Author: Blue Cereal

Numbers & Letters As Literary Devices

~ Blue Cereal

Gonna be famous 5eva – ’cause 4eva’s too short
Gonna be famous 3gether – ’cause that’s one more than 2gether!
(from “Girls 5eva” on Peacock)

As I’ve been writing about alliteration, personification, onomatopoeia, and the like, I’ve repeatedly thought about a post committed to the use of numbers and letters as a literary device. Obviously most writing uses letters, and it’s not unusual for poems or prose to discuss numbers – but that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about the methodical shaping of a written piece around specific numbers or letters in a particular order.

The problem is that I’m not aware of many stories or poems which do this. The novel Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn (2001) revolves around the gradual loss of letters in a small island nation and the resulting rhetorical contortions necessary to communicate with fewer and fewer options. ​​Gadsby by Ernest Vincent Wright (1939) doesn’t use the letter ‘e’ at all, although the plot itself isn’t about letters per se – it’s merely an exercise in rhetorical contortions.

Alphabet poems are a thing – a short work in which each word or line begins with successive letters of the alphabet. Lots of kids books or poems focus on learning letters Sesame Street-style, which I suppose should also count.

But it’s in popular music and popular musicals that the use of numbers or letters as rhetorical tools really shines. While I’m not certain I can justify it in the context of official ELA curriculums, it’s nevertheless an example of colorful uses of language and creative writing which seems worth a gander – so here we are.

The title track of the musical Six has this self-affirming celebratory chorus (emphases added):

We’re ONE of a kind – no category
TOO many years trapped in his story
We’re FREE to take our crowning glory
FOR FIVE more minutes… we’re SIX!

It doesn’t even matter that “free” isn’t actually a number – the overlapping “three” is implied by context. The use of numbers here is mostly just catchy, but the theme of “six” is used to suggest unity among the women on stage throughout the production. If we really want to go crazy with the analysis, we could also argue that counting UP to that total emphasizes the sense of growth or improvement inherent in such solidarity.

If we wanted to go all crazy with the analysis, that is.

Numbers can also emphasize separation or distance. Here’s the most recognizable bit from “One is the Loneliest Number” (as covered by Three Dog Night in the late 1960s):

One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do
Two can be as bad as one – it’s the loneliest number since the number one…
One is the loneliest number – even worse than two

Not overly complicated at first glance, but still surprisingly poignant.

There’s a different sort of separation (with less melancholy) in “A Minute Without You” by Hanson:

’Cause when the minutes seem like hours, and the hours seem like days
Then a week goes by – you know it takes my breath away
All the minutes in the world could never take your place
There’s one thousand four hundred forty hours in my day.

Or a similar idea on a grander scale in “Seasons of Love” from the musical Rent:

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights – in sunsets – in midnights – in cups of coffee
In inches – in miles – in laughter – in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?

In these examples, the focus on numbers helps bring perspective to the emotions and experiences being communicated. It’s not a mathematical issue as such – there are no trains leaving various cities at different speeds – but the idea that “two can be as bad as one” brings pathos to the story of a struggling relationship in a way that trying to spell out the details probably couldn’t. Counting the minutes someone is away in such a literal fashion is a creative twist on “climbing every mountain” or “swimming every sea” by way of expressing desire. And breaking an entire year into minutes for purposes of discussing life’s true meaning is a brutally gentle reminder of just how mortal each and every one of us truly are and how dangerous it is to judge others and how they choose to use their own precious time.

Plus, it’s all poetic and stuff – which is pretty important as well.

There are other ways to use lists and numbers, of course. No one from my generation can forget the Violent Femmes working their way through the most angst-ridden list of the entire 1980s:

You can all just kiss off into the air – behind my back I can see them stare
They’ll hurt me bad, but I won’t mind – they’ll hurt me bad, they do it all the time…
I take one – one – one ’cause you left me
And two – two – two for my family
And three – three – three for my heartache
And four – four – four for my headaches
And five – five – five for my lonely
And six – six – six for my sorrow
And seven – s-s-s-seven for no tomorrow
And eight – eight – I forget was eight was for
But nine – nine – nine for a lost god
Ten – Ten – TEN -TEN – EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING

Here, the numbering acts as a hook of sorts (the chanting of each digit practically requires us to sing along even when we keep messing up the rest of the words) while driving home the idea that the problems faced by the singer are so overwhelming as to require actually listing them out. As if that’s not enough, he’s apparently self-medicating in response. (We’re all certain THAT made everything better.)

The musical Hamilton uses a similarly pragmatic structure for “Ten Duel Commandments”:

Number one! The challenge, demand satisfaction – if they apologize, no need for further action
Number two! If they don’t, grab a friend – that’s your second – your lieutenant when there’s reckoning to be reckoned
Number three! Have your seconds meet face to face – negotiate a peace, or negotiate a time and place
This is commonplace, especially ’tween recruits  – most disputes die and no one shoots
Number four! If they don’t reach a peace, that’s alright – time to get some pistols and a doctor on site…

Why this structure? In this context, the most obvious reason is that it reflects the “counting to ten” ritual associated with dueling in this period. That’s important for several reasons, not least of which is that later in the story, someone will die when his opponent cheats and fires early. The list format also emphasizes the entrenched norms of the practice. These “commandments” were more than just traditions, or even laws – they were part of a “code” required of anyone hoping to retain a degree of social or political legitimacy. Given that our main character will eventually die in a very similar duel, stuff like that matters a great deal.

