Figurative language (metaphors, similes, etc; here’s an overview of the different types) is one of the great tools of good writing, but it’s also one of the great downfalls of bad writing. A writer must be careful that whatever metaphor or other figurative expression they’ve selected to convey an idea or description makes sense, is accurate, holds up to examination, and matches themes. Let’s look at some examples, good and bad.

Regular readers will know I have complained about this particular travesty twice already but that’s not going to stop me for the third time: “The sky was the colour of a sad wedding.”

Why is this, to me, a particularly bad example of figurative language? After all, the colour of the sky has been portrayed – I’d bet most (Western) readers would say it was grey, even without the rest of the paragraph for context. But why? Not because of the mysterious concept of a sad wedding – which, the second you think about it, would be the same colour as any wedding (maybe white, in most Westerners’ automatic picture of a wedding). It’s the word ‘sad’ solely that makes us think of ‘grey’, so the metaphor could be a sad wedding, a sad room, a sad ball of yarn, a sad box of cornflakes, each of which work just as badly as the original.

Compare this with Michael Chabon’s “The Sitka sky is dull silver plate and tarnishing fast” from The Yiddish Policeman’s Union. From this short metaphor, the reader not only knows the sky is grey, but its exact shade – what shade of grey is a sad wedding?

On the plus side, ‘sad wedding’ does kind of match the themes of the book, which have partly to do with failed relationships. Much of the danger of figurative language comes when the writer tries too hard to tie in their themes – and tries too hard to be original.

Look at this next example, from Murray Bail’s The Pages: “Along one side of the window an edge of sandstone showed, weathered and worn smooth by the never-ending revision of ideas.” This ripped me right out the story. I do get the intention behind this description – to avoid the cliché of ‘worn smooth by the passage of time’ and link with the university setting and the theme of philosophy, where ideas are inevitably revised by the passage of time just as sandstone is inevitably weathered by the passage of time – but the incongruity of it (ideas do not erode stone) did not work for me.

There are also examples of figurative language that do not cross cultural boundaries. I consider Michael Chabon to be a master of the use of figurative language, and yet this instance, also from The Yiddish Policeman’s Union, went right over my head: “…sober as a carp in a bathtub”. I have no idea how sober that is, but I suspect that that is because of my near-total ignorance of Jewish culture, where there in fact might be a reason to occasionally store a carp in your bathtub, maybe in water, maybe in vodka?

Even with this, writers trying to get a grip on the use of figurative language could do worse than to study Chabon. For example, “…his heart describes a sudden knight move in his chest” avoids clichés, accurately captures the sideways feeling your heart makes when you’re scared, and ties perfectly into the chess motif of The Yiddish Policeman’s Union.

All the way through this book, and his others, Chabon demonstrates how powerful the appropriate use of figurative language can be. It captures emotions and characteristics, provides original and memorable descriptions, strengthen themes, and can be outright entertaining. Don’t fear to use it, but make sure you use it well.