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August 14, 2023 · 6:00 am

The Writer’s Toolbox – Allegory and Symbolism #amwriting

Allegory and symbolism – tools in a writer’s toolbox that are similar but different. The difference between them is how they are presented.

Allegory is a narrative, a moral lesson in the form of a story, heavy with symbolism.
Symbolism is a literary device that uses one thing throughout the narrative (perhaps red) to represent something else (danger).

Symbolism is one aspect of a story that helps create mood and atmosphere. It supports and strengthens the theme and is subtle, subliminal. When a little thought is applied to how it is used, symbolism conveys meaning to the reader without beating them over the head.

So, what is an allegory?

The storytelling in The Matrix series of movies is a brilliant example of an allegory. The Matrix was written by The Wachowskis. The narrative is an allegory for Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, a depiction of reality and illusion. The movies in the series employ heavy symbolism in both the setting and conversations to drive home the multilayered themes of humankind, machine, fate, and free will.

Wikipedia says: In the allegory “The Cave,” Plato describes a group of people who have lived chained to the wall of a cave all their lives, facing a blank wall. The people watch shadows projected on the wall from objects passing in front of a fire behind them and give names to these shadows. The shadows are the prisoners’ reality, but are not accurate representations of the real world. The shadows represent the fragment of reality that we can normally perceive through our senses, while the objects under the sun represent the true forms of objects that we can only perceive through reason. [1]

Plato used heavy symbolism in his allegorical work. In The Matrix, reality and illusion are portrayed with layers of symbolism:

The names of the characters
The words used in conversations
The androgynous clothes they wear

Everything on the set or mentioned in conversations underscores those themes, including the lighting. Inside The Matrix, the world is bathed in a green light, as if through a green-tinted lens. In the real world, the lighting is harsher, unfiltered.

Everything that appears or is said onscreen in the movie is symbolic and supports one of the underlying concepts. When Morpheus later asks Neo to choose between a red pill and a blue pill, he essentially offers the choice between fate and free will.

Symbolism on its own is a powerful tool. We can show more with fewer words. But while a tale may be heavily layered with symbolism, it might not be an allegory.

Take the classic Gothic novel Wuthering Heights.

It’s not an allegory because it doesn’t explore a moral or symbolic meaning beyond its obvious story. Brontë’s symbolism in her world-building supports and underscores the themes of love, revenge, and social class.

622px-Merle_Oberon_and_Laurence_Olivier_in_'Wuthering_Heights',_1939 The way Emily Brontë employed atmosphere in Wuthering Heights is stellar. I would love to achieve that level of world-building.

We can find allegories in nearly any written narrative because humans love making connections and often imagine them where there are none. While Wuthering Heights is not considered an allegory in the literary sense, it is heavily symbolic.

Spark Notes says:

The constant emphasis on landscape within the text of Wuthering Heights endows the setting with symbolic importance. This landscape is comprised primarily of moors: wide, wild expanses, high but somewhat soggy, and thus infertile. Moorland cannot be cultivated, and its uniformity makes navigation difficult. It features particularly waterlogged patches in which people could potentially drown. (This possibility is mentioned several times in Wuthering Heights.) Thus, the moors serve very well as symbols of the wild threat posed by nature. As the setting for the beginnings of Catherine and Heathcliff’s bond (the two play on the moors during childhood), the moorland transfers its symbolic associations onto the love affair.

The two large estates within the book create a pocket world of sorts, where little, if anything, lies beyond their existence. Thus, windows both literal and figurative serve to showcase what exists on the other side while still keeping the characters trapped. [2] Wuthering Heights: Symbols | SparkNotes

Like symbolism and allegory, mood and atmosphere are separate but entwined forces. They form subliminal impressions in the reader’s awareness, sub currents that affect our mood and emotions.

Emotion is the experience of contrasts, the experience of transitioning from the negative to the positive and back again. Symbolism and allegory exist in both the surface and the subtext of a story.

Mood, atmosphere, and emotion are part of the inferential layer of a story. The reader must infer (deduce, understand, fathom, grasp, recognize) the emotional experience, and it must feel personal to them.

How a setting is shown contributes to atmosphere. But the setting is only a place—it is not atmosphere. Atmosphere is created as much by odors, scents, ambient sounds, and visuals as by the characters’ moods and emotions. Emily Brontë‘s moors and windows are subliminal background elements. They convey information to the reader on a subconscious level, supporting the moods of the characters and their actions and conversations.

