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SPOILERS INCOMING! William Golding, "The Inheritors" Common sense dictates that I should first write a review of "Pyramid," which I read right before this book, especially since Golding's works are strongly linked by his unified philosophical understanding of human society, illuminating the central idea from different angles, but for some reason, I can't bring myself to do that right now. Perhaps because "Pyramid" left a deeper and more powerful impression, which I wouldn't want to spoil with a superficial review. Since the novel was read in a less-than-ideal state of mind and in utterly appalling living conditions, I apologize in advance for everything written below. "The Inheritors" tells the story of a tribe of Neanderthals and their encounter with their distant relatives – Cro-Magnons. From a material point of view, it is, of course, completely fantastical – it is impossible to assume that the meeting of these two species occurred at a time when the former had not even mastered the most primitive tools, while the latter were already practicing sailing. But historical accuracy is not what we read novels for, is it? As great as Golding's disregard for the achievements of anthropology is, so too is the care with which he depicts the way of life and customs of this branch of evolution. 90% of the narrative is told from the perspective of the Neanderthals, and in the language that, according to the author, the Neanderthals should have used to think. Only in the landscape descriptions does the author give free rein to his own linguistic skill. The idea is original, the execution is conscientious, and the result is sad. Sad, because firstly, the language, distorted by artificial primitivism, quickly becomes monotonous, and secondly, sometimes the "translation from Neanderthal" turns into a riddle, the solution of which sometimes makes you lose even the thread of the narrative, trying to understand what "tail-grass" is, as a result of which I could not create a clear picture of the setting in my mind, and thirdly, the landscape descriptions, although good, are sometimes too tiring due to the heaviness of the descriptions. For example, Gorky is also a master of descriptive style, but his elaborate, trope-laden landscapes never bothered me; on the contrary, I read them with pleasure, striving to see the picture exactly as the author sees it. When I come across a Golding landscape, I skim over it superficially; if I don't understand it, I just move on. If Gorky is like the elegant artistry of Gothic, then Golding is like the perverse, overwhelming opulence of Baroque. The image of the Neanderthals can be called, at best, utopian. Instead of an epigraph, there is a description by some modern scientist of their intimidating appearance and wild habits, and this is the only part of the novel where they are shown from this side. In Golding's view, the Neanderthals are deeply religious, communal, childishly naive, and innocent. Obviously, in them, he tries to revive the concept of the golden age, depriving them not only of the vices of civilized man but even of such integral components of life as competition for females and direct predation – throughout the novel, the Neanderthals do not kill a single living creature larger than a larva. I have never sympathized with either the idea of the golden age or its Christian interpretation through the sin of knowledge, and for me, the Neanderthals do not appear as noble savages, no matter how hard the author tries. In their actions and thoughts, I see only primitivism mixed with falsehood, and mentions of their fur or the habit of slapping their thighs made me cringe. The original sin, all the bad against all the good, are represented in the novel by our valiant Cro-Magnon ancestors – murderers and alcoholics. The Neanderthals offer sacrifices to the gods – the Cro-Magnons perform ritual killings. The Neanderthals feed a dying comrade – the Cro-Magnon chief steals food. The Neanderthals approach the Cro-Magnons with love and curiosity – they capture and kill them. In general, as in the famous film "Cannibal Holocaust" – the "civilized" heartless people torment innocent savages. I will not dwell on this aspect. There are quite a few interesting moments there, such as the symbolism of the Neanderthals tasting the forbidden fruit – Cro-Magnon mead, a kind of friendship that arises among children of different species and is impossible for adults, but I am not doing professional criticism here, but just telling about my impressions. The ending is unclear in terms of plot, but perfectly clear ideologically. Of course, the Cro-Magnons emerge victorious from a war that never needed to happen. In the last chapters, we see the world through the eyes of the Cro-Magnon Tuami, and, frankly, after the Neanderthals, it is like a breath of fresh air. Tuami is extremely vicious; in one chapter, he can safely be accused of the sins of pride, anger, envy, lust, and despair, at the very least. And he is beautiful and noble in his viciousness. In the confrontation with me, Golding failed – a clever sinner inspires more sympathy than a foolish savage. In his mental torments and evil passions, Tuami embodies everything that is truly human, intelligent, and dozens of other epithets – in contrast to the unnatural idiocy of the pseudo-goodness of the Neanderthal. Here we also see the second main motif of the novel – the motif of loneliness. The Neanderthal is most afraid of being alone. He reaches out to the Cro-Magnons out of a desire for society. From the very first pages of the book, the Neanderthals are an ideal collective, all for one. And what about the Cro-Magnon? He is always alone. Among his fellow tribesmen, he always stands apart. He secretly hates his sexual partner, dreams of killing his chief at the first opportunity. He has already discovered the phenomenon of loneliness in a crowd. There is also much hidden between the lines – for example, the telepathic abilities of the Neanderthals, a symbol of their spiritual unity and moral superiority, which the rational man does not have. The Neanderthal will remain alone, as he feared – and will become just a red beast. What will happen to the Cro-Magnon is not said, but we all know perfectly well, don't we? It would be impossible and wrong to put a rating on a ten-point scale. Measuring art with numbers is not a good idea in general, and when applied to literature, where everything comes down to deeply personal aspects both on the part of the author and on the part of the reader, it is completely unacceptable. I will summarize as follows: I didn't like it very much, but I am glad that I read it. You can agree with Golding or not, find his style artistic and original or cumbersome and interfering, but one thing is certain: this novel is unique. Recommended for general development.