WRITING WITH ELOQUENCE
Unleashing the Beast of Rhetoric
Catachresis: when a phrase is so ferociously wrong it’s right
Catachresis is a linguistic paradox, where the sentence dances on the edge of wrongness but somehow finds a quirky kind of rightness. It’s a mischievous language rebel that breaks the rules in such a way that it becomes oddly correct.
Defining catachresis is like trying to catch a slippery monkey with words — it’s perplexing because it is so joyfully wrong it becomes unexpectedly right. It bounces along the tightrope between absurdity and brilliance.
Catachresis is the mad snake of language, mixing oddities and impossibilities together to create a beautifully wrong concoction that somehow makes perfect sense.
The writer of catachresis is the linguistic magician, creating words that defy logic but captivate with their absurdity. Learn to use it and become a writing legend. But don’t do it by accident —
“Attentive readers will have noticed a lamentable catachresis yesterday when the Wrap referred to some French gentlemen as Galls, rather than Gauls.”
— Sean Clarke, The Guardian, June 9, 2004
Legends of Catachresis
Shakespeare’s use of catachresis was deliberate and effective. This is why he is a legend.
“‘Tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse.”
— Shakespeare, Timon of Athens
It’s an odd turn of phrase, isn’t it? It shares a bed with adynaton, the impossible rhetoric. Yet, it is wonderfully descriptive of a miserable sod.
I first heard this line in a pub. Sam, my educated friend, pointed out to Callum he had missed buying two rounds of drinks. Callum, a colleague with a reputation for frugality, began raking about in his pocket for change.
“‘Tis deepest winter in Constable Callum’s pocket,” said Sam.
I thought it was brilliant — even more so when Sam explained the reference. It is now a line I use whenever I find the appropriate circumstance.
Another of Shakespeare’s is —
“I will speak daggers to her, but use none.”
— William Shakespeare, Hamlet.
It almost slips under the radar. It sounds so right, we skip on unaware. We can throw a dagger, stab with a dagger or eat a piece of cheese with a dagger, but you can’t speak one.
We might use words that figuratively cut like a dagger or are as sharp as a dagger, but a dagger isn’t an adverb or a language or a lie — we can speak all those.
Catachresis is like your mischievous younger brother who sneaks into your language toolbox and starts playing with metaphors and comparisons.
Herman Melville, the master of adventure, gave us a taste of catachresis in Moby-Dick when Captain Ahab declared —
“Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I’d strike the sun if it insulted me.”
Well, that’s one way to get your fingers burnt.
We’ll find it here on Medium.
“For no matter how I might try to cull adjectives, suppress them, adjectives would surely, certainly, creep back into my sentences, and ‘wave their silken flags.’”
—Cultivating the Inner Writing World by Michelle Scorziello
Michelle’s article describes how the phrase wave their silken flags spontaneously appeared in her head. And her initial thought was, “What gibberish is this?”
She was right to think that. Adjectives don’t have flags made of silk, that’s piffle. And it’s poppycock to think the modifier of a noun has the ability to wave anything. That ticks the first job of a catachresis — it makes you crinkle your brow and wonder what twaddle is this.
On closer examination, wave their silken flags is delightful. It’s fitting, it’s imaginative, it’s lyrical. It fulfils the second job of catachresis — being so wrong, it’s right.
Catachresis in Song
The world of music harmonises beautifully with catachresis, we can sing along with gay abandon to —
- Love is a Battlefield by Pat Benatar
- Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton
- Purple Rain by Prince
We can also sympathise with Bob Dylan as he fruitlessly chases an answer as it flutters about in a breeze. Just about the entire lyrics to his song Blowin’ in the Wind are examples of catachresis.
The world of music is unquestionably suited to catachresis. One study looked at Billboard charting songs covering a 50-year span (1960–2009) and found there were 12 common themes in popular music.
These are: Breakup Desire Loss Jadedness Inspiration Aspiration Nostalgia Pain Desperation Rebellion Escapism and Confusion.
