This classic by William Golding was published in 1954. That's fifty-eight years ago. It was his first novel and, according to what it says on the cover, it's become a modern classic. A few months ago, when I was at my friend Bosccono's house, we were listening to the radio. It was transmitting a Korean show, hosted by writer Young-ha Kim. He was talking about an essay by Albert Camus, concerning classics.
I've read exactly fifty-eight pages, till the beginning of the fourth chapter, and decided that this book isn't working for me. At least not for the time beeing. That day at my friend's house I've learned a number of reasons why people read classics and I'm sure that this one here is a really good book, but for some reason I can't find my way into it. Perhaps another time. And for now I'm going to put it back in the shelf.
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