Rites of Passage (To the Ends of the Earth, #1) By William Golding

·Karen·

Well, William Golding, sir. You achieved something that not many men have done. You brought me very close to tears.
This novel really produced an amazingly strong emotional response in me. Odd, in that it keeps the reader at arm's length for much of Edmund Talbot's narrative. Young William is a prig and a stuffed shirt and a snob and awfully skilled at self-deception and there was no greater desire in my ungenerous heart than for him to get his comeuppance. When it arrives though it is in the realisation that he has been unknowingly, and yet not entirely blamelessly instrumental in the kind of public humiliation that a sensitive man cannot survive. So Talbot's pained self-knowledge that I so wished upon him comes at the cost of a man's life. Does that make me complicit?

Fabian

These here are the theatrics of people aboard a ship en route to the land Down Under. At page 100, after a bunch of introductions are made, the narrator's own mindset is finally set adrift like the ship herself. The plot opens, and then kinda, well, nothing unexpected happens i.e. absolute zero greatness. This was the dude who wrote "Lord of the Flies," perhaps the most horrific non-horror book of ALL time!! But this one's a dud. The vessel society is not compelling whatsoever... notable stand-out characters? None. Even the sick parson is unremarkable; for a better depiction of a "Man of the Cloth in Crisis", see the Whiskey Priest from "The Power & the Glory."

Hugh

Original review 13 Oct 2015:
A tragicomic tale that takes place entirely on a sea voyage in the early 19th century, this is an entertaining book, more about the class system than about the sea. This was a Booker winner, which raised my expectations, and I'm not entirely sure it met them, and it didn't leave me feeling I should read the rest of the trilogy.

Postscript added 1 Feb 2017:
The Mookse and the Gripes group is revisiting the Booker shortlist for 1980, the year this one won, and all of the other three shortlisted books that I have read so far (i.e.
Earthly Powers,
A Month in the Country and
The Beggar Maid) impressed me more than this one did. I wonder whether this was a compromise choice agreed to honour an established writer whose other books may have merited the prize more than this one

Roger Brunyate

Jonah

The original cover

Spurred by reading Lord of the Flies (1954) as a teenager, I bought Golding's next two novels on impulse, found them much heavier going, so abandoned the author until I
read the first book again a few years ago. What a pleasant surprise, then, to find his Rites of Passage (1980) once more easy to read, indeed almost comic in tone. Although later extended into a trilogy, To the Ends of the Earth, this first volume was originally intended as a stand-alone novel, and works perfectly well on its own.

The novel, which takes place in the first quarter of the nineteenth century on board a vessel of the Royal Navy bound for Sydney, is in the form of a journal. The writer, Edmund Talbot, writes for his noble patron, who has secured him a post as aide to the Governor of New South Wales. Very conscious of his station, he is surprised that the Captain did not greet him personally, and is aggrieved at the size of his cabin, which he calls a hutch) but he soon resolves to make the best of it:

I have resigned myself therefore, used Wheeler for some of this unpacking, set out my books myself, and seen my chests taken away. I should be angry if the situation were not so farcical. However, I had a certain delight in some of the talk between the fellows who took them off, the words were so perfectly nautical. I have laid Falconer's Marine Dictionary by my pillow; for I am determined to speak the tarry language as perfectly as any of these rolling fellows!

There is much to smile at in Talbot's genial superiority, his attempts to "speak Tarpaulin" as he calls it, and his inevitable petty comeuppances, as when he blithely asserts that he is a good sailor only to get sicker than all the rest. But we are more than willing to see the ship and other passengers through his eyes. There is a painter named Brocklebank and his supposed wife and daughter (the one too young and the other too old). There is a noted Rationalist named Pettiman, who patrols the decks with a blunderbuss determine to shoot the first albatross he sees, in order to prove the Tale of the Ancient Mariner mere superstition. And there is a newly-fledged parson named Colley, an obsequious creature who "not only favours me with his révérence but tops it off with a smile of such understanding and sanctity [that] he is a kind of walking invitation to mal de mer.

Yet it is with Colley that Golding first begins to show the darker side for which he is famous. For ever since Jonah, seamen have been superstitious about having priests aboard, and the terrifying Captain Anderson seems to make this superstition personal. Rev. Colley falls foul of the captain, is banished from the quarterdeck, and soon begins to feel like a pariah on board. Despite his dislike, Edmund makes some attempt to help him, but he gets distracted by the over-telegraphed charms of Zenobia Brocklebank (the so-called daughter). So Colley's fall, when it comes, is both terrible and alone.

I go back in my mind to reading Lord of the Flies. There is the same repurposing of a traditional genre (there Treasure Island or a school story, here a nautical yarn), there is the same deceptive lightness of touch, and most importantly the same attention to those special conditions in which normal social conventions break down and human beings reveal the savagery never far beneath the skin; it is easy to see Colley as another Piggy. But this is a more personal book; the darkness is less atavistic, less a matter of what others do, more a question of what lurks in one's own soul.

Edmund Talbot is not the only journal writer on board. It appears that Colley has also been keeping a log, in the form of a long letter to his sister, and this takes up most of the last third of the book. What is interesting is how these two separate accounts complement each other, giving us insight into the tormented mind of the young parson, telling us more about the less-than-gentlemanly officers, and—despite the fact that Colley virtually worships him—making us reevaluate our protagonist, Edmund Talbot. You could imagine Melville writing this short novel, in terms of its moral issues and naval setting. But Golding seems that much smaller, less absolute. This one is a sordid affair, from which nobody emerges entirely clean. Not quite another Lord of the Flies, still less a Billy Budd or Heart of Darkness. But those set a high standard indeed, and this is still a very fine achievement.

