We have all had the experience. Imagine you are on holiday. You find an inviting, secluded spot: a corner of a park, a hilltop with a view, or a cozy coffee shop. And because you “discovered” it, you have a vague sense of ownership. After all, you were there first. You settle in to enjoy your spot when another tourist turns up, uninvited, of course. The two of you eye each other warily. Should you wait it out and hope the other leaves? Should you negotiate over how to divide the space? Maybe even enjoy it together? These seemingly benign questions grow to tragic proportions in The Beach, Alex Garland’s 1997 debut novel. 

Richard, a twenty-something English backpacker stays in sketchy places on a shoestring budget. In a Bangkok guest house, he meets a Scot who calls himself Daffy Duck. Mr. Duck is angry, bitter, and so depressed that he commits suicide, leaving Richard to find not only the gruesome scene but a map directing Richard to the object of Mr. Duck’s bitterness: a beach on a remote island, closed to tourists, in the Gulf of Thailand. Richard sets off for the island with an equally impulsive French couple, Francoise and Etienne.

Upon arrival, the trio learn that the island that they thought was uninhabited has two communities, each aware of the other but living within their own territory and secrets. The first, a group of Thai marijuana farmers, patrol their fields on a plateau with automatic weapons, intent on secrecy because of the illegal nature of their business. More visitors increase the risk of police attention. The second is a group of about 20 westerners living near an idyllic beach—The Beach. For them, secrecy is paramount to saving their beach from spoiling like so many other beaches in Thailand. 

The residents of The Beach are divided into subgroups, even factions. The founders of The Beach include Sal, an American woman; Bugs, her South African partner; and the deceased Mr. Duck. Over a period of ten years, the founders have traveled abroad and invited people from multiple countries, often with specific skills, to join them at The Beach. Finally, several interlopers have discovered The Beach with Richard, Etienne, and Francoise as the newest arrivals. These residents work in teams that, collectively, allow them to live in rustic comfort. They build shelters with local materials. They eat produce from a working farm. They catch loads of fish in the ocean. But they never get around to establishing why they are there, apart from their shared wanderlust, escapism, isolation, and secrecy.

This otherwise frail, unprincipled social structure shows its fault lines when put to a series of tests of escalating severity: spoilage of rice stores; food poisoning when a dead squid is the catch of the day; a devastating shark attack; and finally, the arrival of more interlopers guided by yet another map.

Garland uses several techniques to emphasize division and to heighten suspense. One example is the naming of characters, which creates a kind of hierarchy. Whereas the founders have chosen new names for themselves, most others are identified by first names only, by place of origin (“girls from Sarajevo”), or no names at all. Family names are not used, highlighting how these travelers have severed family connections. All are trying to escape something. 

Garland also uses language to draw boundaries. While most of the Thai characters speak no English, they still make their meanings clear. The westerners, on the other hand, can’t be bothered to deliver a simple greeting or “thank you” in Thai. They feel entitled to do what they like, including the illegal occupation of a foreign country. 

Next is the role of Mr. Duck. After his suicide, he appears in dreams and hallucinations, tormenting Richard and spinning a narrative that challenges the one that Richard is telling himself. Mr. Duck often refers to the Vietnam War and the fall of Saigon, suggesting that The Beach is a quagmire from which some residents will need to be evacuated before it’s too late. Indeed, it is eventually too late, at least for some.

The Beach raises many questions worthy of a robust pub discussion. What’s the difference between an international “traveler” and a “tourist”? Richard respects the former and sneers at the latter. What, exactly, are The Beach inhabitants after? In their first conversation, Richard reveals to Sal what he hoped to find: “I think I was expecting an…ideology or something. A purpose.” Sal’s response hints at the ideology:  “…it isn’t a beach resort because we’re trying to get away from beach resorts. Or we’re trying to make a place that won’t turn into a beach resort.” But this ideology is fatally flawed because it’s precisely what will attract more tourists. A third question relates to the relationships among the inhabitants. Are they real friends brought together by their shared experiences and purpose? Or are they “deal friends”, individuals who see transactional opportunities with each other? Until they don’t.

The story starts in a hotel with a bizarre conversation with a mentally unstable Scotsman by the name of Daffy. Daffy tells Richard about a beautiful unspoilt island and gives him a map before committing suicide.

