Sudden and Ironic events that happen to the narrator in T.C. Boyle’s short story “Greasy Lake” are the same type of events that in an instant will change a person forever. The ironic circumstances that the narrator in “Greasy Lake” finds himself in are the same circumstances that young people find themselves in when fighting war.
Nature has a powerful way of portraying good vs. bad, which parallels to the same concept intertwined with human nature. In the story “Greasy Lake” by T. Coraghessan Boyle, the author portrays this through the use of a lake by demonstrating its significance and relationship to the characters. At one time, the Greasy Lake was something of beauty and cleanliness, but then came to be the exact opposite. Through his writing, Boyle demonstrates how the setting can be a direct reflection of the characters and the experiences they encounter.
What does it mean to be “bad”? In his short story “Greasy Lake”, T. Coraghessan Boyle writes: “There was a time when chivalry and winning ways went out of style, when it was good to be bad”. Being “bad” can mean dressing uniquely and acting differently, but there is a line between being a “bad” character and being truly “bad”. When that line is crossed unfortunate things happen to the character. Boyle uses the setting of Greasy Lake to show how a teenage wasteland can lead to moral decay.
My car squatted in the parking lot like a bug on a blackened, cooled, lava flow. I dreaded going back to my normal life after enjoying a weekend of such freedom and pleasure. Duties and obligations began to flitter though my mind as I once again began to think like an insect in a hive. I looked back over my shoulder, fondly remembering the freedom the wonderful weekend blessed me with, and vowed that I would once again return to experience the pleasure and seclusion that lay hidden therein.
As I stepped out of my Jeep the hot air hit my face. The sun was high over the lake and the birds were singing their beautiful songs. The smell of clean fresh lakes and wet grass filled the air. The air was thick and humid for a mid June day.
I could feel the needle of pain spreading through my feet under the gravel. Could feel the breeze of the cold midnight air. Could feel the fear slowly crawling from my toes to my lungs. Could feel the blazing excitement of not knowing what was coming. However, the biggest, most freighting question on my mind was one thing only. Who was trying to kidnap us? And why was I not afraid?
on a beautiful summer day in a small town. The author describes the day as very
...ming with life. The smell of the flowers was intense and enlivening. The breeze that was not restricted by car windows, the heat that was not reflected by a rooftop or eradicated by air conditioning, the rain that was not repelled by anything more than my poncho, I was one with all of it. As I biked past, I moo'd as loud as I could at the cows in the fields and felt happy doing it. I even occasionally rode in the van when I was tired.
As I walked down the worn dirt path to the ocean, I was astonished by how many people were lounging by the water.. As I got closer to the water’s edge, I contemplated why more people don 't swim and decide to tan in the sun instead. The feeling of being alone with the ocean and my thoughts played in my mind.
Out to the arms of the lake, we stared and admired in every manner to cherish and remember it like a picture that never change. I held her hand and began walking towards the dock, which extended shortly into the water face. The dock was of metal, not sleek but shinny, not clean but unnoticed as we looked into...
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her gargantuan skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every morning together
With stress on my mind and a cookie in my hand, I headed towards the wooded area behind her home. At the beginning of the trail, there was an old rotting tire swing barely hanging onto a low-hanging branch. The extensive amount of muddy puddles and the surrounding damp grass made me hesitant to follow through with my grandmother’s suggestion; the mountain of homework that waited for me back at home convinced me to continue. Trees towered over me, adding to the existing weight of stress that sat upon my shoulders, as I carefully maneuvered around the biggest puddles, beginning to become frustrated. Today was a terrible day to go for a walk, so why would my grandmother suggest this? Shaking my head in frustration, I pushed forward. The trail was slightly overgrown. Sharp weeds stabbed my sides every few steps, and I nearly tripped over a fallen tree branch. As the creek barely came into view, I could feel the humidity making my hair curly and stick to the sides of my face. After stopping to roll up the ends of my worn blue jeans, I neared the end of the trail. Bright sunlight peeked through the branches and reflected off the water. The sun must have come out from behind a cloud, seeing as it now blinded me as I neared the water. A few minutes passed by before I could clearly see
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her humungous skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every
It is a sunny morning. I am home with my stepfather and brothers. The clouds seem perfectly shaped as they swivel in the sky. The birds whistle a tune no morning has heard and the trees dance as the breeze whips. I am stuck indoors, and I am missing what seems to be the perfect day. My brother is leaving to head to basketball camp. My other brother is heading to work. Today was going to be a day with just my stepdad and me. He prepares breakfast for me, and the smell captivates my senses. I stop staring out the window and head to the bathroom and then to the table to eat. This is the perfect day.
I wandered around the path near the lake because it was always peaceful and quiet there in the morning and the trees that hung over the wide walkway only drew me in more. The cool wind blew continuously, and some of the leaves that barely hung on to the branches were pulled along with it. They floated while dropping slowly, and one of the leaves chose my head as a landing spot. I brushed my hair with my hand, not caring if doing so messes up my hair, since the wind already accomplished that job the second I took a step outside my house.