4.5 stars.

Issicratea

I kept changing my mind about this novel as I was reading it. I liked it initially; then it began losing me, to the extent that I wasn’t sure I was going to finish it; then it pulled me up short with a devastating narrative coup, and I was utterly gripped for a while. Then there was the disappointment of the explanatory-dénouement passage, which all felt a little clunky—but Golding still managed to pull off a last surprise, in the form of a memorable final line.

The unevenness of the book begins to seem explicable when one reads the circumstances in which it was written. Golding wrote the first draft of Rites of Passage extremely quickly, in about a month, while he was engaged in a titanic struggle with another novel,
Darkness Visible. And he was an alcoholic, or as near as makes no difference. His publishers, Faber, were clearly not going to suggest Golding revise Rites of Passage, having waited ten years for Darkness Visible—and who knows, if he had, whether some of the book’s eccentric brilliance would have been lost in the process of neatening it up.

One triumph of the book is the voice in which it is narrated, which is that of an aristocratic youth, Edmund Talbot, setting out for an appointment in the colonial administration of Australia towards the end of the Napoleonic Wars. The narrative is cast as a shipboard journal addressed to Talbot’s godfather—clearly a major nob of some kind, to the extent that even the dyspeptic Captain Anderson reluctantly keeps his tyrannical instincts in check when Talbot is around. Talbot is given enough wit and human curiosity and self-consciousness to encourage us to identify with him, so that his occasional (or not-so-occasional) forays into obnoxiousness are disconcerting. The whole book is set up to make the reader complicit in the dark tale of bullying that lies at its heart (thematically, the book revisits Golding’s breakthrough novel,
Lord of the Flies, published a quarter of a century earlier, in 1954).

Golding makes splendid use in this novel of the intrinsic spatial compression of its seaboard setting. It’s the claustrophobia of the ship that makes the human sacrifice enacted on board so inexorable, and gives it such a paradigmatic feel. Golding is very good on the practicalities and logistics of life at sea (he was a keen, though ill-fated, sailor himself, almost drowning with his entire family when his pleasure boat was mown down by a freighter in the English Channel in 1967). He is also in love with naval language, although he is more user-friendly in is deployment of it than someone like Patrick O’Brian, having helpfully chosen a landlubber as his main voice, so that all the sea talk is effectively subtitled.

I realize this review is a little cryptic in terms of plot, but this really is a novel you’re better off reading in complete ignorance of the plot, if you can possibly manage it. All I can say is that at one, dramatic point in the novel, we hear a different first-person account of the same events that Talbot has been narrating. This is a tricky move for a novelist to pull off, but it works magnificently here, for me at least.

Here’s the last line of the novel, which serves as an accurate thematic summary:

With lack of sleep and too much understanding I grow a little crazy, I think, like all men at sea who live too close to each other and too close thereby to all that is monstrous under the sun and the moon.

Albert

Like many I read Lord of the Flies by William Golding while in school. I remember really liking it then, but a few years ago I reread it and wasn’t as thrilled. Rites of Passage, a Booker Award winner, is only my second novel by this Nobel Prize winner. While I only rated this read three stars, there were certain characteristics of it that I liked and admired. Golding is writing of a sailing ship’s passage from England to Australia in the early 19th century. Edmund Talbot is traveling on the ship to a job that he has obtained through his godfather in which he will be working for the governor of Australia. Talbot is a gentleman, well-educated and his relation to his godfather lends him a certain amount of respect and deference. Talbot is writing in a journal that he has promised to create for his godfather; the first part of the novel is passages from that journal.

One of Golding’s strengths is his ability to describe the ship, how it functions and life thereon. The descriptions are detailed and feel very accurate. Golding also creates a variety of characters that have depth, and some of whom come with a hint of secrets and unknown intentions. A second part of the novel is a letter from the Reverend James Colley to his sister. Talbot’s journal and Colley’s letter describe some of the same events from two different points of view. The story is complex, and I believe I would benefit from a second reading, but I don’t see that happening. The downside for me was that the first half of the novel was quite tedious and even when something started to happen, there were still sections where I had difficulty maintaining my interest.

The Rites of Passage is actually the first of a trilogy which together describe the complete journey of this sailing ship and Edmund Talbot to Australia. I have to say there is part of me that is intrigued and could be motivated to read the rest of the trilogy. I might learn some of the secrets about characters that weren’t fully revealed in Rites of Passage. But I don’t believe that part of me is going to win out.

Metodi Markov

Книгата започна добре, но някъде след средата ѝ започнах постепенно да губя интерес.

Голдинг определено има подчертан афинитет към злото у хората, но тук нещо не му се е отдало да го представи достатъчно добре.

Мрачна история откриваме между страниците на дневника, списван от преситен и нагъл млад аристократ, отправил се към своето назначение на висок пост в Австралия. Той пътува на стар военен кораб, натоварен с преселници за далечната колония. Но дали всички на борда му ще достигнат невредими лелеяната дестинация?

Корицата на Дамян Дамянов ми хареса много, изданието е с твърда корица и с качествена хартия.

Цитати:

"Установявам, че писането е като алкохола. Един мъж трябва да умее да дозира и двете."

"Досега да съм забогатял, ако не беше горещата ми кръв, необичайно силното ми влечение към нежния пол и изкушенията, на които ме подлага потресаващата поквара на английското общество…"

P.S. Тази книга е началото на трилогия, но едва ли ще я видим издадена на български изцяло.