As with any literary device, of course, sometimes numbers or letters are simply used to make things more interesting. Here’s a bit from “Mathematics” by Mos Def (emphases added):

Yo, check it ONE for Charlie Hustle, TWO for Steady Rock,
THREE for the FORTH-coming live future shock
It’s FIVE dimensions, SIX senses
SEVEN firmaments of Heaven to Hell, EIGHT million stories to tell
NINE planets faithfully keep in orbit, with the probable TENTH, the universe expands length…
It’s a number game but **** don’t add up somehow
Like I got SIXTEEN to THIRTY-TWO bars to rock it
But only FIFTEEN percent of profits, ever see my pockets like
SIXTY-NINE billion in the last TWENTY years
Spent on national defense but folks still live in fear like
Nearly HALF of America’s largest cities is ONE-QUARTER Black
That’s why they gave Ricky Ross all the crack
SIXTEEN ounces to a pound, TWENTY more to a key
A FIVE minute sentence hearing and you no longer free…

You get the idea. The numbers serve as an anchoring device but also allow the writer to show off a bit. The lyrics are poignant but still entertaining, and the numbers are a big part of that.

Letters can serve as a creative structural device as well. Usually, of course, we associate this with kids’ songs:

M – I – C… See ya’ real soon!
K – E – Y… Why? Because we like you!
M – O – U – S – E …

That association can be utilized to drive home very different messages as well. From pop artist Gayle:

I was into you, but I’m over it now – and I was tryin’ to be nice
But nothing’s getting through, so let me spell it out:
A B C D E F U
And your mom, and your sister, and your job, and your broke-*** car, and that **** you call art…
F U and your friends that I’ll never see again – everybody but your dog, you can all **** off

Over a half-century before, Tammy Wynette spelled out a few things for slightly different (but nevertheless related) reasons in a song just as shocking for its time:

Our little boy is four years old and quite a little man
So we spell out the words we don’t want him to understand
Like T-O-Y or maybe S-U-R-P-R-I-S-E
But the words we’re hiding from him now tear the heart right out of me
Our D-I-V-O-R-C-E becomes final today
Me and little J-O-E will be going away
I love you both and this will be pure H-E double L for me
Oh, I wish that we could stop this D-I-V-O-R-C-E

For Gayle, the spelling (such as it is) is used to chide her ex, who’s apparently being rather clueless and immature about how “broken up” works. For Wynette, the spelling is intended to protect an actual child who’s about to experience his parents’ separation. In both cases, the emotions and other dynamics of the situation are emphasized and explored through creative use of letters.

My favorite example, by far, however, is from the Matilda musical on Netflix (adapted from the Broadway show of the same name). It’s a number called “School Song” and requires extensive quoting in order to fully appreciate:

And so you think you’re able to survive this mess by being
A prince or a princess, you will soon see there’s no escaping tragedy
And even if you put in heaps of effort, you’re just wasting energy
’Cause your life as you know it is ancient history
I have suffered in this jail – I’ve been trapped inside the cage for ages – this living hell
But if I try I can remember – back before my life had ended
Before my happy days were over – before I first heard the pealing of the bell
Like you, I was curious – so innocent, I asked a thousand questions
But unless you want to suffer, listen up and I will teach you a thing or two
You listen here, my dear – you’ll be punished so severely if you step out of line
And if you cry it will be double, you should stay out of trouble and remember to be extremely careful
(Why?) Why? Did you hear what we said? Just you wait for phys-ed!
(What’s phys-ed?) Physical education – the Trunchbull speciality
(Who are you?) We’re prefects – we’re here to take you to class
(So we’re going to start learning?) Oh, you’ll start learning alright
(Great – I already know the alphabet) You don’t know the alphabet until you’ve learned the alphabet…

And the bulk of the song then repeats. This time, however, the alphabet itself is emphasized visually so that it suddenly leaps out at us from the exact same words we’ve just heard without realizing it was there all along:

And so you think you’re A-ble to survive this mess by B-ing
A prince or a princess, you will soon C there’s no escaping trage-D
And E-ven if you put in heaps of F-ort, you’re just wasting ener-G
’Cause your life as you know it is H-ient history

And so forth. It’s bloody brilliant, and more importantly, it reflects the underlying conflict of the story – the school which Matilda and the others are required to attend (where kids should be learning things like the alphabet) is instead something of a torture chamber. The two are inextricably woven together, but the relationship is not immediately obvious – just like the underlying structure of the song describing it.

In other words, the use of letters in this case is certainly clever, but that’s not enough – it serves the theme of the story or song. In that sense, numbers and letters can function much like any other literary device. The fact that they’re not technically classified as such troubles me about a -1 on a scale of 1-10.

The Dirty Parts

~ Blue Cereal

NOTE: This post is sexually explicit and full of naughty things. Feel free to skip it in favor of something more uplifting and G-rated. Seriously.

If you were around in the 1980s, you probably remember this radio hit from The Cars:

I know tonight, she comes – she’s taking a swipe at fun
She tells me it’s easy when you do it right – I know tonight, she comes

Or this catchy little pop-gospel number, played endlessly on MTV and Top 40 radio:

I hear your voice – it’s like an angel sighing – I have no choice…
I close my eyes – oh God, I think I’m falling out of the sky…
When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer – I’m down on my knees, I wanna take you there
In the midnight hour, I can feel your power – just like a prayer, you know I’ll take you there

While it wasn’t exactly news by this time that Madonna was tawdry, most listeners heard or even sang along with these words without actually processing what they were describing. (Spoiler alert: she wasn’t actually praying, although “Oh God” may have been uttered a few times.)

