What do you think?
Rate this book


336 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1979
We're all mad, the whole damned race. We're wrapped in illusions, delusions, confusions about the penetrability of partitions, we're all mad and in solitary confinement.
What had seemed impossible and therefore unreal was now a fact and clear to them all. A figure had condensed out of the shuddering backdrop of the glare. It moved in the geometrical centre of the road which now appeared longer and wider than before. Because if it was the same size as before, then the figure was impossibly small—impossibly tiny, since children had been the first to be evacuated from that whole area; and in the mean and smashed streets there had been so much fire there was nowhere for a family to live. Nor do small children walk out of a fire that is melting lead and distorting iron.Despite being badly burned he survives:
His background was probed and probed without result. For all that the most painstaking inquiries could find, he might have been born from the sheer agony of a burning city.The boy knows nothing, not even his name and for the first wee while he’s simply called ‘seven’ by the nursing staff, at least for official purposes; to his face he’s “known in successive wards as baby, darling, pet, poppet, sweetie and boo-boo.” Finally the matron decides he should have a proper name and he ends up being lumbered with Matthew for a Christain name and Septimus for a middle name. His surname’s a bit of a blur—Windrap, Windwood, Windgrove, Windrave, Windgraff (in the last pages the omniscient narrator finally settles on Windrove)—but mostly everyone calls him Matty apart from at school where he was Baldy Windup because, needless to say, he doesn’t escape without some disfigurement:
The blasting of his left side had given him some contraction of the sinews that growth had not yet redressed, so he limped. He had hair on the right side of his skull but the left side was a ghastly white, which seemed so unchildlike it was an invitation by its appearance of baldness to discount his childishness and treat him as an adult who was being stubborn or just silly.For the first part of the novel we follow him as he’s sent to a Catholic school and then through a succession of menial jobs, see him spend a few years in Australia and finally return to England where he finally settles as a handyman at Wandicott School whose pupils include the sons of royals and oil sheiks. As you might imagine he’s a quiet type and keeps himself to himself. There’s really nothing extraordinary about him other than the fact he always seems to land on his feet. Oh, and he sees… let’s just go with spirit creatures; one in red and one in blue at first, benevolent entities; later green, purple and black “evil spirts” appear.
The cry that went up to heaven brought you down. Now there is a great spirit that shall stand behind the being of the child you are guarding. That is what you are for.If he’s been brought down from heaven then why didn’t he know about his past? My guess—although Golding is perfectly within his rights to make up the rules as he goes along—is that in the same way Jesus didn’t have the heavens opened for him until his baptism likewise Matty had to stay ignorant until the appointed time.
If Darkness Visible is judged solely on a narrative basis, it would be like subjecting Twelfth Night or The Tempest to the standards of literary realism. Although Golding’s novels abound in realistic detail, they are not realistic novels; one does not “believe” in a Golding novel the way one believes in, say, Madame Bovary. – p97I’m not sure I buy that—straight after this he suggests Lord of the Flies wasn’t really set on an island—but there are most definitely a lot of levels to this book and most aren’t very pleasant. Having a pederast play a significant part in the book (and treating him sympathetically) will not be to everyone’s cup of tea but maybe he’s not quite the monster society thinks he is despite his convictions—as he says, “they thought I hurt children but I didn’t, I hurt myself”—and who’s to say a terrorist isn’t a worse criminal or a child killer?