Meta on metaphors. Hahahaha that was too easy.

[lettered]

Let's talk about metaphor.

Disclaimer: Okay, straight up, I don't know what I'm talking about. I learned some things once that helped me find a *way* to think about metaphor, and that's what I want to share. Thing is, the way I think and feel about metaphor is pretty much based on some old dead guys and their theories about poetry and linguistics (they called themselves Imagists, and their philosophy really is a lot cooler than their poetry). So, in order to say how I approach the concept of metaphor, I'm mostly gonna share with you how I interpreted these old dead guys' ideas. But, this isn't about facts or history or philosophy, it's about how I explain metaphor and all that to myself in my head. I guess my point is, I'm not trying to tell you something you don't already know, but express my thoughts. But I tend to get explain-y, so pardon the tone if I feel all lecturey.

1. Words have nothing to do with the actual things they represent. (with the exception of onomatopoeia).

This was a big thing in linguistics and philosophy; I don't know, something about Saussure, Wittgenstein, and a whole bunch of other dead guys. Okay, the point is, the word "sun" has nothing to do with the actual sun. It's just a random order of sounds someone chose; there's nothing about the big fiery ball in the sky that is inherently connect to the sounds of the letters, or the shape of the letters, or the feel of the word. Unless, of course, you're talkinging onomatopoeia: the word "hiss" represents the sound a snake makes, and the word "hiss" itself does sound kind of like the sound a snake makes. So onomatopoeiac words are in some ways intrinsically connected to that which they represent, but most words aren't.

(The idea behind this goes a little deeper: i. reality is unknowable. ii. people percieve reality through a filter or veil, in order to use reality, process, deal with it. So, there's a gap between reality and perception. Language is part of that "veil" between the two. It doesn't deal with real things, but rather tokens that represent real things. Now, we communicate in language, everything we do in life has to do with language, we even think in language, but it's sort of the way we use dollar bills: everything happens in terms of numbers and paper, and sometimes the solid gold these numbers and papers represent gets lost. An artist's job--according to this way of thought--is to pierce through the "veil".)

2. Therefore, words no longer have the capacity to create concrete impressions of the actual things they represent.

Let's say there's a process that goes on, when you hear/read a word: i. You see the word "grass". ii. Your brain gives you a concrete impression (the reality) of "grass" itself--green shoots of stuff coming up from the ground. iii. Your brain makes the connection--it goes, "oh, that stuff", and bingo, you understand what is meant by the word "grass". For you, the "concrete impression" might not be visual. It might consist of how fresh-cut grass smells, how grass feels when you roll in it, and, very importantly, memories of the time your brother dared you to eat a piece, of emptying the lawnmower bag on a hot day.

What #2 is about how we've cut out that second step, those concrete impressions (instead of connecting back to reality, communication is solely about perception of reality). Maybe when man first started naming things, and maybe when you were little and didn't know words to things, you heard the word "grass", you called up your concrete impressions of grass, and then you understood, but these days, you hear the word "grass", and you know immediately what that means without once *really* thinking about grass itself, the reality of grass, that bright green stuff that prickles sometimes but can be strangely soft when you lie on it, the smoothness of each stalk and the fresh smell of it.

(Some words do still have the capacity to create concrete impressions, reality. Certain words work as triggers for certain people; for instance, "rape" or "abuse" might always call up a very specific memory, feeling, or image for some people. But for the most part, these words are rare, and of course different people who hear the words recieve different impressions.)

What usually happens is when I say "lemon", you do not immediately process a specific lemon in your head, but rather the idea of lemon. You don't think about that real lemon, that too pithy lemon you had in your tea last Tuesday, how when you went to squeeze it you hit your friend Becca in the eye with its juice, how the seeds sweated out of it and how it looked like a broken happy face smile in your cup. Or whatever. When I say lemon, your are not thinking of one lemon, but an idea of lemon. Your lemon is not my lemon, and with nothing more denote my lemon than the mere word "lemon," never the twain shall meet.