The approach wasn’t entirely new. Cole Porter several generations before had done quite well with lyrical winking and nudging:

And that’s why birds do it – bees do it – even educated fleas do it – let’s do it – let’s fall in love…
Sloths who hang down from the twigs do it – though the effort is great
Sweet guinea pigs do it – buy a couple and wait!
The world admits bears in pits do it – even Pekingeses in the Ritz do it
Let’s do it – let’s fall in love

Sometimes it wasn’t even THAT subtle, and yet most of us missed it until re-watching with our own kids a generation later…

Go, greased lightnin’ – you’re burnin’ up the quarter mile
Go, greased lightnin’ – you’re coasting through the heat lap trials
You’re supreme – the chicks’ll cream – for greased lightnin’…
With new boosters, plates and shocks, I can get off my rocks
You know that I ain’t braggin’ – she’s a real pussy wagon – greased lightnin’

If you’d never noticed what Danny Zucko was getting at in this song, don’t feel bad. You may recall an episode of Arrested Development in which Michael and his niece Maeby were halfway through a rousing karaoke rendition of “Afternoon Delight” when it dawned on him what they were actually singing…

Thinking of you’s working up my appetite – looking forward to a little afternoon delight
Rubbing sticks and stones together makes the sparks ignite, and the thought of lovin’ you is getting so exciting
Sky rockets in flight – afternoon delight…
Started out this morning feeling so polite – I always thought a fish could not be caught who wouldn’t bite
But you’ve got some bait a-waiting and I think I might try, nibbling a little afternoon delight…

In short, there are endless examples of sexual innuendo and outright potty talk in rock’n’roll and other forms of popular music. It makes sense, given that art explores all sorts of things about the human experience, and sex – for better or worse – is a memorable and often complicated part of all that.

While we’ve certainly loosened up when it comes to intimate topics, most openly explicit stuff is just… boring. It requires little creativity and says nothing about the emotional dynamics typically implicit in such things. Lyrical porn is just like any other sort of porn – it may have a certain salacious appeal, but it’s not exactly “art.”

What can be interesting are the many ways writers use metaphors or imagery to hint at desire or sexual naughtiness without actually saying anything inappropriate – and why they choose to do so. I’m going to focus here on musical specimens with a focus on accessibility. Most examples from legit poetry or literature with which I’m familiar are centuries old, meaning the primary challenge isn’t so much rhetorical subtlety as obsolete language. Besides, I’m sure every English teacher has their own favorite dirty passages in the books they assign – stuff that Republicans would be wetting themselves to ban if they understood them in the first place.

There are THREE BASIC REASONS writers use sexual innuendo, although they sometimes overlap.

1) The writer wants to be suggestive without triggering censorship or criticism.

Here’s a segment of “If I Were A Bell” from Guys and Dolls, staged and filmed in the early 1950s:

From the moment we kissed tonight, that’s the way I’ve just gotta behave
Boy, if I were a lamp, I’d light – or if I were a banner, I’d wave
Ask me how do I feel, little me with my quiet upbringing
Well, sir, all I can say is if I were a gate, I’d be swinging…

Ask me how do I feel – ask me now that we’re fondly caressing
Well, if I were a salad, I know I’d be splashing my dressing
Or if I were a season, I’d surely be spring…
Or if I were a bell, I’d go ding dong ding dong ding dong ding dong ding!

Lamps lighting and banners waving are certainly innocuous enough, but “swinging” has a hint of suggestiveness – although not enough by itself to trigger any suspicion. Add some caressing and the bit about losing your dressing, though, and it’s the tiniest bit blue. Almost.

It’s a beautiful thing, straddling such lines while still looking so wholesome.

The band Queen wasn’t exactly prudish, but neither were they willing in the late 1970s to come right out and celebrate the excessive drug use and bisexual one-night stands of lead singer and songwriter Freddie Mercury. Instead, we get lyrics like this from “Don’t Stop Me Now”:

Tonight, I’m gonna have myself a real good time
I feel alive, and the world – I’ll turn it inside out, yeah – I’m floating around in ecstasy
So don’t stop me now – don’t stop me, ’cause I’m having a good time…
I’m burning through the sky, yeah – 200 degrees, that’s why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit
I’m traveling at the speed of light – I wanna make a supersonic man out of you
I’m having such a good time – I’m having a ball – if you wanna have a good time, just give me a call
I’m on a rocket ship on my way to Mars on a collision course – I’m a satellite – I’m out of control
I am a sex machine ready to reload like an atom bomb – about to oh oh oh oh oh explode
I wanna make a supersonic woman of you… Let loose, honey, all right

If you didn’t know much about Mercury, you might be able to simply enjoy this as a generic party song – which most did. No one close to the band had ANY illusions, however, what these lyrics were really about.

2) The coy language reflects the flirting and uncertainty of the situation.

Here’s Kay Howard, fifth wife of Henry VIII, singing about her teenage years in the musical “Six”:

Take my first music teacher, Henry Mannox
I was young, it’s true, but even then I knew – the only thing you wanna to do is… (*kiss* / *sigh*)
Broad, dark, sexy Mannox taught me all about dynamics
He was twenty-three, and I was thirteen going on thirty
We’d spend hours strumming the lute, striking the chords and blowing the flute
He plucked my strings all the way to G – went from major to minor, C to D

There’s a mix of innuendo here, from the overt (“I was thirteen going on thirty”) to the metaphorical (“blowing the flute”). Context makes even the bits about plucking strings and changing keys sound dirty, even if we’re unable to identify exactly why that is.

Don’t worry – it gets easier:

But then there was another guy – Francis Dereham…
Serious, stern and slow – gets what he wants, and he won’t take no…
Helped him in his office, had a duty to fulfill – he even let me use his favorite quill
Spilled ink all over the parchment – my wrist was so tired – still I came back the next day as he required

In this case the double entendres are both amusing and tragic. On the one hand, you can almost picture their loaded interactions in the guise of workplace activity – the looks, the incidental contact, etc. On the other hand, Howard is essentially a young lady being sexually exploited by older men in a time when women had even less social capital than they do today. The song moves from sorta fun and sassy to angry and broken at the end, and the metaphors and innuendo of those early verses help emphasize that transition.

