This collection was originally published in 1982, but after he received his Nobel Prize for Literature in 1983, Golding had his Stockholm speech appended to the volume for a re-publication in 1983.
I started with the Nobel acceptance speech, the last essay/speech in the volume, which is composed of lectures re-worked and odd bits of writing he'd done for travel magazines, newspapers, and literary journals. The final essay, the Nobel speech, is a gem, and I was pleased to re-read it when I had travelled from the first genial essay to the penultimate, less genial, more crotchety essay that had apparently closed out the original 1982 edition. Golding's manner in the Nobel speech is appropriately humble, and he begins it by assuring everyone that he's only a pessimist when it concerns the real and tangible world, that as for the world that also encompasses the spiritual, he is very much an optimist; as he would put it, he is a universal pessimist and a cosmic optimist. He speaks a bit on his own mortality, cites some apt verse, speaks of the state of English, then settles in to speak of the state of the novel, of its value—despite the simple genre fictions and the claims of other media—how it is that story telling and the virtues of accessing the mysteries that lie at the heart of creation and emotion will help to guide man from the brink of his own and the world's destruction. The novel, he says, "performs no less an act than the preservation of the indivudality and dignity of the single being, be it man, woman or child. No other art, I claim, can so thread in and out of a single mind and body, so live another life." Again, appropriately humble, Golding concludes his acceptance speech with an anecdote about how received a parking ticket for failing to have read a notice, then after being told what he should have read on the ticket itself about paying the fine, the policeman added, "And may we congratulate you on winning the Nobel Prize for Literature."
The introduction is also worth reading, as it is a good essay in itself on Golding's manner of delivering speeches, which he considered a necessary evil. He loathed the repetitiveness of delivering the same words day after day, and he relates how he found himself distinctly at a loss when he observed that some auditors were taping his speech, seemingly nodding or mouthing with anticipation portions of his speech they'd heard at some other venue. The essays in this volume, he concludes, have been cleaned up, fixed, so that record may be straight about which is the "authorative" version.
The first half of his essays are travel pieces, ranging from an appreciation of local English settings (all of historical Wiltshire, a crossroads of many civilizations: Celts, Romans, Saxons, et al., now fully domesticated; and Winchester and Salisbury, with their cathedrals), the Dutch canals (and the earnest, friendly Dutchmen's penchant for reclaiming land from the sea: "God created the world, but the Dutch created Holland"), Greece (Delphi, the site of pre-Apollonian mother cults, and site of the mysteries of the oracles), and Egypt. There is also a short paean to Mother Earth, Gaia, in his appraisal of George Gerston's book of aerial photographs, Grand Design: The Earth from Above. In the essays about Egypt and Greece, Golding speaks as much about the topography as the terrain of the mind, in particular his conception of the ancient mind as it reveals itself to him. It is in the ancient cultures of the Egyptian and the Delphic Greeks that Golding sees a readier access from the mundane to the spiritual worlds.
In the latter essays, which are reviews and lectures, Golding ranges over Robert Fitzgerald's then new translation (1963) of The Odyssey (better to read it in the Greek, Golding concludes, so as to deal with the epic's proper repetition of language), the Opies' Classic Fairy Tales (indispensable for grandparents, so that they might read to their grandchildren of the reality of evil), Paul Fussell's The Great War and Memory (well done bits about poets Graves, Sassoon, and Owens, but in general too cheeky), what might be the sole purpose of journal keeping (essaying a survey of English diarists ranging from the naive Jimmy Mason to public Pepys, the liberal Herve, the excruciating Johnson, and the pious Queen Victoria), tricks of the trade (the "rough magic" necessary to create a work of fiction and to hold an audience in thrall), his first book (a flimsy 34-page book of poetry, a medium in which he precociously soared though never beyond the heights of Tennyson rhyme and rhythm), his inability to endorse a single mode of composition (and ill suitability as a subject of anyone's post-graduate thesis topic), the inherent immutability and moral stagnation in utopias (surveying Swift, DeFoe, Orwell, Huxley, Butler, et al.), and the spirit of the times (which beliefs are abysmally materialistic and must be countered with the creativity and mysteries inherent in stories).
I like Golding's novels, hence found what he had to say of more merit than others might. He reveals his erudition in numerous of these essays, and I found the pair of Egypt essays the most interesting, both in what they say about the ostensible topic and how the ancient Egypt of his imagination is spark and kin to the world of the spirit he limns in his fiction.