OddThinking

I studied William Golding’s Lord of the Flies when I was at school.

Some years later, I saw a copy in a second-hand book store for 50 cents, and thought I would give it a second go, as an adult.

According to the handwritten inscription on the cover – and again on the first page – the book had been previously owned by Sherrill S—–, Leaving Year. Sherrill was obviously an English student, as she had annotated the book with her little notes and observations.

I am not someone who marks up books myself. I recall doing it to one of my textbooks, once, but it was only in sheer frustration with the fool that had been permitted by a publisher to call himself an author.

As I sat down to read, I turned straight to the start of the story on page 7.

The third sentence on the page was underlined… neatly… with a ruler… and in the margin was a little pearl of Sherrill’s wisdom: “Metaphor”

I sighed to myself. The sentence did in fact contain a metaphor – in fact, I counted no less than two in that very sentence. If every simile and metaphor, every use of irony and alliteration was going to be underlined, this was going to be a painful experience.

As so it proceeded. The speech of the character Piggy was circled, and connected with an arrow to the inscription “Piggy’s speech.” The term “Home Counties” was underlined, with a note that this was “round about London”. Another sentence fragment was neatly underlined with the cryptic comment “wind sheet”.

And that was just the first page. It turns out that Sherrill was quite the one for documenting her thoughts in books. I literally could not open the book without coming across two or three such comments on each page.

Sherrill was, however, a quick student. To my delight, her perceptiveness grew quickly, until by the time I was three-quarters of the way through the book, I was looking forward to seeing what Sherrill thought.

“Crucifixion. Jesus.” Why, yes, Sherrill. It is allegorical. I didn’t notice that reference before!

“Stressing permanence of nature.” Interesting idea, but I am not sure I see it. It’s a shame you’re not here to defend your point of view.

By the end of the book, I think I got a lot out of Sherrill’s perspective. It was like being in a tiny, uni-directional book club.

So this is a toast to the mysterious friend, Sherrill. Perhaps, just maybe, one day, in a second-hand bookshop, I’ll pick up another one of your old books. I look forward to a interesting read.