3. Good writing will recreate concrete impressions of the actual things words represent.

Say you forgot for a moment what the word "blue" meant. I might remind you by pointing out real objects--Spike's eyes, Illyria's hair, the sky. You would then have concrete impressions of blue: feel a warm summer day under a blue sky, see Illyria's hair, remember Spike's eyes as they tried to tell Buffy he loved her. You would remember blue, feel blue, see blue, experience the reality of blue. From these concrete impressions you would make the connection, that is, find the thing in common: blue. You've discovered what blue means.

Right now, you say the word "blue," and you probably don't see it in your head, you don't feel it, you don't see it. You simply understand it so you can use it (it's about perception and not reality). But if you forget the word "blue," you need to reinsert that step, that step where there are specific images, feelings, memories, associations, that step where there's a concrete impression (reality), and only then can you understand what is meant by "blue", and use the word "blue" to understand what a writer/speaker is saying. You need to experience blue in order to rediscover the meaning of blue.

A good writer can't make you forget what "blue" means, but she can cause a reader to experience blue, and also to rediscover blue. She pierces through the word used to represent "blue" (the veil) and connects you of the reality of blue itself. This she does through association, through simile and metaphor. A good metaphor or simile doesn't let you just skip over the word "blue". A good metaphor or simile forces you to make a connection: "hey, remember blue? Color of Spike's eyes, Illyria's hair, the sky?" It connects to something from which a reader/listener will gain concrete impressions. The reader then experiences blue, and says, "oh yeah, blue."

Usually, I view metphors and similes as honing down to something specific: e.g. "I don't mean a general blue; I mean the color of blue that is Illyria's hair." But I don't think that is as constructive of a way to think of it as trying to get the reader to experience blue, whether it's a general blue or specific blue. Here's why:

3a. Clichés also no longer have the capacity to create concrete impressions of the actual things to which they connect a word.

If metaphors and similes are only about honing down to something specific, "blue as the sky," "blue as the sea", and "blue as sapphires" would all have different meanings. If you really think about it, they do--those objects all represent different shades of blue. But these clichés are so common, they've lost their meaning.

Now,"cold" is a word you hear and, as I have described above with "grass" and "blue", you read right over it, understand it without recieving a concrete impression. You don't shiver, don't smell snow, don't taste ice cream, don't remember that one winter when your grandfather was leaving and you ran out barefoot in the snow to say goodbye to him. Now, take a phrase like "cold as ice". The first time someone said, "cold as ice", whoever heard it couldn't just read over it; she had to stop, make the connection in her head: ice, what's the thing in common between cold and ice, what is the reality of both cold and ice, the reality behind the words? It's that stinging feeling, it's stick to your tongue, cheek-reddening,*shiver*,--I get it, cold as ice!

The simile subverted the automatic connection between the word "cold" and the understanding of cold; it reinserted the step in between, the step where there's an image, a smell or taste or memory, the step where the listener/reader had to make a connection between a concrete impression (the physical object of ice) and a word. You were rediscovering the meaning of the word "cold"; someone reminded you of a concrete cold you could relate to--you know, cold like snow, cold like a flagpole on a winter day--oh, you mean cold.

But the phrase is so overused that these days, when you hear "cold as ice", you don't think about actual ice at all. You might as well just say, "cold". The reader/listener reads over it and translates to "cold", to just the understanding of "cold", without the concrete impressions that remind you of the reality of ice, what ice is, actual finger-reddening, cheek-nipping pain of an icy wind, or the tongue-tearing, hot eye-watering feel of too much ice in your mouth.

Now, "ice" is pretty general too, but this happens even with the most specific cliches. First time I heard: "cold as a witch's tit in a brass bra," I got this very distinct impression of an ice witch type thing, with her hair all icicles and frosty, with these whithered boobs that burned they were so cold, with this Leia-thing on that if you put your mouth on it, you'd come away with half a tongue. But now when I hear it, I think oh, it's cold, and I tell my brother to shut up.

Conclusion: So, in the end, what makes a good metaphor or simile isn't the specificity of it, but the originality of it. An original simile/metaphor forces the reader to make a connection, find the thing in common, between one thing and another. In order to find that connection, the reader has to have concrete impressions, has to experience the reality behind the words.