It doesn’t have to be quite so intense. Here’s a bit from “Brand New Key” by Melanie from the early 1970s (and covered multiple times since then):

I rode my bicycle past your window last night – I roller-skated to your door at daylight
It almost seems like you’re avoiding me – I’m okay alone, but you’ve got something I need
Well, I’ve got a brand new pair of roller skates, you’ve got a brand new key
I think that we should get together and try them on to see…

I ride my bike, I roller skate, don’t drive no car – don’t go so fast, but I go pretty far…
Well, I’ve got a brand new pair of roller skates, you’ve got a brand new key
I think that we should get together and try them on to see…

If you try to pin it down as a direct sex metaphor, it doesn’t really work. At the same time, it’s undeniable that the lyrics flirt with the potential double meaning – just like the singer is apparently flirting with her little friend.

3) It’s supposed to be funny.

What makes something funny is an eternally evasive question which varies from person to person and generation to generation. In general, however, sex and love are fertile grounds for humor because they’re so universal and so universally awkward to ponder or attempt.

This is easily the riskiest of the three. When it works, the results can be sublime – or at least clever. Sexual innuendo gone wrong, on the other hand, quickly veers into crass, offensive, or juvenile.

Here’s a Christmas song from Anna and the Apocalypse which walks a shaky line between these extremes:

There’s a lack of presents in my stocking – and my chimney needs a good unblocking
Come on Santa dear, I’ve been waiting for you
Lemme tell you, if you’re feeling frozen stiff, my fire’s burning hot for you
Before you take a nap, let me sit upon your lap
There’s only one gift that I wanna unwrap when you’re near – Baby, it’s that time of year…
I’ve warmed your milk and made your favorite snack, so come on over and unload your sack
Tie those reindeer up – ’cause you may be a while – and I know what’ll make you smile…
Come on Santa, give it to me

In the context of the film, the tune is intended to be sexy and suggestive (as per #2 above). As a number in a musical, however, it’s primarily meant to be funny. The metaphorical innuendo is intentionally awkward (“my chimney needs a good unblocking”) and at times so explicit (“unload your sack”) that the audience is clearly intended to be in on the joke.

In other words, the rhetorical games act as overt double agents – metaphor and innuendo intended to toy with sexually explicit messaging, but nudged just far enough over the edge to allow us to laugh at them while they do it… all without quite coming out and saying anything R-rated.

The at-times-brilliant The Book of Mormon, in contrast, reaches WAY too far with “Baptize Me”:

I’m about to do it for the first time, and I’m gonna do it with a girl – a special girl who makes my heart kinda flutter – makes my eyes kinda blur – I can’t believe I’m about to baptize her!
Bathe her in God’s glory! And I will baptize her with everything I got – and I’ll make her beg for more as I wash her free of sin – and it’ll be so good, she’ll want me to baptize her again!

Believe it or not, it gets worse from there. That’s probably why the most successful humorous innuendo is often fairly succinct – get in, get out, and move on before they know what hit them.

Excerpt of “My Dead Gay Son” from Heathers:

They’re up there disco dancing to the thump of angel wings
They grab a mate and roller skate while Judy Garland sings
They live a playful afterlife that’s fancy-free and reckless
They swing upon the pearly gates and wear a pearly necklace

Then again, so much of Heathers is edgy that perhaps such moments fit right in.

I’ll close with a combination of all three. “I Love The Way” from Something Rotten! is a duet initiated by Portia, a young Puritan who feels compelled to mask any sinful feelings like love or the enjoyment of literature from her family (and to some extent herself). Her (musical) conversation with Nigel – a playwright – is flirty and awkward, just like their new feelings toward one another. For the audience, however, it’s neither subtle nor titillating. It’s just supposed to be funny.

Portia: I love Sydney, and Marlow, and often I borrow their words to express how I feel. I love poems of mystery, fantasy, history – oh, what seductive appeal! At night, alone in my bedroom, satisfying my need – the candlelight fire ignites my desire… to read! …

I love the places that words let me go – I love the way that your words move me so! No words have touched me the way that yours do…

I find pleasure perusing those writings and musing so often I pleasure myself – wait, that didn’t sound right

Nigel: No, I know what you mean – when I’m deep in the throes of impassionate prose, I could scream!

Portia (spoken): You scream?

Nigel (spoken): Yeah.

Portia (spoken): So do I!

Portia: Oh, I love a lilting line of lyrical alliteration… when the phrases come together like a consummation

Nigel: It’s sweet elation!

Those crazy Renaissance lovebirds.

I hope you found this post as fulfilling as I did. I’d hoped it would last longer, but somehow I got out everything I had to say with time to spare (sorry about that). I hear it happens to lots of writers. Hey, any chance you have a cigarette?

Could You Repeat That?

~ Blue Cereal

multiple Spider-Man variations swinging into actionWe’re taught in high school English to vary sentence length and structure so our writing doesn’t become tedious:

I would like to graduate because I would like to go to college. I would like to get a good job someday because I would like to make lots of money. The reason I would like to make money is because I would like to start a camp for kids with emotional issues. I would like to help them with their emotional issues by having a camp. At the camp we would help kids learn to deal with their emotional issues. That is why I would like to graduate.

Even if we vary the structure, using the same words over and over can seriously kill the mood:

K-Pop is pretty awesome. Most of the songs are in two languages, which is awesome. The bands wear awesome clothes and do cool dance moves, which look awesome. But it’s deep, too. The song, “I’m Deep, Too” is about a guy who’s awesome falling for an awesome girl who won’t date him because she’s got a weird disease, but he loves her anyway which is awesome and she gets an awesome doctor who finds a cure anyway. It’s an awesome story.