Richard sets off with a French couple, Etienne & Francoise to find this mythical island & beach & en route gives a copy of the map to a couple of American backpackers. The trio find the beach after an epic journey passing through a cannabis field being managed by some renegade drug dealers.
The trio meet up with a small community of backpackers who accept them into the commune. The trio involve themselves in the self-help community engaged in farming, fishing, cooking & carpentry. The community indulges in an idyllic lifestyle of living simply and also enjoying the fruits of cannabis stolen from the plantation.

Like the Garden of Eden, paradise soon unravels with a bout of communal food poisoning which divides the small community into warring groups. The decline rapidly escalates with the arrival of the two Americans with some German backpackers & the violent intrusion by the cannabis farmers.

The novel is a blend of the Lord Of The Flies & the movie Apocalypse Now !
A compulsive read & highly recommended.

Chris D'Cruz (Chatswood Chapter)

Did you read Lord of the Flies in high school?
This book seemed to be very similar. A group of people on an island, in this case by choice, to escape from whatever they were escaping, leading to anarchy.
Cultural Imperialism was a strong thread. Alienation. Deviance.

The first quarter of the book was like looking forward to a holiday on Adventure Island, and once there I was looking for the airport to get the hell out! Why would I spend any more time with these self-centred delusional mice following Sal the Piper?

There is plenty of published evidence about group dynamics. If we put 10 random
people together to perform tasks, a leader or two will emerge, as will followers, peacekeepers, and the indifferent. This group had its self-appointed leaders but it wasn’t obvious why the followers were following?
While the group dynamics of the characters in this book peaks the readers interest, and quite successfully draws us in and out with the tides, my question was more about the selfishness of all of them! Why are they so special that they can stuff up yet another part of the world, because the last “Bali” is buggered?
This is pretty much where my dislike of the characters led me to dislike the story. While this was probably/possibly deliberate and not all characters are meant to be likeable, it didn’t help me like the book, even though it was a pretty easy read and some chapters were short thought bubbles.

The concept of traveller v’s tourist has been one that I have grappled with over time.
I recall having numerous discussions about travel in the 70’s man, about the concept of kibbutzing, Nepalese retreats, Argentinian treks, Youth Hostels (remember the YHA?), Contiki Tours v’s campervan v’s hitchhiking.
It is also something that dissipates over time. Tourism is just travel made easier. A hop-on-hop-off bus through a country is there for a good reason. It doesn’t diminish the experience because you aren’t hitch hiking through a snow storm. Its not a soft option to make use of a path well travelled. While I do understand that tourist traps do evolve and crowds eventually drive us to another alleged unspoilt mecca, aren’t you/we all part of the reason for the tourist trap arising in the first place? Bali is a great example. A Bob Hope movie Road to Bali in the1952 put it on the map. The surfies followed 20 years later and the rest is inevitable. A great example of Cultural Imperialism where our western impact has changed the place rather sadly. Something that keeps me away from Bali.

The geographical flaws in the novel were too big to ignore. They spent a lot of time keeping others off a beach which seemed only accessible by avoiding murderous drug barons via a leap off a water fall, or a life threatening underwater tunnel swim? Yet they had there own beach which they lived on and regularly fished? They didn’t seem too concerned about protecting this beach from visitors? I assume it is in the same ocean? Why didn’t they just do the rice run from their beach? It was a lagoon that had water in it?

Havent seen the movie as yet. I’ll wait until its free to air.

John Gosper (Broom, WA Chapter)

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“The Beach” is fundamentally a cautionary tale - specifically “Be careful what you wish for” - as our twenty-something English backpacking narrator Richard relates his story of how he was gifted a map showing the location of a mysterious and mythical Thai island with the perfect, undiscovered, tourist-free beach, and sets out to find it with new friends Etienne and Françoise.

The book is actually quite realistic in portraying the kinds of instant, deep relationships which can be forged while backpacking, between travellers sharing extreme experiences far from home, yet who may never see each other again… even if the ultimate conclusion of the novel is “Hell is other people”...

That said, the story could easily be read as a satire on the “more-widely-travelled-than-thou” set, forever trying to define the (questionable) differences between “travellers” and “tourists” from within a constant fug of dope smoke, even if their particular “Eden” is actually a major drug plantation constantly under patrol by aggressive soldiers, feeding into Richard’s Vietnam fantasies fuelled by Hollywood movies (especially “Apocalypse Now.”)