Jadranka Milenković

Vilijema Goldinga mnogi znaju po romanu "Gospodar muva" (čijoj popularnosti je doprinela i filmovana verzija priče) ili po knjizi "Naslednici" - opasno hrabrom pokušaju da se prodre u um davnašnjih stanovnika zemljine kugle koji su izgubili bitku sa naprednijim homo sapijensima, i o čijim "slikama u glavi" sada samo umetnička mašta može pomalo da snatri. Roman "Obredi prelaza" svedoči o tome da Golding nije one-hit wonder, da ima još ponešto da pruži čitalačkoj gladi koja vapi za novim pustolovinama. Ali, avaj, gde se te pustolovine najlakše mogu naći? Naravno, na putovanju, izmeštanjem iz uobičajenog toka stvari, prelaženjem granice, još bolje ako je ta granica velika voda, a putovanje je višemesečno sečenje talasa.
Jedan od načina na koji autor neku priču može da osvetli iz više različitih perspektiva jeste i taj da štafetnu palicu naracije na neko vreme prebaci u ruke sporednog lika, pogotovo ako taj lik i nije toliko sporedan koliko u prvi mah izgleda, već je svojevrsna čvorna tačka. U romanima u kojima naracija nije u prvom licu spontano dobijamo više uglova (ako sveznajući pripovedač nije previše nametljiv i uskogrud u svojoj želji da nas fiksira za određeni ugao). Pišući u prvom licu, autor nas takođe upoznaje sa drugim perspektivama, tako što narator iznosi šta su ostali radili i govorili, ali je to tada prelomljeno kroz njegova očna sočiva, ili ako ćemo da budemo patetični - kroz "sočiva njegove duše" :) Ali to je već falsifikovanje tuđe perspektive, ona je u naratorovoj svesti već dobila predznak plus ili minus, već je kod njega izazvala određena osećanja. Ta perspektiva nam se ne daje u svojoj golotinji i nevinosti. Ono što autor može uraditi, jeste da nas iznenadi tuđom ogoljenom i netaknutom perspektivom, negde nasred romana ili možda pred sam kraj, povećavajući tako (uvođenjem iznenadnog obrta situacije) i naše iznenađenje i naše uživanje. Jer, možda smo se suviše uljuljkali i ušuškali u talase jedne perspektive, recimo perspektive mladića koji dobija atraktivno nameštenje u dalekoj koloniji, posredstvom uticajnog kuma, a uz nameštenje dobija i molbu da vodi dnevnik koji će ostarelog kuma bar na neko vreme vratiti u mladost. Ta perspektiva je zanimljiva, pružiće nam još jedno svedočanstvo o raskidu sa starim navadama (uz malo morske bolesti), o upoznavanju privremenih saputnika (uz nužno poznavanje svog mesta i svoje klasne superiornosti), upoznavanju drugih sa svojom važnošću ili bar produženom rukom kuma koji iskrsava kao ime uvek kad je potreban. Brod je svet u malom, o da, ali svet koji se žešće ljulja, koji iznad sebe ima više neba i ispod sebe dubinu od nekoliko milja (strašno!), pa svi uvidi načinjeni na brodu mogu da imaju malo više od tog neba i te dubine (ali, imaju li?). Negde sam pročitala da se ne može ne biti religiozan na otvorenom moru. Samo, šta o tome misli kapetan Ahab? (O, ne, to je sasvim drugi roman :) ). Šta o tome, dakle, misli kapetan Anderson? On baš i ne voli sveštena lica. (TU sad nastaje glavni zaplet, jer je na brodu i pastor...) Jednog trenutka imaćemo priliku da napustimo svog mladog i kumovim imenom zaštićenog vodiča i da saslušamo (pročitamo u pismu) i ono što misli pastor.
Roman je pisan u epistolarnoj formi, kumče piše pisma to jest dnevnik koji će čitati kum. A onda, unutar pisma pismo :) Dvostruka epistola. I iznenađujući zaokret u doživljaju.

Epistolarna forma dozvoljava unošenje ironijsko-humorne crte, pogodna je za to da nam ogoli nekog smušenog nosioca uverenja da je njegova tačka gledišta, njegova osovina, njegov položaj u svetu stabilan kao tačka o koju je "obešeno" Fukoovo klatno, kao pupak sveta, kao centar univerzuma. Komičnije je njegovo uverenje kad ga dobijemo iz njegovih vlastitih reči, kad sve vreme znamo da se brod pod njegovim nogama opasno ljulja dok je on tako ubeđen da postoji neka kumovska svedržeća ruka koja će ga izneti iz oluje. Ali nije li jednako tako i tužno kad se pogled baci iz drugog ugla, kad je taj drugi ugao drugi par očiju, kad je taj drugi takođe nosilac svog centra, svog pupka, svoje osovine, svojih bolova i njihanja, a ostaće tužno zanemaren, ostaće - bez obzira na svoje privremeno iskrsavanje iz Sveopšte Nevidljivosti Drugih - samo uspomena na dnu svesti, na dnu mora, na dnu koje tako spremno prihvata sve ono što bi moglo da uzburka naš svet sigurnosti?
Možda nam se čini da je lako nastaviti plovidbu i nakon toga što smo doživeli svoje prve gubitke; možda ćemo nastaviti glasno sa svojim zabavama i čvrsto zastupati nepogrešive moralne kodekse svoje nepogrešive, uredne, namirisane klase, držeći se razrađenih manira, dostojanstvenog držanja, pa i lekovite ravnodušnosti, uz malo pića i malo opijajuće samozaljubljenosti, jer tamo negde dalje nas čeka lep život pun uspeha i svega onoga što nam pripada, nama da, ali samo nama, po nekoj zasluzi u koju ćemo se lako ubediti... A brod plovi, plovi, plovi, i ribu lovi...

