WRITING WITH ELOQUENCE
How To Make Your Writing Come Alive
Breathing life into abstract things: The art of personification
“I like onions, but they don’t like me.”
— Mrs McEwan
I’ve often found myself pondering the utterly nutterly things we say. How can an onion not like you? How can a piece of cake call your name? — something the last piece is prone to do.
Personification is an eccentric little fellow. He can infuse inanimate objects with personality, emotions, or quirks of human nature. Thus, a cup of tea can —
- Be broody (on a brew day).
- Sad (especially on its lonesome ownsome).
- Smile right back at you with a biscuit by its side.
We can apply the whimsical path of personification to any nonhuman entity—
The sun has got its hat on
Is apt to get us singing —
Hip-hip-hip-hooray!
Noel Gay and Ralph Butler knew what they were doing when they wrote this happy little ditty. It cheers us. We are in love. Life is good.
Despite the apparent simplicity of personification, he is actually a difficult fellow to define. Writing can have a soul, but the author remains the brains behind it.
We accept we can get a phone call from work on your day off, but it’s not ‘work’ who calls you. England can lose by six wickets, but ‘England’ refers to the team and not the country.
These are examples of synecdoche, a literary term that uses a part of something to represent a whole or a whole to represent a part. They don’t fit the bill of personification.
For true personification, we have to get this computer to play ball, use it to describe a lonely cloud wandering, or have snow swaddle the earth like a mother would her infant child.
Personification is our pal when he calms an angry sea or makes a depressing Monday magical. He has accepted the point of his existence — his purpose in life is to sit beside a writer’s desk, ready and waiting to breathe life into the ordinary and mundane.
He is literally a literary device that attributes human characteristics to almost anything. It’s storytelling magic that poets and prose writers alike have employed for centuries and, like a newly budding flower, he can be captivating.
In The Great Gatsby, the eyes of Doctor T.J. Eckleburg on a billboard watch over the characters and serve as a moral judgment. Fitzgerald described the “eyes” as —
“Dimmed a little by many paintless days under sun and rain.”
Giving them a sense of human weariness and wisdom.
In The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Coleridge personifies Death as a character who comes for the sailors —
“With his cruel bow he laid full low the harmless Albatross.”
As if Death were a human antagonist.
In Quite Early One Morning, his imaginative description of the Cardiganshire seaside village of New Quay, Dylan Thomas uses four personifications in one sentence —
“The chapel was not asleep, it never cat-napped nor nodded nor closed its long cold eye.”
These are allegories. Interpreters can reveal a hidden meaning, typically a moral or political one, from the prose. Proper personification takes whole swathes of text and pumps it up until it almost bursts. So, it needs a steady hand to make sure it doesn’t explode in your face.
Allegories search for deeper meaning. The religious rallying of a pious pope could give you hope, while the earnest entreaty of an American TV evangelist could relieve you of your money. Not for me, thank you.
Personally, I like to keep my personification short and sweet.
- New York, the city that never sleeps.
- Time flies when you’re having fun.
- Morning rubbed the sleep from its eyes.
And it would be remiss of me, not to mention Shakespeare. He was adept at introducing it to concepts:-
- ‘Close-tongued Treason’ — The Rape of Lucrece
- ‘Pale-faced Fear’ — Henry VI
- ‘Open-eyed Conspiracy’ — The Tempest
Taking your writing a step further
Personification brings almost anything to life, but it should not be mistaken for anthropomorphism. Anthropomorphism is a literary device that also assigns human characteristics, like emotions and speech, to nonhuman entities, like animals or inanimate objects.
Anthropomorphic characters litter Greek myths and fables. Aesop was fond of applying human speech to animals — all in the spirit of teaching a life lesson.
- The Lion and the Mouse — No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.
- The Hare and the Tortoise — Slow but steady wins the race.
- The Ass and the Mule — An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.
Today, some of the most compelling stories we tell are not about humans. We find examples in children’s books, cartoons, and films: Winnie-the-Pooh, Scooby-Doo, and Dumbo.
And they aren’t just for kids. BoJack Horseman, a hit series for adults, was full of delightfully dark humour as the writers delved deep into the character of a washed-up actor.
Understanding and using personification and anthropomorphism can open up a whole new world of crazy characters. Even the humble pencil on my desk has a personality. With his point sharpened, he is confident, poised, and ready for action. I often hear him whisper, “Pick me up. I have something to draw!”
The beauty of Personification is he can add depth and richness to our writing, making it come alive in the reader’s imagination. Writers can explore the human condition without fear of revenge.
It’s a wonderfully imaginative way of seeing the world. Our surroundings need not be static, they can come to life and tell their own stories.
You can read more in this Writing with Eloquence series by clicking the link.
