Dear reader,

After two pretty dark and controversial books in the last couple of weeks, we felt it was time for a real change of tone. And nothing could feel more different than J. L. Carr’s exquisite A Month in the Country, with its gentle, pastoral portrait of a vanished rural England, its moving evocation of the trauma of the First World War and its themes of lost love, quiet suffering and artistic beauty.

We’ve done a fair bit of American fiction so far on this show. We’ve also been to Sicily and Naples, and in a few weeks’ time we’ll be in St Petersburg. But A Month in the Country couldn’t be more English. It’s not the best-known book we’ve covered, but people often hold it in enormous affection. People don’t like it, they love it.

I was especially keen to do it because, as I mentioned in the show, my mother spent much of her childhood in Kettering, where Carr was the headmaster of a local primary school. My grandfather very vaguely knew him, and when I once mentioned that some of my friends were doing A Month in the Country for GCSE English, he said, slightly surprised, “Oh, Mr Carr’s book?”

That tells you something about Carr’s remarkable career. As Tabby described in our episode, he published his books himself, under the imprint of his own Quince Tree Press, as well as a series of lovely little maps of England and its counties. I can’t think of many authors on the British school syllabus who published their own books from a small suburban house in Northamptonshire – or who wore their success so modestly.

For although he was twice shortlisted for the Booker Prize, he never saw himself as a literary star. When Vogue asked him how he’d describe himself, he wrote: “James Lloyd Carr, a back-bedroom publisher of large maps and small books who, in old age, unexpectedly wrote six novels, which, although highly thought of by a small band of literary supporters and by himself, were properly disregarded by the Literary World.”

When we announced that we were doing this book on the show, lots of people got in touch. One was John Buchan’s granddaughter and biographer, Ursula, a great friend of the show, who pointed me to a very touching memoir of Carr that she wrote for the Slightly Foxed Quarterly.

Another was Carr’s granddaughter Ellie, who wanted to let us know that after sixty years the Quince Tree Press is still going strong and is still run by the Carr family. They produce lovely editions of his books, as well as his gorgeous hand-drawn maps of England and its counties. It’s not for me to tell our listeners what to do with their money, but I imagine they would make very good Christmas presents!

Two other quick thoughts before I go. One is that we’re delighted to see that The Book Club is flourishing on YouTube. We’d love to get to 100,000 subscribers before the end of the year, not least because Tabby is ferociously competitive and is determined to catch up with some of the lesser other Goalhanger shows. So if you’ve nothing else to do, please head to YouTube and hit subscribe. It costs you nothing and will make her very, very happy.

And that brings me to the last thing, which is that it was genuinely such a thrill to see so many listeners at our first live appearance a couple of weeks ago, during Goalhanger’s festival at Southbank Centre Thank you so much for coming. The first of many, I hope!

I suspect Tabby will be furious with me for saying this, but it was her first EVER live public appearance. There was a bit of chat beforehand about whether she’d be nervous, and I made strenuous efforts, in a mildly condescending way, to assure her that it would be fine.

You can probably guess what’s coming. As soon we stepped onstage it was obvious that she was in her element, firing out wisecracks and launching into her tributes to A Place of Greater Safety and Girl with a Pearl Earring with terrifying fluency. Afterwards, my son said: “You were good, but she was really good.” Nobody wants to hear that.

Read on for the weekly Book Notes from Rhiannon, polls, recommendations and your reviews of Lord of the Flies.

Until next time,

Dominic

“If I’d stayed there, would I always have been happy? No, I suppose not. People move away, grow older, die, and the bright belief that there will be another marvellous thing around each corner fades. It is now or never; we must snatch at happiness as it flies.”

A classic summation of the narration – and life outlook – of Tom Birkin (and Carr?) which manages to play with nostalgia without succumbing to it. But what quote stayed with you? Email us and let us know.

This week, we asked you to tell us the books that truly scared you, after Tabby revealed how Lord of the Flies gave her nightmares. You flooded us with them, so we thought (if you dare) we’d pass on these recommendations for terrifying reads. Keep sending us the stories you think everyone should know by emailing [email protected].

We can’t wait to see your responses to A Month in the Country. Write in to [email protected] with ‘review’ in the subject line and tell us…

This week, lots of brilliant thoughts about Lord of the Flies - and some lovely letters already about A Month in the Country.

Your polls

Given its bleak and terrifying scenes, we asked what age you thought someone should be to read Lord of the Flies – 49% of you said older teens.

“I read this book in my early teens, I was too young for its themes and found it bleak and quite disturbing,” said Sandy.

But Stephanie offered an alternative viewpoint. “It’s a great book to teach to kids at that age: they have seen enough bad behaviour of their peers to recognise certain types,” she said. “They are also old enough that the text may help them avoid mob mentality, and possibly stand up to it, or interrupt it. Also, it’s a great entry point for basic literary concepts, such as symbolism and foreshadowing.”

“I was about 11 in school and I would agree with Dominic's assessment that it is too young to read it,” says Alex. “Had I waited a few years, I probably would have been encouraged to reflect on my time as a pre-teen more and what Golding was speaking about. That being said, I do think that the book is perhaps best re-read as an adult, since I don't know if teens will be able to pick up on the themes of Original Sin, the darkness of the human soul and class so prevalent in the book. I certainly did not on my first read; I was too busy hiding from Jack and his hunters (who I incidentally found much more terrifying than the Lord of the Flies himself).”

