This book chronicles a deacon's very quick descent into madness while trying to build a spire on his cathedral. There is a lot of symbolism, and the stream of consciousness prose was most often confusing, but I did enjoy reading it. While I got the major plot beats, I did find it helpful to read the wikipedia article afterwards to understand the full meaning of the book. ( )

This book was not what I thought it would be. Dean Jocelin has had a vision - that his cathedral be capped by the tallest spire ever constructed. But the cathedral is old and lacks sound foundations - and so constructing this spire risks disaster at every step.

I thought I could tell where this book was going - but I was wrong. Instead, Golding's psychological novel is more artful and artistic than anything I have read in years. Challenging, but sensational. ( )

The problems arising from the desire of a churchman wanting to improve his parish church into a startling testament of faith. to a great degree this impulse is revealed as an act of the sin of pride, with a bit of envy thrown in. It does not go off with the wanted results for moral betterment, as the influx of workers and exposure to the artistic impulse stresses the parish, certainly for a period and possibly for a generation. Did I mention that like Graham Greene, Mr. Golding is not an optimist? ( )

** spoiler alert ** A real gem of a novel here. I read Lord of the Flies about 7-8 years ago, but hadn't encountered Golding since. The Spire has really encouraged me to seek out more of his work. The man can write, y'all.

The writing is what I'll start with, because it was what landed The Spire solidly in the 4-star ballpark. The unexpected metaphors, the ebb and flow of the prose, the succinctness and subtlety all render The Spire a real artistic achievement. It's a joy to read. Golding writes with a limited 3rd person narrator, in a stream of consciousness-esque style. It's rather impressionistic and works really well to capture Jocelin's sensations and state of mind. There's a confusing, rambling quality to it, but that's exactly how one would feel if they tapped into another person's consciousness. Jocelin is gradually revealed as an increasingly unreliable narrator, delusional and self-righteous. He appears initially in a semi-sympathetic light, but his hypocrisy and obsessive ambition quickly darken our perception of him. Because of his delusion, certain facts and happenings only become clear at the end, in the period of reckoning with Roger Mason and Father Adam or during hallucinatory flashbacks. I'm referring specifically to Jocelin's sexual encounter(?) with a young Goody and his knowledge of the sacrifice of Pangall. The gradual and subtle revelations of these facts are a bit confusing and easily missed, however.

The church environment is rendered wonderfully, and there are few anachronisms. Golding captures the logic and superstition of the Middle Ages in a non-patronising, honest way. Jocelin's misogyny, for example, is not a "look how dumb they were" type of phenomenon. On the one hand, it is simply descriptive of the general view of women, and on the other, it serves a psychological and narrative function in revealing Jocelin's anxieties about his sexual desires and the struggle that accompanies them. A propos that observation, it is interesting to note the spire is a phallic symbol, denoting the recklessness and pride that motivate Jocelin. These especially male temptations are realized in an especially male way - through building. Women are unwelcome in this environment because it is essentially skewed and unbalanced (like the spire itself) towards sin, in which even the constructive aspect of masculinity (building) is perverted for folly and evil. There are no harmonious, fruitful marriages in this story, because there is no balance and reconciliation between the sexes. Sin effectively renders such unions impossible.

What I found especially illuminating from a Christian perspective was the the way Golding depicted the danger of taking our own work to be God's work. It becomes clear throughout the narrative that Jocelin's supposedly God-given "vision" of the spire originated in his own inability to pray, in a sense of his own inadequacy, which he sought to compensate for. It becomes increasingly obvious that Jocelin is using "faith" as a foil for his own ambitions. The success of the spire will vindicate him, not God. He also becomes delusional about the nature of sin and evil, calling the "army" of builders "good men" because they serve his purpose and desire, despite their being unrepentant pagans, drunkards, rapists. They defile the church with their iniquity, and not least with their rank pagan idolatry, building Pangall into the foundations to avoid "bad luck". They are faithless, and alongside them, Jocelin becomes faithless too. He believes only in himself, that his will holds up the spire, although when the spire wavers, the relationship is revealed to be more-or-less the inverse. Up on the spire, where he increasingly resides, he can ignore the singing of the pillars and the nagging of his conscience as he deserts all duties to the community of faith.

The novel ends with Jocelin's descent into madness and his ultimate death. Although he recognizes his folly and his wretchedness, he never progresses beyond it into repentance and forgiveness. At his death, when Father Adam is "helping him into heaven", it seems to the reader that the certainty of Jocelin's postmortem destination is less than established. All ends in uncertainty, awaiting final judgment, both Jocelin and his spire, which is still standing - for now.

As a closing remark, I'll add that the audiobook version narrated by Benedict Cumberbatch is superb! He sometimes puts different emphases than I would have, but he really makes the characters come to life in their distinctive voices and personalities. He has a great sense for the right tempo, too. I often listened to the book while simultaneously reading the physical version, since the prose can be a bit difficult to follow. ( )

William Golding wrote “Lord of the Flies”. Nearly everyone knows this. And nearly no one could name another of his books. “Darkness Visible” is my favorite so far, slowly making my way through his oeuvre, reveling in gorgeously spread entrées, drinking down the sentences in jammy red wine rivers. My most recent meal was “The Spire”, a cautionary tale of obsession, angelic visions and lust jutting against the sky, an erection as evidence of the temerity of man to the greater glory of God. Or some such palaver. Yet, this novel is far from idle talk, as glimpsed by the opening passage that made me grin with the aroma of the impending main course:

"He was laughing, chin up, and shaking his head. God the Father was exploding in his face with a glory of sunlight through painted glass, a glory that moved with his movements to consume and exalt Abraham and Isaac and then God again. The tears of laughter in his eyes made additional spokes and wheels and rainbows."

When I hit the juicy red center, I was graced with this beauty, mixing on the plate with blood and spice:

“Then, as Jocelin looked, he saw a pebble drop with two clods of earth; and immediately a patch perhaps a yard square fell out of the side below him and struck the bottom with a soft thud. The pebbles that fell with it lay shining dully in the reflected light, and settled themselves in their new bed. But as he watched them and waited for them to settle, the hair rose on the nape of his neck; for they never settled completely. He was one stir, as with a sudden restlessness; and then he saw that they were all moving more or less, with a slow stirring, like the stirring of grubs. The earth was moving under the grubs, urging them this way and that, like porridge coming to the boil in a pot; and the grubs were made to crawl by it, as dust will crawl on the head of a tapped drum.
Jocelin jerked out his hand and made a defensive sign at the bottom of the pit. He glanced at Roger Mason, who was staring at the grubs, lips tight round his teeth, a yellow pallor shining through his skin that was not all reflection.
“What is it, Roger? What is it?”
Some form of life; that which ought not to be seen or touched, the darkness under the earth, turning, seething, coming to the boil.
“What is it? Tell me!”
But the master builder still strained down, eyes wide open.
Doomsday coming up; or the roof of hell down there. Perhaps the damned stirring, or the noseless men turning over and thrusting up; or the living, pagan earth unbound at last and waking, Dia Mater. Jocelin found one hand coming up to his mouth; and all at once he was racked with spasms, and making the same sign over and over again.”

I greedily anticipate another feast with William Golding. ( )