Steve

William Golding's Rites of Passage is one of those books you can't say much about, since it ruins the tale. On surface, it is about Edward Talbot's voyage to Australia in 1812. Talbot is a pompous young man, and aristocrat, who happens to keep a detailed journal. As the pages go by, you see glimmerings of maturity, and a sure eye for recording details.

The book starts out in a comic vein, one that had me thinking early on of the Flashman novels. (I never thought of Golding as being funny before.) But you know Golding is going places well beyond George MacDonald Fraser. In the end, the tale becomes a profound meditation on Good and Evil -- in every man. The focus in the story is a sad sack clergyman, who is humiliated before all. It's not a pretty story, but it does resonate beyond its brutalities. There is considerable hide-the-ball in the narrative, which often left me wondering just what had happened. So much so, that getting toward the end I wondered if Golding was opting for a "Rashomon effect." Not that there's anything wrong with that powerful literary device, but Golding, in the last few pages, goes deeper. I don't know if Golding was a Christian or not, but he's heading (there are two more books to follow) into the kind of psychological and spiritual terrain only occupied by a few: Melville, Conrad, Dostoevsky. That's powerful company.

Billierosie Billierosie

William Golding’s Rites of Passage makes for a strange, haunting read. A ship bound for the New World, sometime in the 19th century. Witty observations, as the narrator weaves his journal. A self conscious narrator -- he wants to impress his reader.

But then something happens. A violation so horrible that the narrator can scarcely put it into words. Shame, is perhaps the word to sum up this crime of violating the innocent.

It's about culpability too -- we are none of us innocent, it's a question of how guilty.

As with William Golding’s "Lord of the Flies" the action takes place in isolation -- far away from the bigger picture of society. The ship is a microcosm, a world within a world. The narrator and his fellow travellers try to keep to the rules that they know. The sensible rules, the ages old English rules, the rules that work -- but out on the creaking ship, on the vast ocean, something primal, something feral stirs.

Yes, it is possible to "die of shame."

We are at the beginning of the 19th century. The Napoleonic wars are coming to an end and young Edmund has joined a heterogeneous crowd of émigrés on board an old decommissioned warship, for a long voyage to Australia where he is to become an important man in the administration.

The early narrative takes the form of a journal that Edmund Talbot keeps on the way to Australia – ostensibly to amuse and inform his godfather back in England. He fills his description of life on an old warship at the end of the Napoleonic era with witty observations on the bad manners of his fellow passengers, salacious gossip and details of his own sexual encounters. It's light, frothy and – apparently – pleasantly superficial.

“The place: on board the ship at last. The year: you know it. The date ? Surely what matters is that it is the first day of my passage to the other side of the world…”

As the narrative unfolds, Edmund’s disdain for others, throws a light on the old class prejudices that still loiter today. The ship's community indulges it's boredom and thirst for a victim, and endorsed by the captain's own prejudices, finds its soft target in a Chaplin.

True to Edmund’s character, and the nature of his undertaking, the journal reads as if it has been written in haste. So it's no surprise to learn that Golding wrote the first draft of the book in just one month. It reflects Golding’s genius to be able to recreate such convincing early 19th-century prose so fast and with such elegance. A talent that takes on almost eerie transcendence; Golding's said that he simply transcribed conversations he was hearing in his head to create the novel's fluid dialogue.

Yet this easy reading should not be mistaken for levity. Golding insisted in interviews that this book was "funny" and proved that he wasn't the "dreary old monster" he was often made out to be. But he was being disingenuous. For all of its humour, “Rites of Passage” turns into a most disturbing book.

It would be easy to mistake the first 50 or so pages of Rites of Passage for a straightforward social comedy.

The comedy relates to one Reverend Colley, who gradually begins to dominate Edmund’s narrative. Initially, Edmund invites his reader to laugh at Colley – and it's hard not to. He is – as Edmund paints him – an absurd, obsequious man, ridiculous in his parson's clothing, his hacked-about haircut, his daft wig and his fawning over "gentlemen".

Edmund describes the parson;

“turning to ascend the ladder to the afterdeck, but seeing me between my young friends, and perceiving me to be of some consequence I suppose, he paused and favoured me with a reverence. Observe I do not call it a bow or greeting. It was a sinuous deflection of the whole body, topped by a smile which was tempered by pallor and servility as his reverence was tempered by an uncertainty as to the movements of our vessel.”

Edmund’s comedic description of the parson discomforts us with Edmund’s only too very English snobbery. It is tinted with a sneer. And much as we join in the laughter at the ridiculous Colley, we view Edmund with suspicion. We “know” his sort; Edmund is very much like ourselves.

For Edmund, everything is an inconvenience; everything that is, which disturbs his comfort. For the Reverend Colley, everything is a wonder. The mighty ship, the sudden clemency of the weather -- he sees the beauty of creation. We learn this, when Edmund reads Reverend Colley’s own journal. How two men, can view the same vista so differently.

The sailors and émigrés get Colley horribly drunk -- it is unlikely that he has ever been drunk before, and Edmund’s description of him, attempting to bless the passengers, while singing “joy, joy, joy” is very funny. It is the last time in the book, that Golding permits us to smile.

Colley dies of shame – starving himself after he remembers another, as yet mysterious, act he performed in his cups. The horrible feeling arises that we as readers have been complicit in his bullying and degradation.