Talking of “fantasy”, Richard could easily be an unreliable narrator, myth-making and telling the equivalent of a “fish story”about his travels, turning his standard-issue traveller’s diary into a “Lord Of The Flies”-like legend of life and death stakes on an unreachable island no ordinary tourist could ever find… and could Mister Duck actually be Richard’s “Fight Club”-esque alter ego?

Written in 1996, Alex Garland accidentally wrote the ideal pre-internet and pre-mobile phone period piece, a story which simply wouldn’t work anytime afterwards, when “The Beach” itself would be reviewed on TripAdvisor, with full directions on Google Maps, and the characters vlogging daily from the campsite (though it’s never made clear why the residents of The Beach are so willing to give up their worldwide travels.) Still, even if Mister Duck is mostly an unnecessary and annoying plot device and the ending is rather sudden, “The Beach” is a compelling tale to be sure, and well told, even if (like a backpacker, perhaps) it takes its time getting to where it’s going…

Adrian Turner (Valencia, Spain Chapter)

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On one level, The Beach by Alex Garland reads like a boy’s own adventure. It begins with a broken hearted young man and a rash plan to escape it all. Following an encounter with a mystery figure with a map of an even more mysterious island, the central character embarks on a risky journey with new found companions. Arriving in paradise, we live vicariously on an idyllic beach, spending the days fishing, exploring and getting stoned, all in the ominous presence of sharks, drug mercenaries and of course, a beautiful love interest.

We follow Richard, a young Englishman with his simplistic, explanatory style from his chance encounter with the mysterious “Mister Duck” in Bangkok to “The Beach” - an unspoiled pot of gold at the end of the tourist rainbow. Richard embarks on this journey with a teenage french couple, Etinenne and his beautiful and beguiling girlfriend, Franciose. 

The trio share a contempt for the hordes of tourists and the next new town they mindlessly destroy. They make their way through a restricted marine park and onto the island. Here they find a small, international commune of like minded travellers. The group is led by Sal, who along with Bugs and Mister Duck, were the Beach’s first inhabitants 3 years ago. Since then the commune has grown and Sal ensures the day to day necessities of  fishing, growing vegetables, carpentry and cooking are carried out in order to keep the community fed and functioning.
But not long after the trio’s arrival, cracks appear in the veneer of this idyllic lifestyle. New comers create suspicion, cliques and rivalries. Richard is soon butting heads with Bugs and factions form. Even within the trio, tensions simmer with Richard’s growing affection for Fransciose not going unnoticed by Etienne. 

Richard also begins to experience frequent hallucinations and falls deeper into his obsession with the Vietnam war as he scouts the island. Unknown to the others, there’s also the looming arrival of 5 more visitors, courtesy of a map given to them by Richard. Signal the rumblings of the volcano, the buzzing of the flies, the trembling glass of water. Buckle up, shits about to go south.

But if we reject this spade and bucket view and choose to dig a little deeper, we find questions that go toward the very nature of paradise, our desire to attain it and our ability to ruin it just by our very existence.

Richard’s contempt for the vast majority of tourists does not extend to his own self awareness. Our view of the beach and its inhabitants is blinkered by Richard’s ego and naivety. Is this a clever device that takes us further inside the mind of the central character, or is it a barrier to deeper exploration of the larger themes?
The Beach raises questions regarding the worth of the individual over the group. Can sacrificing an individual for the sake of the clan ever be justified? Do the means justify the end, even when that end is utopia? And if paradise can be unraveled through the petty actions of a few, what hope is there for the real world?

However, Richard’s preoccupations with his own standing within the group and his willingness to put his own interests before others, means we rarely see him struggle with any of these larger moral questions. That, it seems, is left to us. If we choose.

And here, here is the crux. There’s no doubt The Beach delivers as an original take on a well told tale of adventure. But for those seeking more, is there enough exploration of the things that really matter to make the journey worthwhile?

In the end, we learn that Richard is left with “scars” from his time on the beach, but he seems to have changed little. Perhaps we would all be better with a few less scars and a few more changes.

Mix ‘Castaway’ with ‘Lord of the Flies’ amongst a merry band of stoned twenty-somethings and you get the rollicking adventure story of paradise lost in Alex Garland’s ‘The Beach‘. 

Solo British backpacker Richard travels to Thailand to lose himself for a while. On his first night in a Bangkok hut, his delirious neighbour ‘Daffy’, a sky-high Scot, raves about this mysterious ‘beach’, his beach, which ‘did him in’. The next morning Daffy is dead by his own hand and Richard finds a map to the beach pinned to his door. 

