William Golding’s style of writing is perhaps something of
an acquired taste. In his novels, much of the content is taken up with
descriptive writing. This is “atmospheric”: in other words, he is extremely
good at conjuring up sensations, and mood. Sometimes, the atmosphere is almost
claustrophobic, and foetid. This was the case, for me, with the books in his “Sea”
trilogy, the first being Rites of Passage. Perhaps appropriately so, as it is set on an
eighteenth century sailing ship, with its “close quarters”. Golding is also
allusive, cryptic (might one even say “elusive”) in his writing, which is often
“metaphorical” and symbolic. All of this makes his novels (those I’ve read
anyway) somewhat difficult, and one has to persevere, especially as the absence
of much dialogue makes the writing somewhat “dense”. His most famous novel, and
his first, Lord of the Flies, is somewhat different in this respect. It
is also, perhaps, his best.
I first read Pincher Martin at Canterbury University
in 1971. It was on the reading list for one of my MA in English papers, “The
Modern Novel” (I think that Pincher Martin was probably about as modern
as the reading list got). Anyway it made a very strong impression on me: and
provided me with an insight into what hell might be like, not to mention
eternity and judgment.
Pincher Martin is about a man, a naval officer in the
Royal Navy, during the war, whose ship gets torpedoed. The book opens with Christopher Hadley
Martin, to give him his full name, drowning. Then he finds himself cast up on a
rock in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Most of the rest of the book deals
with his experience of being on the rock, his struggle to survive, to find food
and water, and to attempt to ensure that he is spotted by any passing ship, or
aircraft flying overhead.
The physicality of his experience is captured by Golding’s
descriptive style. One can almost feel Martin’s discomfort as he attempts to
sleep in a crevice he has found which gives his some shelter. He talks to
himself, as he attempts to keep focused on what he must do to survive, and to
prevent himself from going mad.
Christopher (Pincher) Martin had been an actor before the
war, and a somewhat unpleasant, self-centred man. The narrative of his time on
the rock is interspersed with flashbacks to events in his life: the director of
one of the plays (and whom Martin has cuckolded–this is not explicitly
revealed, an instance of Golding’s allusiveness) wants Martin to play one of
the seven deadly sins. The director, called Pete, says Martin can choose which
one to play. The following exchange takes place as they examine the masks for
the various characters.
“I don’t
mind playing Sloth, Pete.”
“Not Sloth.
Shall we ask Helen, Chris? I value my wife’s advice.”
“Steady,
Pete.”
“What about
a spot of Lechery?”
“Pete! Stop
it.”
“Don’t mind
me Chris, old man. I’m just a bit wrought-up that’s all. Now here’s a fine
piece of work, ladies and gentlemen, guaranteed unworn. Any offers? Going to
the smooth-looking gentleman with the wavy hair and profile. Going! Going–”
“What’s is
supposed to be, old man?”
“Darling,
it simply you! Don’t you think, George?”
“Definitely,
old man, definitely.”
“Chris–Greed.
Greed–Chris. Know each other.”
“Anything
to please you, Pete.”
“Let me
make you two better acquainted. This painted bastard here takes anything he can
lay his hands on. Not food, Chris, that’s far too simple. He takes the best
part, the best seat, the most money, the best notice, the best woman. He was
born with his mouth and his flies open and both hands out to grab. He’s a
cosmic case of the bugger who gets his penny and someone else’s bun. Isn’t that
right, George?”
“Come on,
Pete. Come and lie down for a bit.”
“Think you
can play Martin, Greed?”
This relatively short exchange gives an insight into
Martin’s character. It is part of the genius of the book that the struggle to
survive includes a review by Martin of his past life in the snippets of
flashback.
Chris’s ship goes down partly because of an order Chris
gives, intending that a friend, of whom he is jealous should be flung
overboard.
I am reluctant to give away the ending: and I won’t. But it
throws a new perspective on the whole narrative. And it opened up for me a
theological reflection, on the nature of eternity (eternity “contracted to a
span”, to borrow from Charles Wesley). In his The Great Divorce, C. S.
Lewis reduces hell to a crack in the ground; to a “span of space” if you will.
Golding does something similar, only he reduces hell to a “span of time”, the
time that Pincher Martin spends on his mid-Atlantic rock. Meanwhile, judgment
resides in the flashbacks. Martin reviews (is forced to review?) his life, and
to understand himself as he truly is.
[Postscript: I’ve entitled this “A Christian reads…” and not
“A Christian reading of…” because that may be construed as the Christian
reading, and I don’t wish to suggest that mine is such. There are
as many readings, no doubt, as there are readers. But this is one Christian’s
take on this book. If you would like a couple of literary critics’ take on the
book, you might like to look at Mark Kinkead-Weekes and Ian Gregor, William
Golding: A Critical Study. Revised Edition; London: Faber and Faber, 1984]