Really Cool Examples:
a.
Green

The sky was apple-green,
The sky was green wine held up in the sun,
The moon was a golden petal between.

She opened her eyes, and green
They shone, clear like flowers undone,
For the first time, now for the first time seen.
--D.H. Lawrence.

D.H. Lawrence was a kind of fringe Imagist poet. I love this poem because if he had said "the sky was blue", you would read right over it. The sky is always blue; we always say the sky is blue; it's practically a tautology. Instead, you're forced to come up with the reality of the sky, and the color green, and try to figure out how to make the connection. The result for me is always a rediscovery of green, a concrete impression of that sky, an experience of a real night.

b. "Lawson’s eyes are the corner of blue on the American flag. You can almost see the stars waving in them when he salutes." Shanshu Blue, by germaine_pet

This makes me experience the American flag--not just how it looks, but how I feel when I look at it, how I still get tears in my eyes when I hear the National Anthem--and that, that pride, hope, pain--that's the connection, not just the color; that's what Lawson's eyes look like.

c. "Spike kisses like talking." Stick Shift (Redux), by stultiloquentia

The first connection I made was lips moving--that's the thing in common between kissing and talking, right? By revealing in the next few lines that no, this isn't the connection the author was making, I was forced to reevaluate, to consider how Spike talks, and try to connect that to how he might kiss. The author goes on to say: "He has no preferred pattern. Every phrase is new. Buffy's whole bodypays attention. The kiss seems to rise from somewhere deep inside him..." but now she's got me thinking about how Spike talks, how much passion is there, how much truth, how much condemnation and supplication, and I'm making all these connections between how Spike talks and how he kisses, and it's like I've never heard him talk or seen him kiss before. I loved that.

d. "She is pressed between them like a flower inside the pages of a book, like something rare and precious they would keep." All Ways, by kita0610

Okay, so what connects the flower and Buffy is how they're pressed, and the author explicitly states the other commonalities: rareness, preciousness. One of the reasons this one hit me so hard is the author spent the piece building Buffy into this force, this incredibly strong presence, this mover and shaker of these two men. Now that she's calling Buffy a pressed flower (something I'm forced to come up with a concrete impression of, the reality of a pressed flower: it's dead. It's frail. It's a possession, something pretty and owned) she's practically saying the sky is green--showing with just one phrase how Buffy is moved and shaken by them.

Uh, More Conclusions? Problems with the idea?:
a. The Imagist Dead Guys were poets (eta: I mean, their philosophy was meant to be applied to poetry), and these ideas to some extent are better applied to poetry. The Lawrence poem is bizarre; it makes you think outside the box. Poetry works as a series of startling images or impressions, but often in a story you want the reader firmly inside the box. You don't want the reader trying to fit their head around green sky when you've already moved on to Spike and Angel having lots and lots of sex.
b. Metaphors and similes are more than just the allusion, they're about how you phrase the allusion. There's always Lynne's famous "He kept the medal in a drawer and wore the hardness around his eyes" (Sense Memory) to consider (she'll never ever live it down; it's so fucking beautiful). Lynne could've said, "his eyes were hard, like the medal", but that simile wouldn't have had anything near the impact the way she worded the metaphor had.
c. This also works beyond metaphor and simile, it's about phrasing--it's about using the unexpected adjective, the one that makes you say, "how does that adjective connect to that noun?" because it's a construction you wouldn't've thought of before. Like "paisley lights [...] kaleidoscoping in front of his eyes" (in this Riley fic)--light kaleidoscoping is in some ways a cliché metaphor (The Beatles did it in, or something), so much so you don't experience the meaning any more--but kaleidoscopes have paisley light, and who thinks about that?--to the extent where ros_fod has just helped you to make the connection, experience it, rediscover that whole metaphor.

