I don’t recall when I first read this book, but it was probably in college or shortly thereafter. I believe I had read it out of a passing interest in those stories of stranded travelers on desert isles. I had probably just read Robinson Crusoe or watched Castaway, and I was under the impression that this book would be in a similar vein. It most definitely is not.

William Golding’s book is a study in power and leadership gone awry, the blackness of human hearts, the depravity to which we’d all apparently descend, were we to be left to our own devices and stripped of all societal norms. You likely already know something about this story, but I’ll rehash the main characters and elements here, beginning from the start.

An airplane carrying pupils from a boys’ school crashes on a deserted island during WWII with no adult survivors. The boys who remain will live naked and savagely on this island until rescue comes, with really just one hope: survive until we see a ship, and when we do signal them with a fire. It’s that simple…or at least it should be.

The story’s key characters include Ralph, Piggy, Jack, and Simon, though plenty of other boys come into the mix throughout. Piggy, the fat bespectacled lad of twelve or so, proves himself to be the most mature of the lot, but it’s his very smarts that makes him an outcast, a hated and mocked “pig” amongst boys. Ralph, the eventual main character, picks up on Piggy’s victimhood quickly, and although he eventually comes to respect Piggy (when it’s just about too late), he’s really the main instigator of it all.

On that first day, Ralph and Piggy discover a massive, 18-inch conch shell, which Ralph proceeds to blow like a horn. The noise brings the rest of the lost boys to the beach, and after some light discussion from the terrified children, Ralph becomes their impromptu yet unquestioned leader. He believes that fire, smoke, and rescue are the most important elements to their survival, and he attempts to build rules (i.e. “society”) around this hope.

Enter Jack, the captain of the boys’ choir and rival to Jack’s sensibility, who believes that hunting is more important than a dumb old fire. Despite Ralph’s initial following, Jack slowly develops a following of his own, and his hunting party grows into a formidable lot and an incessant challenge to Ralph’s boys. A very adult-like power-struggle ensues—both Bigguns and Littluns all caught in the mix—and the majority of the book follows this struggle. When nighttime fears of a beast and bad dreams enter the situation, Jack’s party offers a bloody boar’s head in payment to the angry Unknown, and this decaying mass of flesh becomes the titular “Lord of the Flies.”

Simon, a detached boy who finds peace in solitude in a shady glade, starts losing his marbles a bit. The Lord of the Flies begins talking to him, he chases down the “beast” atop the mountain, and scares the boys in their frenzy around a murdered boar—so much so that they mistake him for the beast and murder him with their hands and teeth. Guilty from the crime, Piggy, Ralph, and a set of twins recognize the fact that their small clique is losing its grip on the group of boys now firmly under Jack’s leadership. Under his guidance, the fire has gone ignored and only hunting now matters. When Piggy is killed during a scuffle in the high hills, Ralph runs away, knowing that he is likely to be next. The climax of the book comes when, while hunting Ralph, Jack and a wicked lad named Roger, set the entire island ablaze. Ralph escapes a line of boys bent on killing him and runs unexpectedly into the arms of a British naval officer, who, upon seeing him and the other British “savages” fit with spears and clubs, figures it’s just a bunch of lost lads having a bit of sport. Innocence lost and then suddenly regained at the sight of this adult, Ralph, Jack, and the whole slew of boys break out into woeful tears, knowing now the depths of human depravity evidence in their own wicked behaviors.

I came back to this book while studying in a doctoral course on leadership, not because the professor had assigned it, but because it jumped back into my brain when I considered the thought of “books on leadership.” I got permission to read it as extra credit, but I let the deadline slip past before I could finish it. (I had enough on my plate at the time!)

Now that I’ve had a few extra weeks to savor the story and let it sink in, I’m not really keen on finding specific lessons on leadership (even the negative) from this story, because I don’t believe that was Golding’s intent. His emphasis was human depravity, and leadership cliques merely served as his vehicle—nothing more.

This book and its many startling images has stuck with me for many years, and even as a man in my late 30s, I still felt my skin crawl at the wickedness that ensued as I re-read it this winter. It reminds me a bit of a story I once wrote when I let my inhibitions slide in an experiment to see just where a story might take me. I’d never publish what I wrote that day, but the results certainly showed me the blackness of my own imagination, a mind still tainted with sin, despite its having been washed by the blood of the Savior. Praise God for His grace in my life, and praise Him for daily sanctification! There but for the grace of God go I!

I loved this book, as dark and troubling as it may be. I’ll likely read it again in another decade or so. I have no doubts as to why this thing remains a modern classic. It’s one of those rare stories that takes you gently into a world of depravity where you’d generally never want to go.

©2021 E.T.