Sunday, January 29, 2017

Using Metaphors and Similes



The Books:

I'm reading an awesome series of books right now: Brandon Sanderson's "The Reckoners."  It's the dystopic vision of a world wherein super villains arose, but there were no superheroes to fight them.  The use of powers corrupted these characters and turned them into ruthless, amoral monsters who took over the world and turned its cities into their own personal fiefdoms.  The books have wit, great characterization, a fresh story clear of cliches, and, basically, everything I look for in a series.  I could talk about any one of these things.

But one of the aspects I find most entertaining is the running gag of conversation on the subject of metaphors and similes.  A character is considered either sharp or dull based on how well they can handle metaphoric language.  The main character is criticized because his metaphors keep falling flat.   "Man," [the main character] thought, "I really do suck at metaphors."  Another character is hailed for his ability to handle metaphors and similes deftly.  

Simile vs. Metaphor:

For those not clear on the difference, a simile has the word "like" or "as" in it.  One great simile from Firefight, the second novel in the series, is, "The overworked machine hung out over a plummet of many stories, dripping water like perspiration from the forehead of a suicidal jumper." [There's nothing intrinsically dangerous-seeming about an air conditioner, but in that moment, the world symbolized by that machine is on the verge of destruction.]  Another segment a couple of paragraphs later is rich with similes.  "I lowered my popsicle and squinted at the strange red light, which rose like a new star above the horizon. [...] It looked like a bullet wound in the dome of heaven itself."  [The new star in the heaven brings to mind the biblical story of the birth of Jesus, which event transformed how many humans viewed their world.  The same is true here but in a different way.  The bullet wound in heaven simile suggests that the change that was coming would be destructive.]   These moments become rich with imagery as we feel the connotations of the things to which events in the story are compared.  [Emphasis added in above quotations.] 

A metaphor does not have the emotional distance that simile bears.  This item or event is not just like that.  It IS that.  The symbol and item become merged through the comparison. To borrow a Shakespearean metaphor, “All the world’s a stage"("As You Like It.")  The world isn't LIKE a stage.  It IS a stage.  This kind of comparison ties symbol to symbolized much more closely.  When Sanderson says the light mentioned in the quotations above "blanketed the entire city in a strange warm glow," the idea of a blanket is tied so closely to the light that the light becomes not just like a blanket.  It becomes the blanket itself.  Just like a blanket provides the illusion of safety in a dangerous world, so, too, does that light.  



Power of the Metaphor:

Regardless of whether an author uses simile or metaphor, this kind of comparison livens the language and makes the whole piece more interesting.  I've been reading a story by a fellow writer in my writers' group that is the master of metaphor and simile.  This kind of language elevates her pieces above so many others' pieces because it draws on sensory language.  A less deft writer may write, "Her beauty made him happy."  We can't see beauty.  We don't know what happiness means to the character, necessarily.  These words remain flat on the page.  Say instead, the writer wrote, "Her glowing profile sent sunlight through the dark corners of his soul."  We can see glow, sunlight, and darkness, and corners.  We know her face isn't literally glowing, that it doesn't bring sunlight and that there really aren't corners in the guy's soul.  All of this is metaphoric.  But the reader can feel the glow and understand the connotations of sunlight as something powerful.  There is a gravitational pull to the sun.  These words have ceased to remain flat ink on the page; they have given birth to an image in the reader's mind.  



Dos and Do nots

There are three cautions I'd make with using this kind of symbolic language.  

1. Avoid cliched metaphors and similes like the plague.  Yes, that was a cliched simile.  You probably rolled your eyes or read quickly over it.  Cliches are boring.  We've read them so often, they have become meaningless.  When Shakespeare first wrote, "dead as a doornail," it was likely a fresh turn of phrase meaning as lifeless as a key.  Now, it's just part of the language.  Nobody even knows what "doornail" means anymore.  And if you think about it, dead implies once had life.  And keys really don't and never had.  However, "dead as a roadkill opossum" may seem a bit fresher and more meaningful. You haven't heard it as many times, so it makes you think.  It brings to mind [unfortunately] sensory imagery and all the connotations of a dead, smelly marsupial with a long history in the Western United States.  It may suggest dirty rodent to someone less well versed in biology.   But it's not a cliche.  This brings me to number two.  

2.  Avoid using metaphors that don't belong.  Comparing a medieval dragon to a modern blowtorch wouldn't work very well.  It would jar the reader out of the narrative, unless the author is going for humor.  Stay in the world.  Make sure your metaphors and similes actually belong.  