Okay, so that, all that, is how I think about metaphor. It's what I bring to writing, to a fic, when I sit down and start thinking about how to describe things. I hope it didn't come off as too lecturey or lessony or "look at me," because what I really want to talk about is how you think about metaphor. What do you think it is, what do you think it does, how do you think about it, in what way? What's your process for writing them, coming up with them, thinking about them? How long does it take you, do you experiment, do you make the noises to hear what you might compare them to, do you go outside and look around for an object to which to parallel Spike's eyes? What are your favorite metaphors, similes, descriptions of this sort, in fic or profic, what are the ones that stick in your head? Have you thought about this the way I think about this, does this strike a chord with you, do you have anything to add, do you think I'm nuts, do you like to look at light fixtures? Let's get into the ooshy gooshy of writing. Because it's fun.

Comments

[rahirah]

Metaphor is one of those things I'd like to do well, but don't succeed at as aoften as I could wish--mine are too intrusive. They try too hard. Hey, look, it's a metaphor!

One thing I play around with is recurring themes of metaphor for particular characters. I had an OC in another fandom that got air/wind/storm/predatory bird metaphors a lot, and like that.

[lynnenne]

Wow, what a gorgeous poem. I never thought I'd be used as an example of metaphor alongside D.H. Lawrence. Thank you! :) (Though I think Lawrence's talent is still beyond my grasp. Just a bit. *g*)

I think the thing I always strive for, and that I love to see, is inventive phrasing. Not every invention works, but I love to see writers make the effort. That's what I love about your writing. There's always some combination of words, images or phrasing that I've never read before, and it just gives me those "wow" moments, when I think, "I never in a million years would have thought of that."

[tkp.livejournal.com]

mine are too intrusive

Yeah, I know what you mean. I mean, not from your writing, but how it sometimes feels in mine. Like it's something outside the story.

recurring themes of metaphor for particular characters

I love that, especially inside one story, when it comes back later in a different, unexpected way. Makes my breath catch.

[tkp.livejournal.com]

I really love that poem.

D.H. Lawrence is a little beyond everyone's grasp. Even D.H. Lawrence's. Poor guy.

Thanks.

Well anyway, invention is the thing, in the end. Which is what this about. I mean, it took me all this to say, "I really like original metaphors!" The point being, if you haven't seen it before, it makes you experience something, but if you have seen it before, it kinda just goes over your head. Not in meaning, but in impact.

[seraphcelene]

I'm at work, as usual and do I ever leave this place, and I can't be super specific BUT!

Yes to pretty much everything you just said. So, I have nothing constructive to add except that I am not particularly fond of light fixtures.

Well, and I love Kita's All Ways and your Five Things NFA piece. There's so much to choose from that it's hard to pinpoint. Fialka's Rain (a Farscape fic) has a line that I love: "Tonight she has the hands of good old boys in the bars back home; knuckles scrapped and swollen, dirt beneath the nails." Not just rough hands, but so much more about living and fighting and surviving and GAH!

Ellen Milholand's Pretend It Means Fate, another Farscape, is also gorgeous with the metaphors: "Her eyes are stars, there, big and dark, cold and dying black dwarves." Such loss and emptiness and solitude and, very vaguely, the idea of tears hovering.

[tkp.livejournal.com]

I love looking at light fixtures in magazines. I find it soothing.

Thank you.

"Her eyes are stars, there, big and dark, cold and dying black dwarves."

Oh god, I love that. Because the "eyes are stars" part is such, such a cliche, and the next part completely reinvents the metaphor. It makes me *feel* it.

[seraphcelene]

I love looking at light fixtures in magazines. I find it soothing.

That is SO interesting. I'm not sure why, but I find that really fascinating, the fact that you love looking at light fixtures. I'm intrigued.

[tkp.livejournal.com]

Actually, I find it fascinating too. I also *love* to look at faucets. They're so . . . shiny. Simple pleasures, man.

[seraphcelene]

Oh, man! I totally get the faucet thing. Gorgeous and shiny. Yeah, I could spend some time on faucets!