And yet, accomplished writers sometimes utilize repetition to great effect. As with so many other literary devices, I like to introduce the idea with examples from popular music – starting with this excerpt from Leonard Cohen’s “Everybody Knows”:

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded. Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed.
Everybody knows the war is over. Everybody knows the good guys lost.
Everybody knows the fight was fixed – the poor stay poor, the rich get rich.
That’s how it goes… everybody knows.

Everybody knows that the boat is leaking. Everybody knows that the captain lied.
Everybody got this broken feeling like their father or their dog just died.
Everybody talking to their pockets. Everybody wants a box of chocolates and a long-stemmed rose…
Everybody knows.

In this case, the repetition isn’t lazy, but strategic. It drives home the idea that corruption and despair are so universal as to be practically mundane – making it that much more tragic.

From “I Can’t Get Over It” by the 77’s:

You say you’re sorry – I can’t get over it.
I said I forgive you – I can’t get over it.
You say you’ll learn from this mistake – I can’t get over it.
I should be giving you a break, but I can’t –

We put it behind us now – I can’t get over it.
Nothing left to remind us now – I can’t get over it…
I’ve done so much worse many times myself – I can’t get over it.
I’ve got no right to indict somebody else – I can’t get over it.

You hurt us both; I’m hurtin’ us more not getting over it.
Can I say I ever really loved you if I don’t get over it?

The persistent refrain emphasizes how trapped the singer is in one specific emotion and moment. It’s a nagging wall he continues hitting despite knowing intellectually that it’s not healthy or even fair.

Granted, most popular music contains some repetition. If nothing else, most tunes have some version of a chorus or recurring segments. But that’s not what’s happening in these examples (or at least, that’s not ALL that’s happening). The repetition carries thematic weight and shapes the tone. It’s also risky. If the artists don’t pull it off, such redundancies aren’t just boring – they’re irritating.

Repetition isn’t always this straightforward. In “Therapy,” Jonathan Larson uses it to hint at something fairly significant about his deteriorating relationship with girlfriend Susan.

{Him:} I feel bad, that you feel bad about me feeling bad about you feeling bad
About what I said about what you said about me not being able to share a feeling…

{Her:} If I thought that what you thought was that I hadn’t thought about sharing my thoughts
Then my reaction to your reaction to my reaction would have been more revealing

{Him:} I was afraid that you’d be afraid if I told you that I was afraid of intimacy
If you don’t have a problem with my problem, maybe the problem’s simply codependency?

{Her:} Yes, I know that now you know that I didn’t know that you didn’t know
That when I said “no” I meant “yes, I know” and that now I know that you knew that I knew you adored me…

This one’s a bit more complicated. If we were in class, I’d probably open the floor to suggestions about why Larson takes this approach. Personally, I suspect it’s partly just aesthetic – he likes the way it sounds. At the same time, the repeated words and phrases which ricochet back and forth between the two parties suggest that conversations about the relationship have become so rote and galvanized that while they may go through the motions, nothing “real” is being solved anymore. If anything, it almost seems to mock the entire process.

Here’s an even subtler use of repetition with a bit heavier goal in mind. It’s not a pop song, but it was composed with a “listening” audience in mind.

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate – we can not consecrate – we can not hallow – this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us – that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion – that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain – that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom – and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

This is Abraham Lincoln’s “Gettysburg Address” from 1863. It’s a speech so powerful and central to the meaning of what it (supposedly) means to be an American that we used to supernaturalize it by claiming Lincoln wrote it on the back of an envelope on the train ride to Gettysburg, as if divine inspiration alone could account for its compact beauty. That is, of course, utter nonsense. He may have worked on it a bit on the train, making last minute notes to himself or minor edits, but Lincoln didn’t speak extemporaneously (ever, that we know of) and he certainly wouldn’t have been so cavalier about such an important occasion.

No, this is the Lincoln who studied by the fireplace all night and who labored over every word of every speech he ever gave. He’d composed this speech days (if not weeks) before, and several of his most trusted advisors had already read it and offered suggestions. He knew that while it would likely be reported in the papers, its initial effectiveness would primarily depend on how it sounded.

The central message of the address is that all Americans (not just soldiers or political leaders) must dedicate themselves to the ideals expressed in their founding documents. In a 271 word speech, he uses some version of the word “dedicate” six times. If we add variations like “devotion” and “consecrate,” that number doubles. He also uses “dead” or “died” a half-dozen times, which certainly aren’t the same as “dedicated” but are related thematically and act as homonyms of a sort.

That’s a whole lotta dedication, devotion, and dying for the cause.

Lincoln also echoes entire phrases to emphasize his message…

“a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to {a} proposition” + “that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated…”

“The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.”

“It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work…” + “It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us…”

“from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion…”

Repetition helps drive home central ideas. Creative repetition, though, also shapes tone and mood. (Notice how I keep saying this in different ways throughout this post? Seemed appropriate, somehow.) It’s certainly one of the easiest literary devices to recognize…

From Robert Frost:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Or Dr. Seuss:

Would you like them in a house? Would you like them with a mouse?
I do not like them in a house. I do not like them with a mouse.
I do not like them here or there. I do not like them anywhere.
I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

Classical lyricist Eminem:

’Cause I’m Slim Shady – yes, I’m the real Shady – all you other Slim Shadys are just imitating
So won’t the real Slim Shady please stand up? Please stand up? Please stand up?
’Cause I’m Slim Shady – yes, I’m the real Shady – all you other Slim Shadys are just imitating
So won’t the real Slim Shady please stand up? Please stand up? Please stand up?

Or literary legend Charles Dickens:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness… it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us

The only real challenge is for students to come up with something plausible to say when asked why the author chose to use it. In other words, what effect does it have?

If the answer is anything other than “it’s just kind of annoying,” then it probably worked.

