A couple weeks ago, I reviewed Into Thin Air. You can check out that review here.
While I am in the process of winding down the school year here, I am thinking of the books I teach, the ones I read for fun, and the marking that makes up most of my life from September to June.
One of the books I teach to my grade 11 class every year is Lord of the Flies. You can check out the goodreads link here, or by clicking on the image below.
Lord of the Flies is one of those classics that everyone has read (or at least claims to have read). I will avoid the whole teacher-analysis the best that I can throughout this review.
I will, instead, talk about the first time I read this book.
I was in high school, the same age or so as my own students. My teacher was this nice lady who tried hard - kind of like me. She was tall, with short hair. She wasn't my favourite teacher, but I didn't dislike her or anything either. She taught me grades 10 through 12. One year, she painted her room, all blue with puffy white clouds. Another year, we read a bunch of poetry and short pieces on identity. Then she had us create self-representations and our own identity poems. One of my friends created a Picasso-style portrait of herself. I attempted a watercolour rose on some lined paper, an image that worked way better in my head than in reality.
This same teacher gave us a list to choose from for an independent novel study. There were about five books. I don't remember them all, but there was A Tale of Two Cities on the list, and To Kill a Mockingbird, and Lord of the Flies. Me being the giant nerd that I am, I read all of the books on the list to choose which one I liked best for my novel study projects.
To Kill a Mockingbird won.
Lord of the Flies was my least, or next-to-least, favourite. I did not like it at all.
But then, years passed. I started university, and in my final round of student teaching I encountered Jack and Ralph and Simon and Piggy again. I had to figure out how to get kids to connect to this book that had totally passed over me only a few years before.
And you know what? I still didn't like it. But something had changed. This time, I appreciated it. I got more of what was going on, and the layers to it, and the symbols. I was less angered by the situation with the boys, especially Piggy. I understood it more. I understood that William Golding just wasn't trying to piss people off. He was making a point.
Who knows? Maybe I just got more cynical.
More years passed. I taught some elementary and a lot of junior high. Then, I moved, and started teaching high school, and once again met Golding's book of boys trapped on a deserted island.
By now I was more well-read. I had studied literature with other English nerds, and taught it to kids who couldn't read English. I had discussions about books and analyzed them for fun.
I was a little less idealistic, too.
And you know what? I liked it.
And then the next year passed, and I liked it even more. In fact, I liked it more this year, pouring through it with 30-odd teenagers. Sure, some attempted to hide phones to play on, some daydreamed. But others, most even, argued over themes. They leapt onto motifs. They questioned, and debated, and wondered. They freaked out over the boys' regression. They groaned and booed when a student made a comment about how one boy got off the island "really rocked".
This book is worth reading. There is a reason it is a classic. It puts humanity under a microscope and says that we are not nearly as awesome as we think we are. It looks at the duality of so many things - people included. It makes students question, and voice awareness, and reflect on themselves and history and this world that is becoming theirs.
Is that not what literature is supposed to do?
So if you are one of those people who has only pretended to read this book, it is about time.
Actually read it.
What are your thoughts on this classic?
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