While Tabby gave Lord of the Flies 7/10, Dominic went for 9/10… and the majority of you sat between them on 8/10, with 32% of the votes.

“I agree with Tabby; it is boring at the beginning,” said Ana, who gave it just 5/10. “I didn't particularly enjoy it, but I changed my view after hearing the podcast. I can see now why it is considered a masterpiece.”

Wulf wrote: “It’s a classic – but for high school students and their teachers. Too allegorical, too chatty, too many dialogs. Nabokov [said] If the dialog is ‘too abundant or too sustained, I shut the book with a bang and ban it from my bed.’”

Roger that

Al wrote in with a reappraisal of Roger, saying: “I think Tabby and Dominic are too kind in their assessment of Roger. He is not merely a sadist, to me he is the embodiment of evil who - without the rescue of the naval officer - would have ousted Jack, who simply has evil traits. ‘Roger advanced upon them as one wielding a nameless authority,’ is a terrifying sentence. The ‘them’ are the twins, Sam and Eric who represent noble decency and innocence.”

The Tongan Castaways

Thanks to those (like Kathy, Murray, Rachael, Eva and more!) who addressed Tabby’s point about the book being too bereft of any goodness with back-up from this case of Tongan school boys who were marooned together for 15 months, with a much kinder approach.

Among them, Liska said: “I loved Lord of the Flies as a kid. Was deeply disturbed by it. Saw truth in it. But something never quite sat right with me about it either. There was something about it I resented. It wasn’t until I read this Guardian article [above] that I understood what. Namely, Goldman’s bleak assertion that this is simply human nature.

“It is NOT. Yes, clearly, humans are capable of incredible violence, both as individuals and as societies. But we are also deeply social and reliant animals. That is how we evolved, that is how human societies flourished. This has been shown over and over in anthropological and social studies, and is supported by evolutionary theory.

Woman troubles

Several of you wrote in following our question in Book Notes around the lack of girls in the novel. Julia says 60 years after her first reading, “I note that there is not a single woman in the story unless you count the sow, which you very well might. Not surprising to a woman of my age. But I am a little surprised you and Dom didn’t mention that at all.”

A. Chislett agreed, writing: “I found this book boring when we did it at school for O-level English as there isn't really anything in it that's relatable for a girl. I asked my teacher why girls were missing – I meant from the horror and evil – but he smirked and said they would have complicated things sexually. This was in the 1970s, hopefully girls wouldn't be reduced to a sexual function for boys today, but perhaps this was closer to Golding's viewpoint? I think most of the girls in my class just thought it was about boys being stupid, whereas most of the boys were traumatised like Dominic.”

Learned behaviour?

Another perspective from Rebecca who wrote in: “When I read this it school age 12 I asked my older cousin to help me with an essay I had to write. He looked at me and said: ‘Do you think if the boys were stranded on the island as babies and toddlers they would they have reacted the same way? Or, were they mirroring the behaviour of adults and hierarchies they'd already experienced?’ I stared back at my cousin and used this premise to write my essay. I can't remember what I wrote or the conclusion, it was years ago…”

Teaching Golding

We had lots of correspondence from teachers this week (who varied in viewpoints on Golding’s accuracy in depicting teenage boys). Susan wrote that the story “has a special significance for me as it is the first book I came across that made me realise that literature is something more than just stories to entertain us. I was 14 and had moved schools mid-term to an unfamiliar part of the country and was feeling lost and isolated as everyone laughed and sneered every time I spoke because my accent was apparently hilarious. But in English lessons, my new teacher Mrs Bell was teaching a book called Lord of the Flies and talking about the dynamics of how cruel children can be to each other. I realised in those lessons that literature is there to help us to grapple with how and why the world is as it is. This was absolutely new to me at the time and it was a revelation. I went on to be an English teacher in the hope of being the next Mrs Bell.”

When teaching, Susan adds, she’s “often asked my opinion on how the novel would have been different if it had been about girls rather than boys (and indeed used to set this as a GCSE creative writing coursework assessment with some intriguing results!). In response I’d suggest two further novels:

“Cat’s Eye by Margaret Atwood. When it was published, the first novel I’d ever read that came anywhere near the reality of how young girls routinely treat each other…

“The Power by Naomi Alderman. What would be different if women, by some kind of genetic mutation, acquired the ability to inflict pain to the extent that men lost their physical dominance? One of the most profoundly disturbing novels I have ever read.”

One small word

Mac wrote: “There's a small, wonderful moment when Simon and Ralph are walking along the shore and Ralph catches a glimpse of the sea. The immense size of the ocean clearly affects Ralph, and Simon, as though reading Ralph's mind says: ‘Don't worry, you'll get home alright.’ It's one of my favourite moments in the novel because it highlights Simon's empathy (and maybe his mythical nature). And also, he says: ‘you'll’, not ‘we'll’. Ugh!”

The quote that stayed with you

“It had to be Ralph's pain after Piggy's death,” Kaye wrote. “I think I felt the same after reading the book. Never have forgotten it and I read it about 40 years ago.”

‘Ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man's heart, and the fall through the air of the true, wise friend called Piggy.’

See you next week for Jane Eyre.

The Book Club Team