Personification Just Wants To Help

~ Blue Cereal

In a perfect world, I prefer to introduce literary devices with examples from popular music. These tend to be more accessible than the “legit” stuff and have the potential to be at least mildly entertaining. When it comes to personification, however, there’s a bit of a snag. Pop music simply isn’t a genre which utilizes extensive personification, and the examples which come up in your average Google search tend to be rather unfulfilling. Most are either obscure or the personification is so veiled or vague that it’s more likely to frustrate and confuse students than engage or enlighten them.

So, poetry it is.

That’s OK. There’s plenty of good stuff out there, and at some point we should probably transition our discussion of figurative language into more academic contexts anyway. Keep in mind that my goal at the moment is NOT to provide expert poetry analysis in a holistic sense. I’m just looking for ways to help my kids understand personification – giving human characteristics to inanimate objects or non-human living creatures in order to better express an experience or emotion.

We do this all the time in casual conversation without thinking much about it…

“This painting speaks to me.”

“That wallpaper looks sad.”

“The scale is mocking me.”

“Why does my car hate me?”

“My alarm really wants me to get up.”

With a little creativity, however, personification can prove quite poignant. Here’s an excerpt from “Because I Could Not Stop For Death” by Emily Dickinson:

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

“Death” here is capitalized and referred to as “he.” “Immortality,” too, is treated as a person rather than a concept. Death is apparently the driver of the carriage and in no particular hurry – a mindset which quickly rubs off on the narrator.

In this case, personifying Death helps remove some of the fear and uncertainty of the concept itself. Death “kindly” stops to pick up our narrator and conducts himself with “civility.” The use of past tense combined with the other passenger – “Immortality” – indicates the narrator is already in or approaching the afterlife, and while it’s not exactly a net positive, any horrors are intrinsic and eternal rather than shocking or temporal.

Once that’s established, the poem may be analyzed in whatever direction you like.

Death gets personified quite often in literature, all the way back to Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians (in the New Testament of the Bible, Amplified Version):

O Death, where is your victory? O Death, where is your sting?

This personification allows the author to defy death and celebrate its ultimate overthrow. Paul could have simply written that “death no longer carries the same finality or creates the same sort of fear it once did thanks to this here new religion I’ve adopted,” but it really loses something that way.

Not that personification always has to be so heavy…

Hey, diddle, diddle – the cat and the fiddle – the cow jumped over the moon
The little dog laughed to see such sport, and the dish ran away with the spoon.

We could debate whether or not the cow jumping over the moon counts as personification, but laughing dogs and eloping tableware definitely do. In this case, the only obvious purpose is fun – a perfectly valid goal even if we don’t talk about it much.

Let’s see if we can split the difference between confronting eternity fiddling felines. From “Mirror” by Sylvia Plath:

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful‚
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

I like this one because most students can easily grasp that the “narrator” is a mirror. Like a person, it uses “I” statements – it swallows, it speaks truths and avoids cruelty, etc. At the same time, it’s difficult to put into words exactly what point Plath is trying to make or what “tone” is suggested. If we allow ourselves to really experience the poem, however, it definitely does make a point and provoke emotions – even if they remain just beyond the reach of rational description.

Sometimes literary devices help bring clarity to familiar feelings or situations; other times they help us reach out towards those things we simply cannot describe or explain in any other way. That’s part of what’s so cool about them.

Let’s go back to Dickinson for a moment:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all – …

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

Before we consider the important stuff, let’s acknowledge that people don’t (usually) have feathers. An abstract idea is nevertheless being treated as a living thing, which – believe it or not – still counts as personification. (If that’s a stumbling block, feel free to recategorize it as a metaphor.) It really doesn’t matter, as long as we’re able to use what we know about personification (or metaphors) to better appreciate the work as a whole.

This one is slightly more tangible than Plath’s “Mirror,” but the figurative language clearly suggests realities beyond empirical explanation. Hope “perches in the soul” and “sings the tune without the words.” It’s difficult for even a heavy storm (one of the very common metaphors we discussed elsewhere) to shake or discourage it – yet it asks nothing of us to continue its “song.”

You could try to rewrite the same ideas in more practical language – “hope is good to have, especially when, like, it gets you through rough times by giving you, um… hope.” Even if we found a better way to express the substance, the intangibles are lost – the transcendent stuff we can sense and feel in the original even if we can’t reduce it to two-dimensional language.

I try to avoid going full “Dead Poets Society” with this sort of thing, but neither should we allow a strictly forensic approach to language to suck ALL the life out of these moments. Whatever else music, poetry, or literature is intended to do, it’s supposed to be stimulating – and not always in a naughty way.

Here’s another example – Elaine George’s short poem, “Snowflake”:

A fragile winter butterfly
Flutters from the sky
So soft and yet her heart
Is cold and made of ice
But if I warm it
She will melt and die

The personification here (which is actually “butterflication,” I suppose) seems primarily intended as imagery – to help us “see” the falling snowflake. At the same time, by instilling implied life into the tiny object, there’s a corresponding degree of pathos to the idea it could “die.”

Once we’ve established the concept, we can risk bringing in a few pop songs just to break things up. I might have overreacted a bit above – it’s just that I really hate most of the lists you’ll find online for this sort of thing. If our goal is to examine examples so subtle or so buried in other colorful language that it’s not even clear they should count, however…

From Don McLean’s “American Pie”:

I can’t remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside, the day the music died

From Fallout Boy’s “My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark”:

Burn everything you love, then burn the ashes – in the end, everything collides
My childhood spat back out the monster that you see – my songs know what you did in the dark
Light a mup-mup-mup – light a mup-mup-mup – light a mup-mup-mup – Iman FIYAHHHHH!

From Disney’s “Pocahontas”:

Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?

