In today’s mail I found a cutting from a British newspaper, but I do not know which one. Arnd Schneider sent it. The article is about William Golding’s second novel, The Inheritors (1955), in which he explores the Neanderthals’ innocent world. And its ignoble end. The article appeared on January 11 under the banner of rereading, but Arnd’s brief message is dated January 29. Exactly on that day I learned about Golding’s book from a colleague at the university. We were having lunch together. The next day I ordered the book, because no bookstore in Reading had it in stock. I looked for it everywhere. I was told it would arrive in a few days. The coincidence is striking, indeed. Just consider the odds! No matter how much I resist reading anything into it, I know I will cherish the book so much more because of it. The coincidence, that is.

Addendum (February 4, 2003)

Then, incredibly, a rutting stag belled by the trunks. The noise was harsh and furious, full of pain and desire. It was the voice of the greatest of all stags and the world was not wide enough for him. Fa and Lok gripped each other and stared at the logs without a picture. The new people bent so that their shapes changed and the heads were hidden. The stag appeared. He moved sparingly on his two hind legs and his forelegs were stretched out sideways. His antlered head was among the leaves of the trees, he was looking up, past the new people, past Fa and Lok, and it swayed from side to side. The stag began to turn and they saw that his tail was dead and flapped against the pale, hairless legs. He had hands.

From William Golding’s The Inheritors, London: Faber and Faber, 1955, p. 128.