Golding turns the screw tighter, when he introduces Colley's letter to his sister, which is, in a way, Colley’s own journal. Edmund’s coxcomb gone wrong, is transformed into a sympathetic, sweet-natured man who is terrified at smearing the dignity of his office by wearing the wrong outfit and whose wild haircut is explained by the fact that his sister tried to cut it one last time before he boarded ship and they parted, but was crying so much that she could hardly see what she was doing.

Every laugh we've had at Colley's expense turns to ashes in our mouths, every indignity he suffered seems barbarous.

The narrative turnaround is a wonderful display of writing skill, as Golding shows that Colley suffered many other cruelties that Edmund failed to observe – or ignored. The revelation of the details of the mysterious act that so mortified Colley are vague to the reader – but by this late stage Golding has done enough to overwhelm us completely.

The reader recalls Edmund’s observations of Captain Anderson. The Captain has a pathological hatred of the clergy believing himself to have been robbed out of his inheritance by one.

Because he enrages the Captain, who likes passengers never to come near him, the naval warrior decides to exert his power over the crew by picking on the parson.

With the Captain’s blessing, the parson becomes an open target for abuse, and things come to a head when he appears ramshackled and drunk on the deck and is led away to his cabin in disgrace, after urinating in front of the shocked ladies. No one can tempt him out to talk. Slowly he withers away refusing food and drink and dies on an evening when the captain has ironically invited some guests, including Edmund into his cabin for dinner.

The Captain is forced to thaw because of the announcement by Edmund of his journal, which will be sent to his godfather, with the implied threat that the bullying will be revealed to a wider audience. The Captain calls for agreement that Colley died from a low fever and Edmund is forced to go along with that conclusion.

The only one who could have saved the parson is Captain Anderson. But his hatred of the robe in general and Colley in particular, sets an example to officers and crew alike and the reverend becomes a target for abuse. The Captain has the social status to reverse the flow of things but does not assume the responsibility which goes with it.

The letter/journal is replicated by Edmund in his journal; it is offered by way of an explanation. It is also offered as an act of contrition.

“And I? I might have saved him had I thought less of my own consequence and less of the danger of being bored!”

The reader quickly understands the reason that Colley’s fellow passengers keep a distance from him. His profession as a clergyman marks him out as different; so does his sensitivity. Colley writes about the sailors manning the mighty ship. He writes in beautiful, homoerotic language. He sees the sailors as beautiful.

“They go about their tasks, their bronzed and manly forms unclothed to the waist, their abundant locks gathered in a queue, their nether garments closely fitted but flared about the ankles like the nostrils of a stallion. They disport themselves casually a hundred feet up in the air…”

Colley is a voyeur. He takes pleasure in gazing at the male form.

In a later passage in the journal, Colley tells the reader of how he entered Edmund’s room, while Edmund is ill and sleeping. He sees Edmund as a Christ like image.

“The young man lay asleep, a week’s beard on his lips and chin and cheeks - I scarce put down here the impression his slumbering countenance made on me - it was as the face of the ONE who suffered for us all - and as I bent over him in some irresistible compulsion I do not deceive myself but there was the sweet aroma of holiness itself on his breath! I did not think myself worthy of his lips but pressed my own reverently on the one hand that lay outside the coverlet. Such is the power of goodness that I withdrew as from an alter!”

The letter which ends at the Parson’s death is followed by an interrogation, a cursory inquest, with which the reader tries, unsuccessfully, to fill in the blanks in the understanding of what has happened. They prevaricate when questioning Billy Rogers, one of the suspected perpetrators. They use innuendo.

“Come Rogers. You were the one man we saw with him. In default of any other evidence your name must head the list of suspects. What did you sailors do?”

Rogers response is: “What did WE do, my lord?”

Finally Captain Anderson says it like it is.

“Buggery, Rogers, that’s what he means. Buggery.”

At last, now we know. But is this enough for a man to will himself to die?

The interrogation is promptly closed, when the enquiry unexpectedly risks implicating some officers.

So now we know the whole story?

Not quite. Mr Prettiman relates a conversation that he had with Billy Rogers.
“…he’d knowed most things in his time but he had never thought to get a chew off a parson!”

So that’s why Reverend Colley “died of shame,” for an act of fellatio. Not for something that was done to him, but for what he did.

“…Colley committed the fellatio that the poor fool was to die of when he remembered it.
Poor, poor Colley! Forced back towards his own kind, made an equatorial fool of -deserted, abandoned by me who could have saved him-overcome by kindness and a gill or two of the intoxicant-
I cannot even feel a pharisaic complacency in being the only gentleman not to witness his ducking. Far better I had seen it so as to protest at that childish savagery! Then my offer of friendship might have been sincere rather than--”

“Rites of Passage” was first published in 1980. It is a moral parable, and is the first of a trilogy. It’s about atonement and sins that can never be forgiven; only lived with.
William Golding won the Booker prize in 1980. In 1983 he was awarded the Nobel prize for Literature.

Jonathan Pool

I read Rites of Passage as the final book from the 1980 Booker shortlist as part of The Mookse and Gripes revisit of that year.
Saving the best (it was the winner) till last?? Not a bit of it.
The author of the enduring classic Lord of the Flies is possibly allowed an indulgence or two... but to my mind Golding used up all of his accumulated literary goodwill with this one.
How on earth did this win the Booker Prize? One can only imagine the politics (and the bitching with Anthony Powell was well publicised) that went on in the background.
Rites of Passage is so ponderous, and the two primary characters, Talbot and Colley, are so wooden and one dimensional.