It’s no wonder why we get such ridiculously emotive turns of phrase in songs—
- “Your words are bullets, piercing through my armor.” — Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis
- “My heart is a time bomb, ticking away.” — Counting Stars by OneRepublic
- “Agadoo doo doo, push pineapple, shake the tree Agadoo doo doo, push pineapple, grind coffee.” — Agadoo by Black Lace
Okay, the last one is just painful. But that brings me to —
Catachresis in Humour
Catachresis and humour is a partnership made in white Y fronts.
Humour naturally makes use of this extraordinary rhetorical technique by accentuating the ridiculous. In the Dead Parrot sketch by Monty Python’s Flying Circus, a shopkeeper refuses to admit that the parrot he sold is dead.
The dialogue involves the use of absurd arguments and exaggerated metaphors to emphasise the ridiculousness of the situation.
“Well, he’s…he’s, ah…probably pining for the fjords.”
and
“‘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!!”
Spike Milligan’s anarchic brand of comedy is full of misapplications of words and phrases. He was blatantly silly.
“For ten years Caesar ruled with an iron hand. Then with a wooden foot, and finally with a piece of string.” — Spike Milligan
The phrasing is so startlingly wrong it’s funny. Is it right? It sounds stupid, but it is sharp and witty. The second sentence picks up on the original catachresis ruled with an iron hand and makes a mockery of it.
Whereas much of Spike’s poetry is just nonsense.
“On the Ning Nang Nong Where the Cows go Bong! and the monkeys all say BOO!”
— On the Ning Nang Nong by Spike milligan
It fits much of the criteria. Cows don’t go bong and monkeys don’t say boo. It’s wrong. But because it rhymes, it sounds right. It makes little sense, and it will make a child smile (and me), but there’s no semantic misuse. Despite its intentional inanity, it doesn’t have the impact we would associate with highly charged rhetoric — unlike the next example.
Spike Milligan received a Lifetime Achievement Award at the British Comedy Awards in 1994. Charles, Prince of Wales, sent a congratulatory message to be read out live on television.
Milligan interrupted the message to call the Prince “The little grovelling bastard”.
It’s so wrong — tick. And it’s also perfect — tick. It’s a feather duster on the soles of your feet. But, I’ll let you decide if it is true catachresis.
Catachresis in Marketing
Let’s just do it.
By defying expectations and employing imaginative language, catachresis can add layers of meaning, evoke emotions, and leave a lasting impression. Perfect if you want to sell something. They’re all at it —
The king of beers. — Budweiser
Put a tiger in your tank. — Esso
Let your fingers do the walking. — Yellow Pages
Catachresis, by its very nature, makes you stop and think. Ideal if you want people to stop and think about your product. If there are any hair product companies out there who are looking for a tagline, I have one —
Unleash the power of your hair
I have no idea what power hair has — perhaps untying your ponytail can unshackle the hairdryers from hell. If you want to make an offer, you can use my tagline to imply that using your product will create all sorts of romantic interest for the people who use it.
Writing Catachresis
You can leave a lasting impact on your audience by deliberately using phrases that create memorable and thought-provoking expressions.
The difficulty is finding those unexpected metaphors, similes, or analogies that defy convention. It’s easier to recognise when something is wrong than to identify something that is so wrong it becomes right. It very much depends on your personal feeling.
It is even harder to explain where these come from. There is no formula to follow. Consider my tagline —
Unleash the power of your hair
I can’t tell you where it came from. There was no particular creative process I followed. It spontaneously appeared in my head. And I liked it. At first, it didn’t even appear to be wrong.
The thing is, I’ve been writing this article for several days. I’ve researched examples of catachresis, muddled over their incongruous nature, and reflected on what does or doesn’t work. I’ve had a chance to sleep on it.
It’s a similar process for comedians. They have to combine incompatible or contrasting elements in surprising ways to come up with a joke. But they have to work at it. The more they work at it, the funnier they become.
Shakespeare’s first plays weren’t all that great. Even he had to work at it. He got better and better the more time and effort he put into it.
It’s the same with catachresis. You need to work at it, experiment, intentionally misuse words or twist their meanings. Think about it. Sleep on it. The more you try, the more you will succeed.
It’s worth the effort. Embracing catachresis can unlock a new realm of expressive possibilities in your writing. It’s an invitation to challenge norms, break free from linguistic constraints, and — unleash the power of your pen.
Thoughtful, purposeful practice wins the day.
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