Accompanied by French couple Etienne and Francoise, Rich finds his way to the beach, where they find a group of hippies living a Utopian lifestyle under the leadership of the headstrong Sal. 
Along with boyfriend Bugs and Daffy, Sal has established her version of paradise complete with various work details, community hierarchy and island rituals. 

Unfortunately, as with most dreams of eternal bliss, this dream goes pear-shaped after Rich shares his knowledge of the beach with others. 
Amidst Rich trying to make sense of his new environment, he is haunted by the ghostly spectre of Daffy, aka ‘Mr Duck’. Daffy and Rich are at the epicentre of a world spiralling out of control as all the central characters try and hold it together. 

If you are after a deep character study, this might not be the book for you. Even the main character Rich often narrates within the confines of video game references and Vietnam war observations. 
However, an adrenaline charged plot including AK47 armed dope smugglers and snappy chapter lengths keep the pages turning. 
Plenty of chapters on island life with group dynamics and social hierarchies also make this is a great read and produced lots of lively chatter amongst our goons.

Bill Nickeas (Mornington Chapter)

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So what turns a 22 year old kid into a psychotic killer who in the end gets “gang stabbed” by his peers? Paradise apparently.

To witness Richard’s decline through his eyes is like being an Uber passenger where the satnav is on the fritz and the driver keeps taking wrong turns. You are not sure of the destination but sure as hell want him to pull over before he gets there. 

The story includes themes concerning ideas of paradise verses reality, boredom and thrill seeking, drugs, leadership, loyalty, demons (the little red bloke sitting on the shoulder type), but disappointingly not much mention of the prevention of skin cancer, which some may argue as a missed public announcement opportunity. Nonetheless, it rolls on at a decent pace, every new incident another step taken on Richard’s darkening path, affecting all those around him a variety of ways.

Daffy provided the map to kick off the adventure. Sure, Alex Garland could have written a more vanilla character to give the map to our protagonist, though without the encounter with Mr. Duck on his final night on Earth Richard would have missed out on such a unique companion to keep him company for the rest of the novel. He proved a deliciously twisted sounding board and oracle.

At the beginning Richard was an unremarkable young fella, already travelled but happy to take on something different. Before arriving, the picture in his mind of the beach (aka paradise) appealed to him because it was untouched by western tourists, which were a constant in his travels. His destination was also of course populated by westerners, but it promised fresh air and an open sky, with a distinct lack of neon lights, street noises and bartering locals. Exclusivity is a feeling we savour, the mere expectation of it mouth-watering.

His arrival with Etienne and Francoise on the island and close call with the marijuana crop guards (or VC) bakes into the background a layer of menace that you know will come back to bite him the arse in some way, like a gun seen earlier in a play that will go off in the third act, except in this case it is several assault rifles. Yet in the meantime he decides to play hide and seek with them when on guardian duty, stealing way more weed than needed. There were many occasions where he nearly died, some out of pure recklessness. Two of them were close calls involving him swimming into the same air pocket in the underwater cave. The second time, to save Christo, you could chalk up to heroics, but was it really that?

Richard also pulled off some pretty douchebag moves, which could be put down partially to boredom, as he had plenty of spare time to fill. If only he had his own Gameboy. His isolation and not being as constrained by rules and norms really let him off the leash. Conferring with his companion Daffy, made all the more real thanks to mary-jane may be another one, but not on every occasion. To toy with the “VC”, choose not prevent the deaths of the new arrivals (in which he went against Daffy’s counsel), risk his life to rescue Christo only to kill him to ensure that Jed would leave with him, agree to Sal’s more troubling requests, as well as telling the VC to kill Moshe instead of him, it’s not spelled-out exactly what caused him to do any of this. But that’s ok, it’s good for the reader to be provided with gaps to poke around in and come up with their own theories.

If Richard was ignorant of his devolution in his actions and conversations with Daffy, his encounter with Keaty in the cave should have been a wakeup call. There his closest friend told him that he and everyone else was scared of him as he was seen as Sal’s enforcer. Even if he was not capable of reflecting on his actions he would know that in covering-up his deeds and avoiding people so he did not have to tell them the truth, he was doing things that they would consider “fuckheaddy”.

So, given similar circumstances could any of us have been a Richard? Well, we’d fucking hope not. But are we sure about that? You are? Ok then sport.

Brett L (Reservoir Chapter)

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