William golding prose fiction essay

Fables always give the impression that they were preceded by the conclusion which it is their function to draw…. This is Golding's theme, and it takes on a frightful force by being presented in juvenile terms, in a setting that is twice deliberately likened to the sunny Coral Island of R. The boys' society represents, in embryo, the society of the adult world, their impulses and convictions are those of adults incisively abridged, and the whole narrative is a powerfully ironic commentary on the nature of Man, an accusation levelled at us all…. Like any orthodox moralist Golding insists that Man is a fallen creature, but he refuses to hypostatize Evil or to locate it in a dimension of its own.

William golding prose fiction essay

William golding prose fiction essay

Get Full Essay Get access to this section to get all help you need with your essay and educational issues. Get Access William Golding — Prose Fiction Essay Sample Jack opened his eyes carefully, trying to adjust to the glimmers of bright light shining through the white curtains.

He looked around the pallid spacious bedroom and checked the time — 6 am. He cursed his biological clock under his breath, then pulled the covers back over him as an attempt of going back to sleep. But no matter how much he tried, he simply lay there, adrift, with thoughts of Abby slowly sinking to his mind.

For some reason, he always believed that he would die first; perhaps it was because she was so full of energy, so determined to enjoy life to its William golding prose fiction essay. While he was nothing but lost, confused, and empty.

William golding prose fiction essay

Distracting himself from his vivid misery, Jack placed his feet on the white carpet and walked into the colourless bathroom. He flicked on the faint light and splashed his face with water.

He wiped his face with his washed out towel, and gazed into the mirror at his light green eyes, wrinkled forehead, and button nose upon his pallor face. For the first time, Jack realised how his surroundings truly portrayed him — all white — and represented the lack of colour in his life.

He stepped out of the bathroom and headed towards the closet on the other side of the room. Jack changed into his murky grey sweatpants and shirt, and swung on his tennis shoes.

After he got his keys, he headed out to the park. He reached the gate of the park at 8am, where he took his daily jog every morning. Even though the day was gloomy, Jack perked up as he began to jog upon the fresh green grass.

Being a memorable day, he decided to take a new route, as he was feeling spontaneous. As Jack looked to the left, where he usually past the glistening grass covered with sunflowers and daisies, he thought of the numerous times he had dined there with Abby.


He remembered that unfortunate day, where he and Abby lay on the grass, feeding each other grapes. It seemed so strange how at the time everything seemed so perfect, absolutely blissful, and how everything changed so fast.

If only he had stopped her from- Oh well, no point brooding about it, Jack thought. As he realised he had to move on, he turned right. As Jack jogged further, he observed the scattered pigeons flying to the tree branches. He thought of feeding them, but he remembered he did not even have a single piece of bread.

Suddenly, the sun shun so brightly, that the grass was sparkling lighter than the colour of his eyes. In front of the grass was a pond with an arched bridge separating both sides of the glowing water.

As Jack stepped forward, he saw that this bridge was made out of gleaming metal, and at its sides poured out a dome-shaped fountain which sprinkled into the crystal clear water, while splashing on the pearl white ducks as they cautiously hunted for food.

And with the effect of the sunlight, is brightened down the bitter green of the ducks into emerald green, contrasting against its pearl white and dusty black feathers. There were so many of them; some spread around, looking lonesome, while others in groups.

As Jack continued to observe, he notices that at first, these ducks swam in random directions, but as time passed, he saw how they all lined up in a row, and swam ahead on after the other, going round and round in circles, forming different outlines of shapes in the water.

Filled with excitement, he moved closer. He saw that each time they swam faster, as though they were racing, playing, as well as competing with one another.

Jack viewed that as the ducks moved further ahead, they faced a hut — a home for them. Layers and layers of rocks, pebbles and stones of various pastel colours, all mounted on top of each other, with a hole in the middle, providing a warm place for the to cuddle.

Inside, he saw the dark shadows of pigeons, all gathered up together. As it turned midday, the ducks begin to move back to the corner of the pond, by slowing down.

And as they disappeared, a single feather was left floating upon the curly water. Engrossed by the bliss, Jack lay down on the wet grass, kicked off his shoes, and inhaled deeply, letting his mind unravel under the sunshine.

He though, I have been here so many times before, how could I not have realised how idyllic this place is? Once again, thoughts of Abby sunk into his head, reminding him of her death. Why is this so painful? Flashbacks of those unforgettable moments shot to his mind; laying serenely on the grass side by side, the disagreement… the shouting… the screaming… It was all coming back to him; How Abby ran out of the park onto the street, blocking the cars… how Abby wailed for him to try to understand her… How his last moment with Abby was when he pushed her onto the floor in anger, just as a truck crushed over her bones.

As an attempt of reassuring himself that he was not guilty of anything, Jack closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh eucalyptus air, trying to save each of these tranquil moments in his memory.

But as the honking from the busy street interrupted his thoughts, he cursed aloud.William Golding () was a Booker and Nobel Prize-winning author, best known for his first novel, Lord of the Flies, published originally in and adapted for film in /5().

Everyone, at one time or another, has dreamed of running away to a deserted island to get away from the life of the real world, but in William Golding”s Lord of the Flies this perceived dream of a deserted island is brought to reality.

The encompassing “we” could also be expanded to include prose stylists whose first language was English like William Faulkner, Shirley Hazzard, Virginia Woolf, William Golding, Ian McEwan, Cormac McCarthy, and all those writers who, in most of their works, float enthusiastically on blasted chariots of prose, and whose literary horses are.

Sir William Golding. Higher English Critical Essay paper ; Prose – Choose a novel in which the setting in time and/or place is a significant feature. Show how the writer's use of setting.

William Golding, like his older British contemporary Graham Greene, is a theological novelist: That is to say, his main thematic material focuses on particular theological concerns, in particular. English novelist, short story writer, dramatist, essayist, and poet. See also William Golding Criticism (Volume 1), and Volumes 2, 3, 8, 10, In all of his works, Golding treats the conflict.

William Golding Research Papers - torosgazete.com