3.  Avoid using so much description that your narrative becomes purple, meaning that your story has been choked out by description so lush that nothing happens.  Descriptive language is best in small doses in most writing.

In other words, metaphors and similes turn flat language into round, interesting language as long as they are used sparingly and in a way that livens the text without bogging it down.  

Sunday, January 15, 2017

Foiled Again



Have you ever noticed a pair of characters so alike in so many ways and so opposite in others?  I'm quite sure you have.  Any English major can tell you these pairs of characters are called foils of each other.  Foils are incredibly useful in characterization.  Look at Tom Riddle [a young Voldemort] vs. Harry Potter.  They have so much in common.  They're both orphans with black hair, incredible gifts, and a tendency to work outside the rules.  They both attract the particular attention of Dumbledore.  The list goes on and on.  What makes them different?  Their choices.  Tom chooses to embrace the darkness while Harry rejects it on every side.  These similarities and differences give Rowling the chance to enhance the reader's understanding of both characters.  We see the path Harry could have taken had he embraced the darkness that lurks inside and watch as he, instead, chooses a different path.



If your tastes are more toward the literary fiction, you'll see even more foils than in genre fiction.  Look, for instance at "Pride and Prejudice."  Darcy and Lizzy are clear foils of each other.  They at first can't stand each other because of their character differences.  Yet at the same time, they both personify the traits of pride of their position and prejudice of the other class.  They only want to speak if others will be impressed with their words.  They both have rebellious streaks against overbearing mother figures.  In some ways, they could not be more different, yet at the same time, they couldn't be more similar.  Their differences and similarities highlight the same in the other.



Let's look at fairy tales for a moment.  You may think that Snow White couldn't be more different from her evil step mother because the princess is pure, innocent, and kind, while the step-mother is vain and murderous.  This just means you haven't looked past Disney's version.  If you look carefully at the Grimms brothers' rendition of the story, Snow White's own vanity mirrors her step-mother's.  Her vain step-mother is only able to entrap her because she's drawn to ribbons, laces, corsets, combs, and the like.  The queen wants to kill Snow White, yet the story ends only after Snow White and her prince have the evil queen dance herself to death.  These two female characters are so different in so many ways, yet they are so similar at their core.



No matter what your genre or themes, the power, meaning, and literary strength of your story can be enhanced through careful attention to foils.  If your villain is all dark and hero is all light, both are boring and fall flat.  However, if your hero is noble and heroic but for his attraction to the dark, and your villain is angry and vindictive but drawn to the light in spite of himself, they both start to get more interesting.  Just look at Kylo Ren and Rey from Star Wars Episode 7.  He's angry and dark but drawn by the light inside.  She joined the light but yet is often tempted by rebellious, angry, or selfish impulses.  Neither is perfectly one or the other, and their similarities and differences weave them together and highlight the reader's understanding of both.  Look through natural pairs of characters in your writings.  How can you enhance your own characterization through the use of foils?

Sunday, January 8, 2017

Pixar vs. Old School Disney



I remember seeing and enjoying "Aristocats."  I tried to see it again, and it couldn't keep my attention for long.  So I ask myself what is the difference between fun, though shallow, romps of that era like "Aristocats" or "Jungle Book" vs. Pixar/Disney offerings now.

The secret seems to be in the hero's journey.  I've mentioned this multiple times, but it seems most of the best adventure yarns of any depth and meaning in the modern day focus on it.  Pixar, which runs Disney's animation division, openly uses the hero's journey as its formula for writing.  There's no question that just about everything from "Star Wars" to "Harry Potter" to "Star Trek" and "Pirates of the Carribean" follow the formula as well.  A hero of any species starts in their home base and refuses the call to adventure.  Eventually, he/she/it heeds that call and descends into the underworld to face opponents with the help of allies.  After several trials and loss, often of his/her father figure, he/she faces the primary adversary to become the master of both worlds.

There's much more to the hero's journey.  It was conceptualized by Joseph Cambell, who was invited to the set of "Star Wars: New Hope," so Lucas could make sure they got the story right.  Obviously, any Disney movie before the widespread study of Cambell's work and its adoption in modern Disney wouldn't have these keys to good storytelling.  The movies from earlier dates seem to be based on a vague plot with a lot of madcap moments and songs to keep kids entertained.  I don't think it's overstating things to say that there has been a cultural revolution with the hero's journey at its heart.  If you want to write an adventure story and don't know the intricacies of the hero's journey, I highly recommend you google it now.  I have no doubt you're following pieces of it without knowing it because it has become so ingrained in the culture.  But as you become self-aware, your writing will improve.