It's actually quite easy to write comedy novels about the English Class system and the weird foibles of yesteryear (judging from classic Wodehouse, Waugh, Powell and many others), but this is not Golding's forte.
On British TV there was a recent series called Life on Mars which took a tongue-in-cheek look at 1970s policing and attitudes. The thing is, the original dramas of the 1970's, available on repeat, such as The Sweeney, are broadly the same as the derivative spoofs, but better, because they are the original.
If I want to wince at the misogyny, the pomposity, of the times, I'm better off reading C.S. Forester's Hornblower, or George MacDonald Fraser's Flashman series, or just read read the diaries of Samuel Pepys.

Kuszma

Ajánlom ezt a könyvet mindazoknak, akik…

… szeretik a hajókat, a tengert, a lobogó vitorlák sós vászonszagát, az egyenlítői nap hevétől lágy kátrány tapintását, a hajó bendőjében rejtőző bűzös, sötét zugok hangulatát, és nem igénylik, hogy ehhez az atmoszférához még valami tengeri szörnyet (óriáspolip, ámbráscet, cookie monster) is mellékeljen a szerző.

...szeretik a behatárolt térben játszódó kamaradrámákat, ahol leereszkedünk egy szűk csigalépcsőn az emberi ösztönvilág állati mélységeibe, és olyan titkokra derítünk fényt, amelyek jobb lett volna, ha titokban maradnak.

...szeretik a finoman klasszicizáló, rafinált szövegkorpuszokat, a kiválóan megkonstruált, szerepével és korával tökéletesen kompatibilis énelbeszélőt, akinek hangja a kiváló fordításnak hála (Göncz Árpád) magyarul is megőrizte erejét.

...összszázalék-kompenzáló csillagozók, és szeretnék, ha ez a meglehetősen méltatlanul alulértékelt könyv adatlapja mellett kicsit magasabb szám díszelegjen.

Colin Davison

The 1980 Booker Prize judges had the strongest short-list of novels in the history of the award to that date, and possibly one of the strongest ever.
How to decide between Anthony Burgess’ huge six-decade spiritual/political epic Earthly Powers, the inventive descriptive power of Julia O’Faolain in No Country for Young Men, JL Carr’s evocative A Month in the Country and this brilliant re-creation of the language and attitudes of passengers and crew on a Napoleonic era sailing ship?
With Anita Desai, Barry Unsworth and Alice Munro all strong contenders, almost any of the seven might have been good enough to win the top award in the early years from ‘68 to ’72.
It was Golding who took the prize, and the book is certainly powerful in the impact of its delayed revelation and in the authenticity of its voice.
It is, for me, more narrowly focussed than some of its rivals and what kept up me alert for developments during the first two-thirds of the book was the repulsiveness of its arrogant, snobbish, self-regarding and unreliable narrator, Edmund Talbot, sailing to Australia to take up an administrative post.
So it doesn’t come as complete surprise when Golding slaps Talbot in the face with the true plight of the derided Rev. Colley, a sympathetic rather than pathetic figure.
But he doesn’t leave it at that. There’s a further cruel twist, and an assault on the reader’s sensibilities, as he explains the meaning of the ritual known as the ‘badgers’ bag’ as the ship crosses the equator, and the final, savage humiliation of the clergyman.
It’s a pretty savage view of man from the author of Lord of the Flies.

Laila

..."Yaratıcılık? Derin gözlemler? Eğlence? Aslında bir tür deniz hikâyesi oldu bu, ama ne bir fırtına, ne deniz kazası, ne batan bir gemi, ne kazazedeler, ne düşman gemisi, ne bordadan ateşlenen toplar, ne de kahramanlık, ödüllendirilme, mertçe savunma, yiğitçe saldırı! Hepsi hepsi karabinayla tek bir atış!"

William Golding deyince çoğu okurun aklına
Çatal Dil gelir. Deniz Üçlemesi'nin ilk kitabı
Geçiş Ayinleri'ne kadar ben de böyle düşünenlerdendim. Serinin ilk kitabını bitirdiğimde, "bu güne kadar neden okumamışım" diye hayıflandım. Geçiş Ayinleri'ni okuyan çoğu kişi Çatal Dil ile mukayese yaparak üslup farklılığından dolayı eleştirilerde bulunsa da ben eseri beğenenlerdenim. Yazarın da dediği gibi sahici bir deniz hikayesi okuduğumu hissettim, An geldi okyanusun iyot kokusunu içime çektim, an geldi güvertede yolcularla birlikte dolaştım. İlk kitabın sonu için söyleyebileceğim tek şey finalin bende yarattığı şaşkınlık.

"Dinle! Erdem nasıl çıkarsa Olimpos'un sarp yamaçlarından

Günah öyle düşer Hades'in derin uçurumlarından."

Yolculuk bitmedi devam ediyor ve gemide yolculuk edenlerin hikayesi diğer kitaplarda neler getirecek merak ediyorum. Bu yüzden incelememe şimdilik bir ara veriyor. Seriyi bitirdiğimde buraya yeniden dönüp gönderimi düzenlemeyi düşünerek diyerek kaçıyorum.

Eyyorlamam bu kadar!

Lobstergirl

An epistolary novel that becomes comedic and then tragic, after beginning as neither. Edmund Talbot, a pompous young aristocrat, writes journal entries to his godfather narrating the events aboard a ship headed to Australia in the early 19th century. Golding's language is flowery, and the pretentiousness is compounded by the italicizing of certain words in the text, mostly marine terms. We are introduced to a variety of passengers and crew: the obsequious Reverend Colley, whom nearly everyone despises (he brought to mind another parson, Mr. Collins from Pride and Prejudice), the overly made-up actress Zenobia Brocklebank, whom Talbot ~~forcefully seduces~~ basically rapes in his cabin (Reverend Colley, walking by, assumes the noises he hears are Talbot wrestling with his faith, and praying), a tyrannical captain who hates all clergy and treats Colley like dirt, and several rude seamen. It ends up being a story about bullying; I spent most of the book thoroughly not enjoying it, but the last quarter of the novel tied everything together and gave the story a meaningful structure. Still, I'm not yearning to read the next two books in the sea trilogy, which apparently all take place on the same ship.

