies, “just an ignorant, silly little boy.”
Simon moved his swollen tongue but said nothing.
“Don’t you agree?”said the Lord of the Flies.“Aren’t you just a silly little boy?”
Simon answered him in the same silent voice.
“Well then,”said the Lord of the Flies, “you’d better run off and play with the others.They think you’re batty.You don’t want Ralph to think you’re batty, do you? You like Ralph a lot, don’t you? And Piggy, and Jack?”
Simon’s head was tilted slightly up.His eyes could not break away and the Lord of the Flies hung in space before him.
“What are you doing out here all alone? Aren’t you afraid of me?”
Simon shook.
“There isn’t anyone to help you.Only me.And I’m the Beast.”
Simon’s mouth labored, brought forth audible words.
“Pig’s head on a stick.”
“Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt and kill!”said the head.For a moment or two the forest and all the other dimly appreciated places echoed with the parody of laughter.“You knew, didn’t you? I’m part of you? Close, close, close! I’m the reason why it’s no go? Why things are what they are?”
The laughter shivered again.
“Come now,”said the Lord of the Flies.“Get back to the others and we’ll forget the whole thing.”
Simon’s head wobbled.His eyes were half closed as though he were imitating the obscene thing on the stick.He knew that one of his times was coming on.The Lord of the Flies was expanding like a balloon.
“This is ridiculous.You know perfectly well you’ll only meet me down there—so don’t try to escape!”
Simon’s body was arched and stiff.The Lord of the Flies spoke in the voice of a schoolmaster.
“This has gone quite far enough.My poor, misguided child, do you think you know better than I do?”
There was a pause.
“I’m warning you.I’m going to get angry.D’you see? You’re not wanted.Understand? We are going to have fun on this island.Understand? We are going to have fun on this island! So don’t try it on, my poor misguided boy, or else—”
Simon found he was looking into a vast mouth.There was blackness within, a blackness that spread.
“—Or else,”said the Lord of the Flies, “we shall do you? See? Jack and Roger and Maurice and Robert and Bill and Piggy and Ralph.Do you.See?”
Simon was inside the mouth.He fell down and lost consciousness.
1.Discuss the following questions.
1)What does it mean to say that Lord of the Flies is an allegorical novel? What are its important symbols?
2)Compare and contrast Ralph and Simon.Both seem to be “good”characters.Is there any difference in their goodness?
3)How does Jack use the beast to control the other boys?
2.Please choose one from the following topics and write an essay about Lord of the Flies.
1) Of all the characters, it is Piggy who most often has useful ideas and sees the correct way for the boys to organize themselves.Yet the other boys rarely listen to him and frequently abuse him.Why do you think this is the case? Inwhat ways does Golding use Piggy to advance the novel’sthemes?
2) What, if anything, might the dead parachutist symbolize? Does he symbolize something other than what the beast and the Lord of the Flies symbolize?
3) The sow’s head and the conch shell each wield a certain kind of power over the boys.In what ways do these objects’powers differ? In what way is Lord of the Flies a novel about power, about the power of symbols, and about the power of a person to use symbols to control a group?