There are a few tidier examples, like Jimi Hendrix’s “The Wind Cries Mary”:

Will the wind ever remember the names it has blown in the past?
And with this crutch, its old age and its wisdom, it whispers, “No – this will be the last”
And the wind cries, “Mary”

On the whole, however, popular music remains rather standoffish on this one. Well, except for one odd, but fairly common twist – personifying body parts.

From “Lyin’ Eyes” by the Eagles:

You can’t hide your lyin’ eyes – and your smile is a thin disguise
I thought by now you’d realize, there ain’t no way to hide your lyin’ eyes

From “Shhhh!” by Fleming and John:

Don’t tell my ears ’cause they’re not listening
Don’t tell my heart – it doesn’t know what it’s missing
Don’t tell my eyes – I know they won’t believe
That you’re not in love with me

Or the title number from “My Heart Says Go” by budding playwrights Matt Hawkins and Jorge Rivera-Herrans:

Disappointment – we avoid it – all for love in our parents’ eyes
Play along though it feels wrong and we give into a life of lies
Fires burn, tables turn, and I’ve come to learn that maybe it’s not for me…
What does my heart say? What does my heart say?
My heart says go! My heart says go!

You get the idea. Nothing overly complicated going on here, but this sort of personification gives a little extra punch the emotions and desires being expressed.

Finally, personification is sometimes just fun, or sweet, or otherwise purely aesthetic. In other words, while it can add meaning or depth, it doesn’t have to. Like any literary device or other figurative language, sometimes it’s there just to make things more interesting.

From “E Eats Everything” by They Might Be Giants:

A hardly has an appetite and pokes at food too long
And B can barely bother, because all the food is wrong
C likes only candy and chocolate by the box
D is just disinterested in anything you’ve got
But E eats everything – yeah, E eats everything…

I won’t ruin it by telling you what happens when they get to Z, but I assure you – it’s personified.

Raining in the Dark Cave of My Winter Car (Part Two)

~ Blue Cereal

Certain types of similes and metaphors come up over and over in literature, poetry, pop songs, and the visual arts. Most lend themselves just as easily to larger uses like symbolism theme-ish stuff. Last time, I listed some of the most common – metaphors which are probably obvious to most of us, but which nevertheless manage to remain elusive for far too many of my students. Today, we’ll look at a few easy examples suitable for the classroom.

As with other literary devices, my examples are heavy on popular music because it tends to be so much more accessible than the legit stuff we keep hoping they’ll learn to appreciate. It’s not essential that students know or like the songs you choose, but it’s nice when that works out from time to time.

From “Here Comes The Sun” by the Beatles:

Little darlin’, it’s been a long cold lonely winter – little darlin’, it feels like years since it’s been here

Here comes the sun – here comes the sun – and I say, it’s alright

Little darlin’, the smiles returning to their faces – little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here

Here comes the sun – here comes the sun – and I say, it’s alright…

Little darlin’, I feel that ice is slowly melting – little darlin’, it seems like years since it’s been clear

Here comes the sun – here comes the sun – and I say, it’s alright

Let’s start with the obvious – these lines work just fine on a strictly literal level. Maybe the author just really likes the spring. It’s a much richer piece, however, if we read it as a song of hope – of coming through difficult times and feeling better about the future as a result.

Here’s another fairly light example from “Singing in the Rain” (a tune which predates the movie by 20+ years):

I’m singing in the rain, just singing in the rain – what a glorious feeling – I’m happy again

I’m laughing at clouds, so dark up above – the sun’s in my heart and I’m ready for love

Let the stormy clouds chase everyone from the place – come on with the rain, I’ve a smile on my face

I walk down the lane with a happy refrain – just singing, I’m singing in the rain

Why am I smiling and why do I sing? Why does September seem sunny as spring?

Why do I get up each morning and start? Happy and head up with joy in my heart

Why is each new task a trifle to do? Because I am living a life full of you.

In the film, Gene Kelly quite literally sings this song in the rain – so there’s that. The lyrics are clearly intended to work on a metaphorical level as well – “the sun’s in my heart” and “September seem[ing] sunny as spring” and such. (Nice alliteration in that second line, by the way.)

Examples of spring as a new beginning or the sun coming out after the rain suggesting hope or joy are pretty much infinite – “Mr. Blue Sky” (E.L.O.), “I Can See Clearly Now” (Johnny Nash), “You Are My Sunshine” (most famously covered by Johnny Cash), “Daybreak” (Barry Manilow – who I’m including mostly just to see who’s paying attention), “Beautiful Day” (U2), “Unwritten” (Natasha Beddingfield  – this one also has a nice window metaphor in the mix), or even “Ain’t No Sunshine” (Bill Withers, with a little reverse on the theme).

The other seasons are important in much great literature and poetry, but less common in popular music. Darkness, on the other hand, comes up quite a bit – especially for artists who want to sound, well… dark. If you’re not sure where to start, consider “The Dark Side” (Muse), “Darkside” (Blink-182 – this one has thinly veiled drug references), “Beware of Darkness” (George Harrison), or “In the Dark” (Billy Squier – although there’s some sexual innuendo near the end).

Depending on your audience, darkness and night help communicate the trauma of abuse as well. In the musical “Spring Awakening,” Martha reveals her experience to her friends in “The Dark I Know Well”:

I don’t scream though I know it’s wrong – I just play along

I lie there and breathe – like there and breathe…

There is a part I can’t tell about the dark I know well

There is a part I can’t tell about the dark I know well

“In the Night” by Weekend addresses similar abuse in slightly more elusive terms, and I suspect there are at least a dozen other examples out there for anyone who chooses to look. In most cases, the darkness and night are probably both literal and metaphorical. While I wouldn’t include such a triggering topic on any worksheets or PowerPoint presentations, it nevertheless demonstrates how effectively figurative language can capture negative experiences and emotions as well as it does happy, optimistic stuff.