[ravenclaw-devi.livejournal.com]

(here via metafandom)

Thanks for this interesting post!

here via metafandom

[paradox-dragon.livejournal.com]

You know, I'd never really thought of metaphor in terms of the gap between signifier and signified in language, which was, you know, really stupid of me. Blame elementary English, because someone says metaphor and I say "Two unlike things compared to one another without using like or as" and never go past that in thought, though writing's a different story. Metaphor in my writing tends to turn up consciously in terms of motivation or the essential nature of characters, and unconsciously in physical description.

To digress, this reminds me of a discussion I once had with someone (god knows who) about the way our minds process things. I do not think visually; I even daydream in stories, in words; I friggin revise my daydreams sentence by sentence. When I think visually, it is a memory; if I imagine visuals, they are a mish-mash of memories formed into something new, but never freshly imagined. On the up side, I remember the things I see very clearly, and I immediately begin to translate them into words, so they transfer naturally to my writing. I start building stories around almost everything I see. I feel this real drive to take beautiful sights and make them into beautiful words and just sort of thrust them into people's brains so they will Get It because it's like people cannot see the beauty of things by looking at them; someone has to tell them about it. Which frustrates me endlessly.

To conclude my rambling, I'd just like to say that yes, you're completely right. There is a value placed on specificity and detail in writing (and writing workshops, and how-to books, and etc.) that is valid, but I think that you are correct in saying that what is really needed is originality, to make people sit up and take notice. Though I do think that noticing things in detail will tend to lead to originality. I also think that that is the greatest crime a writer can commit, not noticing things--I feel like it's like lying to the reader, saying "This is the way the world is" when you haven't taken time to see the world, you're just taking someone else's word that the sky is blue and not looking up to see that tonight, it's green.

My apologies for the length here.

here from metafandom

[virginie-m.livejournal.com]

This is so inspiring, thank you.

Metafandom also

[ann1962]

What I like most about metaphor is its proclaimed lie. It isn't *really* the thing it is compared to. It lies. But, what makes it interesting is that metaphor allows a closer understanding of the thing while it distances itself from that thing because of the lie. That tension is what gives metaphor its power. Spike's kiss isn't really like talking, all the while that connection tells us about Spike and his kisses. The connection and the distance together reveals more than the sum of its parts. Showing, not telling.

Thanks for this post.

[tkp.livejournal.com]

Welcome!

Re: here via metafandom

[tkp.livejournal.com]

I do not think visually; I even daydream in stories, in words;

So do I. I night-dream this way too; I rarely SEE things; my brains tells me things that are going on. It was weird to write this from that perspective. The Dead Imagist Guys were all, the reality of things is in images; that is, to redefine a word for someone you *show* them the thing itself, in the form of imagery. But *I* don't experience reality in images so much as how you would describe an image, but that is still very different than the mere acknowledgement of the word. It's something I wanted to get into in this, but most people are, in fact, visual people--they can imagine visual things in their brain anyway--and it's a complicated thing to describe to someone who doesn't feel the same.

it's like people cannot see the beauty of things by looking at them; someone has to tell them about it. Which frustrates me endlessly.

I know exactly what you mean, but for me--well, I can't see the beauty of things by looking at them either; I have to tell myself about them. I mean, I can be stunned by a work of art, but I feel like it isn't until I tell myself about that work of art that I really start to *see*.

you're just taking someone else's word that the sky is blue and not looking up to see that tonight, it's green.

Oh, exactly, and what a lovely way to put it. My mother is an art teacher, and she had the same trouble when she used to teach drawing. People *think* they know what a face looks like, so they draw the drawings they've seen, instead of real faces, and stuff like proportion ends up being out of wack. The same is true with writing; it's amazing how when I feel like I'm writing well, I'm really tearing up my perception of the world and seeing it with new eyes.

My apologies for the length here.

Did you see how long this post was? ;o) I'm glad you came to discuss, thanks a lot.

Re: here from metafandom

[tkp.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you feel that way. Thank you.

Re: Metafandom also

[tkp.livejournal.com]

The connection and the distance together reveals more than the sum of its parts.

Yes, that's exactly it. I wish I could've said it so distinctly!

