WRITING WITH ELOQUENCE

Creative Writers in the Know Use the Power of Congeries

A very specific type of writing device using lists

Linguists call it congeries

Congeries is from the Latin for heap. It means the same as the word ‘list’. But it is not bullet points in a listicle, it is much more charming than that.

Congeries is a very specific type of persuasive writing device used to create a feel or effect. It has more spice than a mere list.

In language, it applies to a collection of adjectives or nouns. Any assemblage, collection, gathering, hodgepodge, or pile — is itself an example.

It can apply to a disorderly collection or jumble of things. We can use it in literature to create a sense of chaos or complexity or to convey a particular mood or atmosphere.

Congeries is singular but also functions as a plural. Like measles, mumps, and molasses — it’s uncountable.

Dictionaries cannot agree on its pronunciation. But no matter how you speak it, its use works on the reader in magical ways. It works because we aren’t used to them.

When words come at us in a congeries, we are taken by surprise.

Michelle Scorziello uses the power of congeries to hook her readers. Her essays give a clear, crisp, and vivid insight into a writer’s mind at work.

Take her article, The Fifties are the Cruellest Decade. It begins:

“Perhaps it’s the dark nights, the short days, the cold wind, the bare branches, the dead stems, rooms filled with greying light, stillness, and a bend to hibernation.”

This first line draws us in. Where a single description would suffice, writing a list emphasises her point. It’s rhythmic. It multiplies the meaning.

It is common for her to use congeries in her first few lines, if not in the first sentence:

“We’ve all been to a party where we meet a stranger, or an old friend and the conversation is a one-way street: their life, their job, their children, their illnesses (it’s always plural), their acres of photos…” — The Perils of the First Person,

We don’t speak in lists. That would be unnatural. And this is where the power comes from. Congeries is effective because it grabs our attention. It surprises and pleases. Dazzles and dazes. Paralyses and puzzles.

I’ve used it to describe my ex-colleagues (without realising):

“There are intelligent officers worthy of Mensa membership, and some who need a reliable set of bowels. We have kind-hearted gems and some heartless, bullying, paranoid, schizophrenic spunktrumpets.” — Malky McEwan

We don’t need to know what a spunktrumpet is. In a collection of insults, it just works. When I wrote that, I didn’t know I was following in the footsteps of Shakespeare. He was adept at baring his teeth:

Falstaff: “‘Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat’s tongue, you bull’s pizzle, you stock-fish!” — Act 2. Scene IV, Henry IV, Part 1

I do not know what any of those insults are, but I get the venom behind the verbal attack.

I’ve used it in my travel books. Since learning of this rhetorical device, I’ve gone back and amended my writing. Where appropriate, I no longer suddenly appear at a place. It’s now a journey.

I cycled the extent of Loch Ness. From Fort Augustus, through Invermoriston, Drumnadrochit, and all the way to Lochend.

I continued the game through Helmsdale, Berriedale, Lybster, Whaligoe, Thrumster, and Wick.

Sometimes a congeries is ideal for describing a scene or situation when it serves the story’s overall theme.

“Sunday we woke to silence. No thump and rumble of pipes expanding, filling, gurgling, no quietly hissing radiators.” — Michelle Scorziello.

I bet you now notice it

I’ve spotted it everywhere.

It can be funny:

“‘E’s not pinin’! ‘E’s passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! ‘E’s expired and gone to meet ‘is maker! ‘E’s a stiff! Bereft of life, ‘e rests in peace! If you hadn’t nailed ‘im to the perch ‘e’d be pushing up the daisies! ‘Is metabolic processes are now ‘istory! ‘E’s off the twig! ‘E’s kicked the bucket, ‘e’s shuffled off ‘is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!” — Monty Python sketch.

It’s used by advertisers:

“It’s not just a razor. It’s a 3-bladed irritation-minimising pressure-controlling will-make-your-lady-love-your-face-even-more sensitive shaving machine.” — Advertisement for Gillette razor.

Elizabeth Emerald uses congeries in her article Tidbits from the Land of Odds. She gives her wry observations for rejected submissions.

“The shorties below were deemed to be vulgar, insipid, flippant, provocative, politically incorrect — or some combination thereof.”

This is much more than a few adjectives thrown together. The list expresses frustration, confusion, indignation. Something I have experienced and can empathise with. It’s powerful.

But beware

It’s easy to get it wrong. Long lists of words can be tedious. The reader is easily distracted.

I’m discreet, cautious, sparing.

Overuse is abuse. A list is just a list if it doesn’t add effect. It has to create a sense of repetition, that repetition is for emphasis. Forceful expression.

More — it needs rhythm and structure. It can delight or surprise or create a sense of order from confusion and chaos. Equally, it can create a sense of absurdity and frustration from disorder.

It is important to consider the placement of words within a sentence. We have to respect our nouns and adjectives as we would our elders.

They are frail creatures in need of an armchair and should not be shown upstairs to the back seat of a bus. They need courtesy and cushions.

You cannot scatter them on the page like Scrabble tiles thrown on a board. They have to be placed and ordered so that they please the eye and ear.

Malky McEwan

This article is part of a series — Writing with Eloquence. You can access the growing list here: —

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