Seasons other than spring are less commonly referenced in popular music, but that doesn’t mean they’re never used at all. Here’s an excerpt from “Winter Song” by Ingrid Michaelson and Sara Bareilles:

This is my winter song to you – the storm is coming soon – it rolls in from the sea

My voice, a beacon in the night – my words will be your light – to carry you to me

Is love alive? Is love alive?

They say that things just cannot grow beneath the winter snow – or so I have been told…

I still believe in summer days – the seasons always change – and life will find a way

I’ll be your harvester of light and send it out tonight so we can start again

Is love alive? Is love alive? …

The storm is coming soon – it rolls in from the sea

My love a beacon in the night – my words will be your light

My love a beacon in the night – my words will be your light to carry you to me

Is love alive? Is love alive?

Nothing overly complex here, but they get in winter and summer and the changing of seasons and light and storms and OMG what a cornucopia of metaphorical staples!

In “I Hit the Brakes,” Admiral Twin uses a basic driving metaphor to explore a relationship in which two people seem to be wanting very different things:

I should have known by the look on your face when you climbed in the car where you wanted to go

Rumors I’d heard, no longer ignored – you opened your mouth, but before you could speak

I said no, I really don’t think I want to know – I really don’t think I want to go that far now

Let’s just stay right where we are now – leave well enough alone

I squint at the road but I can still see windshield reflections; you’re staring at me

You’ve something to say that I don’t want to hear, and it gets hard to drive when I’m covering my ears

So I say no, I really don’t think I want to know – I really don’t think I want to go that far down

I’d rather stay uninvolved now

These fevered confessions frighten me, and though you’re my friend

I swear if you don’t stop soon it’s a long walk home again

You just won’t quit – what made you believe I wanted to hear the secrets you keep?

Now I see what it takes – your head hits the windshield when I hit the brakes

’Cause I said no, I really don’t think I want to know – I really don’t think I want to go that far now…

You’ve gotten me involved now – now look what you’ve done

It would be easy to get bogged down in the distinction between metaphor or symbolism here, but the important thing is how the writer combines the familiar terrain of a car ride (including the terrifying implications of a head hitting the windshield) with the complexities of human relationships. We’re left unable to say for certain whether the issue is primarily about the passenger (“I don’t feel that way about you”) or the driver (“I’m terrified of intimacy or commitment”), but we certainly feel the intensity by the time it’s through.

The musical “Dear Evan Hansen” loves playing with symbols and at least one idiom (the protagonist, Evan Hansen, literally falls out of a tree in the forest and no one hears him or cares). Evan’s struggles are expressed in “Waving Through A Window,” which utilizes several common metaphors – but in interesting, thought-provoking ways:

I’ve learned to slam on the brake before I even turn the key

Before I make the mistake – before I lead with the worst of me…

Step out, step out of the sun if you keep getting burned

Step out, step out of the sun – because you’ve learned, because you’ve learned

On the outside, always looking in – will I ever be more than I’ve always been?

’Cause I’m tap-tap-tapping on the glass – I’m waving through a window

I try to speak, but nobody can hear – so I wait around for an answer to appear

While I’m watch-watch-watching people pass – I’m waving through a window

Before we get to “tap-tap-tapping on the glass,” notice the simple car metaphor in the first line. The absurdity of hitting the breaks before starting the car brings powerful pathos to Evan’s isolation and fear of rejection. If we couldn’t fully relate before, that line alone ought to do the trick.

Next comes the sun – in this case acting both as illumination (“because you’ve learned”) and pain (“you keep getting burned”). At first glance, this contrasts with his complaint that “I try to speak, but nobody can hear”; as it turns out, even Evan’s insecurities are jumbled and contradictory. In that sense, he’s just like most of us.

The strongest metaphor throughout, however, is the window on which he’s “tap-tap-tapping.” Not only is it repeated in various forms throughout the song, it’s emphasized through alliteration (“watch-watch-watching people pass” and “waving through a window”), repetition (“watch-watch-watching” and “tap-tap-tapping”) and onomatopoeia (the “tapping”). In this case, the window metaphor emphasizes the singer’s sense of isolation from the rest of the world –  “on the outside, always looking in.”

While it’s not obvious from this song alone, the window also represents the various screens through which we utilize social media. The staging of the show utilizes multiple cell phone and laptop-shaped screens with scrolling posts and endless notification noises. Many of Evan’s interactions with others occur via his laptop or other devices, further emphasizing his sense of distance and isolation, even when he’s actively communicating. As he learns to open up (instead of waiting on the rest of the world to let him in), we see more face-to-face interactions. Throughout the play, online communication is primarily used when shaping false narratives or identities. Conversely, while not every face-to-face relationship is honest,  every honest relationship moment we see occurs face-to-face – not “through a window.”

I know, right?! ISN’T FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE JUST THE BEST?!?

When you’re falling in a forest and there’s nobody around, do you ever really crash or even make a sound?

When you’re falling in a forest and there’s nobody around, do you ever really crash or even make a sound?

Did I even make a sound? Did I even make a sound? It’s like I never made a sound. Will I ever make a sound?

It’s hard to imagine a more resonant expression of our universal need to feel “heard.” As I’ve harped on with other literary devices, it’s fine if we want to take a moment to discuss the “falling in a forest” reference and whether it’s an idiom or a metaphor or symbolism or a future injunctive appositive, but never at the expense of exploring what it means, and suggests.

We study literary devices to make us better readers, listeners, writers, and speakers – not to make us better categorizers of literary devices. Even the most common metaphors and symbols – light and dark, weather, the seasons, doors and windows, cars and roads, etc. – can be used in fresh, interesting ways. In turn, they can bring depth or different perspectives to thoughts, feelings, and situations which are both unique and universal.

That’s the power of language.