{"id":93694,"date":"2016-01-21T19:40:34","date_gmt":"2016-01-22T00:40:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=93694"},"modified":"2016-01-22T11:57:06","modified_gmt":"2016-01-22T16:57:06","slug":"striking-similes","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/01\/21\/striking-similes\/","title":{"rendered":"Striking Similes"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

There\u2019s an abysmal simile making the rounds online right now, drawn from a certain splashy literary debut: \u201cBreasts like bronzed mangoes.\u201d Yes, it comes courtesy of a male writer, of course; and yes, Google suggests it\u2019s the only use of the phrase \u201cbronzed mangoes\u201d in recorded history. Even so: as an object of ridicule, this is what you\u2019d have to call low-hanging fruit.\u00a0<\/p>\n

The awful simile is a mainstay of literary prose. I don\u2019t think we\u2019ll ever be rid of it. Even with vigilant editing, meticulous revision, and a five-year terminal degree devoted to responsible acts of metaphor, we\u2019d still see more than the occasional stinker. And why shouldn\u2019t we? As Paul Muldoon says in his Art of Poetry interview<\/a>, \u201cI think that the impulse to find the likeness between unlike things is very basic to us, and it is out of that, of course, which the simile or metaphor springs.\u201d Pair this impulse with a desire for novelty\u2014with every writer\u2019s desire, that is, to be the first person ever <\/em>to make a certain comparison on the page, to connect two previously disparate things\u2014and you can see how even a seasoned writer could have a reach that exceeds his grasp. There\u2019s a thin line between the original and the asinine.\u00a0<\/p>\n

A simile is an unstable element, too\u2014it often doesn\u2019t age well. Grenville Kleiser\u2019s Fifteen Thousand Useful Phrases<\/a> <\/em>(1917), which I\u2019ve mentioned in this space before, includes a long list of \u201cstriking similes,\u201d all of them gathered from the preeminent poets and writers of the day. It\u2019s a strange collection to read a century later. Some of Kleiser\u2019s examples still have that imagistic click we look for in the best metaphors. \u201cA memory like a well-ordered cupboard,\u201d for example: it\u2019s not going to win any points for originality, but it has a conversational ease to it, a nice cadence. Plus it\u2019s roughly isomorphic: you can understand intuitively how your memory could take on the spatial qualities of a cupboard. It reads like a refined version of the much more clich\u00e9d \u201cmind like a steel trap.\u201d Likewise, \u201cThe scullion with face shining like his pans,\u201d from Thomas Bailey Aldrich\u2019s \u201cWyndham Towers<\/a>,\u201d works for me, too. The sense of proximity is what does it. That like<\/em> invites you to imagine a kind of mutual gleam: a pair of slick ellipses side by side in some dark, sweaty kitchen.<\/p>\n

But most of Kleiser\u2019s \u201cstriking similes,\u201d even the ones by famous authors, are overwrought, twee, or just confusing; today they\u2019d meet with the same mockery as \u201cbronzed mangoes.\u201d Below I\u2019ve listed a few that jumped out at me for how bizarre they are. I should say that reading enough similes consecutively really dulls your taste for them\u2014by the time I got to the second half of the alphabet, the banal and the ingeniously figurative were hard to tell apart. Consider yourself warned.<\/p>\n

\n

A breath of melancholy made itself felt like a chill and sudden gust from some unknown sea<\/p>\n

A glacial pang of pain like the stab of a dagger of ice frozen from a poisoned well<\/p>\n

A name which sounds even now like the call of a trumpet<\/p>\n

As amusing as a litter of likely young pigs<\/p>\n

Brute terrors like the scurrying of rats in a deserted attic<\/p>\n

Cheeks as soft as July peaches<\/p>\n

Debasing fancies gather like foul birds<\/p>\n

Dull as champagne<\/p>\n

Each moment was an iridescent bubble fresh-blown from the lips of fancy<\/p>\n

Easy as a poet\u2019s dream<\/p>\n

Grazing through a circulating library as contentedly as cattle in a fresh meadow<\/p>\n

He snatched furiously at breath like a tiger snatching at meat<\/p>\n

He was so weak now, like a shrunk cedar white with the hoar-frost<\/p>\n

Her dusky cheek would burn like a poppy<\/p>\n

Her expression changed with the rapidity of a kaleidoscope<\/p>\n

Her hair dropped on her pallid cheeks, like sea-weed on a clam<\/p>\n

Her laugh is like a rainbow-tinted spray<\/p>\n

Herding his thoughts as a collie dog herds sheep<\/p>\n

His nerves thrilled like throbbing violins<\/p>\n

His talk is like an incessant play of fireworks<\/p>\n

I was as sensitive as a barometer<\/p>\n

Incredible little white teeth, like snow shut in a rose<\/p>\n

Laughter like a beautiful bubble from the rosebud of baby-hood<\/p>\n

Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue<\/p>\n

Like a damp-handed auctioneer<\/p>\n

Like a festooned girdle encircling the waist of a bride<\/p>\n

Like a slim bronze statue of Despair<\/p>\n

Like a summer-dried fountain<\/p>\n

Like dead lovers who died true<\/p>\n

Like Death, who rides upon a thought, and makes his way through temple, tower, and palace<\/p>\n

Like some unshriven churchyard thing, the friar crawled<\/p>\n

Like the detestable and spidery araucaria<\/p>\n

Like the sea-worm, that perforates the shell of the mussel, which straightway closes the wound with a pearl<\/p>\n

Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality<\/p>\n

Love had like the canker-worm consumed her early prime<\/p>\n

Odorous as all Arabia<\/p>\n

Pale and grave as a sculptured nun<\/p>\n

Pride and self-disgust served her like first-aid surgeons on the battlefield<\/p>\n

Put on gravity like a robe<\/p>\n

The dreams of poets come like music heard at evening from the depth of some enchanted forest<\/p>\n

The pine trees waved as waves a woman’s hair<\/p>\n

Whose music like a robe of living light reclothed each new-born age<\/p>\n

You are as gloomy to-night as an undertaker out of employment<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

There\u2019s an abysmal simile making the rounds online right now, drawn from a certain splashy literary debut: \u201cBreasts like bronzed mangoes.\u201d Yes, it comes courtesy of a male writer, of course; and yes, Google suggests it\u2019s the only use of the phrase \u201cbronzed mangoes\u201d in recorded history. Even so: as an object of ridicule, this […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":38,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[684],"tags":[20851,20856,20850,20853,687,76,15331,20855,3684,20852,232,20854],"class_list":["post-93694","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-on-language","tag-bronzed-mangoes","tag-connection","tag-fifteen-thousand-useful-phrases","tag-greenville-kleiser","tag-language","tag-lists","tag-metaphor","tag-originality","tag-paul-muldoon","tag-similes","tag-style","tag-thomas-bailey-aldrich"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nHere\u2019s a List of Truly Awful Similes<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"From a 1917 book called \u201cFifteen Thousand Useful Phrases.\u201d (Not Many Are.)\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, 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