And thank you; I'm glad it was interesting to someone!

Re: here via metafandom

[paradox-dragon.livejournal.com]

I can't see the beauty of things by looking at them either; I have to tell myself about them

Yeah, I'm totally including myself in this; I also have to tell myself about things things to really see them, and I think that's part of why I want so badly to tell other people too, and also part of what makes it so frustrating. I'm always a little envious of visual thinkers, because it makes me wonder if my way of seeing the world is somehow tainted or distanced from the truth of it.

When I feel like I'm writing well, I'm really tearing up my perception of the world and seeing it with new eyes.

Yes, yes, exactly! Also, I really sympathize with your mother; I've taken art classes in the past and had just that problem myself. I would always think, "Well, that's what this nose looks like, but it's sort of stupid looking and not really nose-like at all, so I'll just fix it by making it look like what I know a nose is really supposed to look like," and it would be just terrible. Heh.

Thanks for the discussion!

Re: here via metafandom

[tkp.livejournal.com]

I'm always a little envious of visual thinkers, because it makes me wonder if my way of seeing the world is somehow tainted or distanced from the truth of it.

Well, as far as my experience with it, things that seem instantly obvious to me take effort on the part of others to understand. But things that are instantly obvious to them take considerable effort for me to comprehend. One way of seeing things isn't superior to the other, just different.

Noses are a bitch to draw. They do look funny when you draw them as they really are, unless you're really good. Which I am most certainly not!

[slashfairy.livejournal.com]

Light fixtures are ok, but writing is better.

I can't really respond right now, not articulately anyway, but I can tell you I am lit up from inside now with the fireflies this has stirred up.

Thank you.

[quivo.livejournal.com]

(here from metafandom)

:D Funnily enough, this is something I've been thinking about for a while, after reading Patricia McKillip's stuff for the first time. She uses metaphors like this - simple, simple words that form such wonders until you forget how she said it and just remember the story itself. If you've ever read Alphabet of Thorns (you probably have, but if you haven't, oh but you should), you may understand what I say when I say that that book showed me what the word 'terrible' really, really means. It makes me wonder, now, how the word was ever lost to me - I've read descriptions of people and places that include it as an addjective, but never really gotten that sense of - of terrible. Terrible and great.

*sighs* Sorry for the babble, there, but this was definitely a fun read - now I think I understand just a little more about metaphors, and how to write with them.

[a2zmom.livejournal.com]

Metaphor is hard for me, it's something I consciously try to work on. So, I will keep your thoughts in mind and return often.

I am reminded of the painter Magritte. Do you know his work? He would pain a very realistic picture of an English bowler (for example) and underneath write "This is not a hat".

[romanyg.livejournal.com]

Ah, metaphor. I won't bother quoting the Marianne Moore poem, since that's the one that's most quoted when this subject comes up.

For me, metaphor that works when I read other people's work is the whole 'oooh yes' factor. It's the journey from one to the other that creates the path that I realize has always been there, just that I needed that gentle nudge to see it. Anything true has a timelessness to it.

Metaphor, true metaphor that feels like that both of journey and return, is *so* hard. I've read work by some excellent writers and their metaphor seems too clever by far sometimes, forced, so I think it might be hard for everyone.

The only metaphor of my own that I feel any sort of pride over is the last line from Boat: "His body a boat, his soul an anchor." Just because it really shouldn't make any freaking sense, but it does. Although, somedays, I don't even like that one, and it ceases to make any kind of sense at all.

[tkp.livejournal.com]

lit up from inside now with the fireflies this has stirred up.

Heh, nice metaphor.

I'm glad this interested you!

[tkp.livejournal.com]

I've only read the Riddlemaster Trilogy by Patricia McKillip. But I've been meaning to read more, so I'll definitely pick up Alphabet of Thorns some day.

It's amazing how you can hear a word, like terrible, see it described, even see it in the real world, *feel* it yourself, and yet when someone says the word, none of those things come back to you. But the word does have power; you just have to find it.

I'm glad this struck a chord with you--it's something that definitely helps me.