Judith Johnson

Dark!

Think I might allow myself an interlude of light relief before I read the sequels.

Perhaps a re-read of the Aubrey and Maturin series by Patrick O’Brian? Similar territory but tad less claustrophobic! 😳

John

Edward Talbot is not a likeable character and as one other reviewer said a bit of a nob. The story told from two perspectives is well written and there are twists. I enjoyed the novel and the other main character Colley the parson was also a bit of a nob and naive.

The heavy storyline is also lightened with many amusing passages. Not sure I would like to be a passenger from England to Australia in the Napoleonic era and glad to have avoided the badger bag.

Irmak

“Kişi başkalarının yaptıklarıyla değil, kendi yaptıklarıyla kirlenir.”

Eddie Clarke

My first Golding, so can’t say if this is a decline from his early famous novels or not. I enjoyed it enormously though - beautifully written, interesting flawed 1st person narrator and great secondary characters, brilliantly realised. Interesting to compare this to the Patrick O’Brian novels: this is set in the same time period and similarly focusses on masculine relationships at sea. Golding’s language is richer and more densely literary. Personally I enjoyed the plot, but perhaps it feels a little dated and melodramatic - losing a 4th star from me for that.

It’s amusing this years’ reading is taking on something of a seafaring theme.

Booker Prize winner 1980.

Matthew Briggs

After reading this book, I was very surprised that it won Golding an award. My overall impression is that it was well-written, but boring. I enjoyed the style of the writing, and the journal entry method made for an interesting delivery, a good change from the omniscient narrator. The plot did hold my interest for a while and did pose some moments of anticipatory intrigue. However, my expectations were a little let down when nautical life was not at the forefront of the work. Certainly there are vivid descriptions of life on a ship, but this is ultimately a drama set at sea, not a maritime adventure with the ship and sea as major characters.

I know that it is not fair to have a negative view of a book because it didn't meet my expectations, but that's not why I didn't like it. After I resigned myself to the fact that this was a different kind of sea novel, the story was still just not that riveting. The drama was very subtle in most cases, and the prose made parts of the plot hard to follow. Additionally, there was not any really interesting character; all were one-dimensional. I do see the quality in this work, but I think it may just have not aged well for this Millennial to see its full value. I'm not sure I'll read the second book of the trilogy.

Syme

Loved it. A very intriguing story about the social life on a voyage. Superbly written, as the story develops it becomes a real page turner. I finished the first half in a week, and the second half in a day. I can't wait to start Close Quarters, the second part in the trilogy.

Merilee

Loved this book! Going to start the second book in the trilogy next. Somehow I had not been aware that Golding had won a Nobel.

Snezhina

Трябва да призная, че "Повелителят на мухите" изобщо не е сред любимите ми заглавия. Стилът на Уилям Голдинг не ме дразнеше, но самата концепция нито ме стъписа, нито ме уплаши и не почувствах творбата като предупредителен разказ за едно възможно бъдеще, а смятам, че целта на този тип творби е именно такава. Просто считам, че ако човек познава отблизо жестокостта и враждебността, която понякога се крие у децата, не може да намери нищо запомнящо се в този роман. Измина много време преди да дам втори шанс на Голдинг и реших, че "Морски обреди" ще е четивото, с което ще го направя.
Всъщност "Морски обреди" определено ми хареса доста повече от "Повелителят на мухите", най-вече защото след прочитането ѝ не се чувствах подведена, както се почувствах след "Повелителят". Това е така, защото анотацията на този роман, поне според мен, предава много точно съдържанието му. Анотацията не ни обещава нещо гръмко, а нещо мрачно, но плавно и умерено и именно това получих като читател.
В този роман Голдинг отново изследва тъмната страна на човешката душа, но този път не го прави през погледа на деца. Вместо това читателят се запознава с пътници на кораб, пътуващ за Австралия в началото на деветнадесети век. Романът е в епистоларна форма - написан е под формата на писма, които младеж на име Едмънд Талбът пише на своя неназован благодетел, който е уредил той да бъде изпратен в Австралия като помощник на губернатора. Едмънд описва пасажерите на кораба, пътуващ за далечните земи и Голдинг ни въвежда в една обстановка, която създава впечатлението, че ще бъде разгледан всеки един образ, който ни е представен. Оказа се обаче, че Голдинг е сменил похвата и всъщност фокусът е върху един по-основен персонаж, видян най-вече през очите на Едмънд и обвързал по някакъв начин съдбата си с всички. Това не е лош ход, но според мен не бе твърде успешен. Останах с впечатлението, че от поведението на хората на кораба изглежда, сякаш свещеникът е единственият интересен пасажер и единственият, който бива обсъждан и одумван от екипажа и пътниците. Не знам защо Голдинг поставя в такава централна позиция свещеникът, но определено смятам, че на този кораб имаше достатъчно по-интересни образи, които можеха да извадят наяве мръсните тайни на останалите. Считам, че при такова разнообразие от герои, които ни бяха описани, не е подходящо Голдинг да се фокусира върху един и да остави останалите като просто едни двуизмерни сенки, блуждаещи по палубите. Също така Едмънд създава впечатление на доста проницателна личност, на човек, който вижда истината, ако се вгледа, и я пропуска, когато му е изгодно - такъв човек не би пропуснал да опише богатата палитра от образи, които среща на въпросния кораб. След като си изгражда мнение за тях обаче Едмънд не опитва да погледне по-отблизо останалите и това води и до грешката, която допуска със свещеника Мистър Коли. Също така човешката душа е една непрестанно променяща се величина, която би могла да бъде разглеждана по много различни начини, които според мен Голдинг ужасно много пренебрегва. Накрая сякаш самият той го осъзнава и се опитва да придаде дълбочина на образа на Коли чрез писмото, което Едмънд открива. За мен обаче това писмо не беше особено важно - наистина разкри истинските намерения на свещеника и грешката на Едмънд, но не допринесе с нищо повече за цялостната картина. Може би и аз съм пристрастна, тъй като смятам, че свещеник в случая не е най-добрият избор за един от главните персонажи и можеше намеренията му да останат тайна, но като цяло ходът с писмото е една от главните причини за рейтинга, който съм поставила на романа. И най-големият минус на всичко това за мен е фактът, че дори след писмото и истината пак не изпитах особено съжаление към Коли. Не знам дали това говори лошо за мен като човек и дали Голдинг не е целял дори подсъзнателно да представи неговото съсловие по такъв начин, но е факт, че не усетих това, което може би трябваше.
Като цяло считам "Морски обреди" за успешна среща с Голдинг, но дори и тя не ме накара да го заобичам повече. Въпреки четивността на романа и лесният за възприемане изказ на автора, след затварянето на последната страница не усетих нищо, което да преобърне тотално представите ми за него. Бих прочела втората книга от въпросна��а трилогия, но надали ще ми бъде на дневен ред скоро. И въпреки това, ако някой търси нещо по-плавно и мрачно, съсредоточено върху човешката психика, романът ще му допадне. Просто при мен Голдинг не успя да се докаже, но някъде там го очаква някое друго читателско сърце, което да плени.

