T.C. Boyle Reading

Clad in a blazer the color of neon yellow, T.C. Boyle took the stage in a vivid way. After a period of jokes and commentary on the pros and cons of different types of transportation, Boyle began to read his short story "The Lie." 

Mired in the mediocrity of life, the protagonist in the story tries to look for a way out. Yet this quiet desperation unleashes itself in the telling of an outrageous lie. In order to escape the drudgery of work for one day, he tells his boss that his infant daughter has leukemia; the following day he tells his boss that she has died. All in pursuit of some liberation from the constraints of his life, this protagonist that Boyle sets in motion quickly grows addicted to this experience of freedom. Like an addict, soon every internal thought devolves into how the protagonist can make it to another fix of his 'freedom from responsibility.' Eventually, like Icarus, the protagonist flies too close to the sun, burns, and plummets. 

What was so beautiful about Boyle's telling of this story was the inherent logic and rationality he gave his protagonist. This was not a man making radical decisions to destroy his life, instead Boyle presented the audience with a slow inevitable descent, anticipated doom yes, but with such empathy that we were rooting for him––every misstep of the way. With an ease and agility of diction, Boyle carefully suspended the consequences of his protagonist's decisions; he drew out each action and then uniformly accelerated their unfortunate returns. 

Not only was the writing itself well crafted and engaging, but T.C. Boyle's acknowledged love of dramatic oration also made the reading of the short story very interesting. Unlike Anne Carson who savored each word and languidly moved from topic to topic, Boyle addressed his story head on, with an unflagging joy that expressed itself in the ready speed of his articulation. This to me is one of the utmost values of an author reading his own story. I felt like Boyle's resonance of tone or rhythm or overall pace brought to the audience a unique understanding of the character that we would not have seen in any other circumstance. I did not have to give the character a 'voice.' In this instance, Boyle supplied both words and the presentation of those words. 

Ultimately, Boyle read "The Lie" with an honesty that resonated with me. The character's humanness was so apparent, full of humor and regret and compassion––the fact of his lie felt more like an external tragedy than an internal one.