Yet once more, o ye laurels? No, not from dissertation writers and literary quarterlies, who may not know quite what to make of Golding's latest. A careful, subdued story of one young man's passage from adolescence to reminiscence, from the 20's through the 40's, from the village of Stillbourne to Oxford and back, The Pyramid builds itself with dogged detachment and gradual accretions of meaning. Oliver, son of a limp pharmacist, has a few initiatory bouts with a bitter young town sexpot; an unwilling romp in the town musical show; and (the best part of the three) violin lessons from Miss Dawlish, a town eccentric beguiled by her driving teacher. Demands are made on this unresponsive, not terribly interesting hero, who tells it all in a first person sometimes arch, sometimes fine. If there's an allegory here, it's less cut and dried and ready for exegesis than is usual with Golding. Way of All Flesh rendered by Updike, the labellers might say...meanwhile, it can and will be read at face value, no great shakes but a pleasant climb.