Laurence

Die ene vervelende en sociaal onaangepaste persoon die je liever ontwijkt dan telkens opnieuw er een gesprek mee aan te knopen... ik beken schuld. De verdienste van dit boek is dat het je het standpunt laat zien van die persoon. Een fraai zelfbeeld levert het niet op.
Helaas komt dit boek wel erg traag op gang om het echt fantastisch te maken. Het middenstuk is emotioneel erg krachtig, maar naar mijn gevoel wordt het daarna ook weer niet 100% afgewerkt om helemaal doel te treffen.
Op zich herhaalt William Golding hier een beetje de thematiek van Lord of the Flies: een hoop mensen (volwassenen in de plaats van kinderen) in besloten omgeving (een boot in de plaats van een eiland), maar in mijn herinnering was Lord of the Flies precies toch beter.

Mina S

3 ile 4 yildiz arasinda cok kaldim, kitap basarili ama okumasam ne kaybederdim sorusundan sonra uce dusurdum.
Kitabin en begendigim kismi ise baskarakterin agzindan geliyor:

“Az önce derin bir üzüntüyle tekrar karıştırdım sayfaları. Yaratıcılık? Derin gözlemler? Eğlence? Aslında bir tür deniz hikâyesi oldu bu, ama ne bir fırtına, ne deniz kazası, ne batan bir gemi, ne kazazedeler, ne düşman gemisi, ne bordadan ateşlenen toplar, ne de kahramanlık, ödüllendirilme, mertçe savunma, yiğitçe saldırı! Hepsi hepsi karabinayla tek bir atış!”

Excerpt From: Golding, William. “Geçiş Ayinleri.” Sel Yayıncılık, 2003-05-21T21:00:00+00:00. iBooks.
This material may be protected by copyright.

Kathrin Passig

Gelesen, weil ich den ersten Teil der Miniserie mochte (weiter bin ich mit der Serie noch nicht, war eine Empfehlung von Elinor Richter). Manches kann man eigentlich erst im Buch verstehen, weil es in der Filmfassung nur ganz kurz gestreift wird. Den eingefügten ausführlichen Brief von Colley fand ich lahm, das war im Film besser gelöst. Dafür ist im Buch eleganter, dass man tatsächlich erst aus dem Brief eine wesentliche Szene erfährt, die der Erzähler nicht mitbekommen hat. Schönes Aufeinanderstapeln von "Oh, alles noch mal ganz anders!"-Momenten.

Góczán Judit

Társadalom miniben, avagy mit tesz egy kényszerűen összezárt közösség. Milyen szabályok érvényesülnek, kit mit tesz és mit tehet meg... Mihez van ráruházott joga és hogyan szólal meg vagy éppen nem a lelkiismerete. Mint egy fizikai kísérlet. Ha kamerák is lennének, akkor pedig isten hozott a való világban. Olyan is ez a regény, mint egy tudósítás, vagy akár egy üzenet a palackban. Két főszereplője van és ahogy változik a nézőpont, úgy csúszik más irányba az olvasó (elő)ítélete. A felszínen persze egy izgalmas tengeri utazás.

Title	:	Rites of Passage (To the Ends of the Earth, #1)
Author	:	William Golding
Rating	:
ISBN	:	0571209432
ISBN-10	:	9780571209439
Format Type	:	Paperback
Number of Pages	:	278
Publication	:	First published January 1, 1980
Awards	:	Booker Prize (1980)

Rites of Passage (To the Ends of the Earth, #1) by William Golding

Rites of Passage (To the Ends of the Earth, #1) Reviews

Rites of Passage (To the Ends of the Earth, #1) Reviews

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