I create an outline as I go because using symbolism is critical if I want to convey mood and atmosphere without resorting to an info dump.

Just to be clear, a plan is not always required because sometimes the flash of inspiration we begin with is strong enough, and the theme develops as you write.

For me, a strong theme will whisper suggestions and symbols to me as I create the world and the visual environment. I note them in the outline, so I don’t lose track of them.

In my case, I need a plan most of the time, even though it evolves as the story does.

The casual reader doesn’t notice symbolism on a conscious level. They may not see the symbolic nature of your narrative. However, dedicated readers will, and that is what will keep them reading. Dedicated readers love work that holds up on closer examination, enjoying work with layers of depth, work they can read again and again and always find something new in it.

Yet, for the casual reader, the story and the characters who live out those events are what matters. The allegories and symbolisms created in the narrative sink into the reader’s subconscious, stirring thoughts and raising ideas they might not otherwise have considered.

Credits and Attributions:

[1] Wikipedia contributors, “Allegory of the cave,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Allegory_of_the_cave&oldid=1165911183 (accessed 12 August 2023).

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Tagged as Allegory, Plato's Allegory of the Cave, symbolism, The Matrix, writing, Wuthering Heights

November 30, 2020 · 6:00 am

Goodbye NaNoWriMo2020 and Hello Revisions #amwriting

Today is the final day of 2020’s NaNoWriMo. Many writers have passed the hurdle and already collected their winners’ goodies. They have ordered their winner’s T-shirt and are embarking on revisions.

Others have decided they’re never going to finish, it’s a waste of time, and they’ll never do this again.

But some will.

The real storytellers, people who can’t completely stifle that dream of writing, will return in several years with a better idea and a realistic plan. They’ll conquer it, and writing will become their passion.

This year, I have so far written over 90,000 words. I wrote the final scenes of Bleakbourne on Heath, the alt-Arthurian serial I lost momentum on and couldn’t finish. Also, I made headway on my other unfinished novel, focusing on my antagonist’s story. In discovering the logic of a tainted relic, I accidentally wrote a backstory that became a novel. It is ¾ of the way done.

Participating in NaNoWriMo for the last ten years has taught me discipline.

It makes me do what is the most challenging thing for me—I have to ignore my inner editor to get my word count.

For that reason alone, I will most likely always “do” NaNoWriMo, even when I am no longer able to be a Municipal Liaison.

I love the rush, the thrill of having written something for myself, something I alone will see and enjoy. But more than that, I love knowing that some of what I have written is good and is worthy of sharing with readers.

When I finally write the last words of my accidental novel, the work will have only begun.

I will set it aside, as I need to gain some distance. I’ll go back to finalizing Bleakbourne on Heath, which will take a couple of weeks, or even a month or two. By the time that book is ready for the editor, I’ll be able to see my other work with fresh eyes.

Writers tell me all the time how new and intriguing characters pop up and take their tale in a different direction. Sometimes this works out well. Other times, not so much. I floundered for years on my first novel and can tell you now, it will never be published.

I didn’t know the first thing about how to write a novel, which is apparent when you look at that old manuscript. I didn’t realize that authors are sculptors. The first draft is not the finished product. It’s only a roughly shaped block of clay.

In that glorious moment where we write the final words of our novel, we see it as a precious object, as if it were complete.

Trust me, others won’t see the story the way you do just yet.

A block of clay is only a lump of sticky dirt, but a sculptor envisions what that mass of soil can become. They begin by scraping the layers away until the real shape emerges. That is what we must do.

We scrape away, scene by scene, removing the extraneous fluff in one place and adding more substance in others.

Each chapter is made up of scenes. It might be one scene or several strung together, but these scenes have an arc to them. They’re shaped by action and reaction.

These arcs of action and reaction begin at point A and end at point B. Each launching point will land on a slightly higher point of the story arc.

Strung together, these scenes give form to the narrative, with a beginning, middle, and end.

Often, the middle is where you discover that you have lost your novel’s overall plot. This happens to me for several reasons.

First, it can happen because I deviate from the outline, and while my new idea is better, it lacks something. I go back to the original idea and rewrite it so that it conforms to that outline.

We try to figure out why the plot has failed. I have to ask myself, did the original quest turn out to be a MacGuffin? The MacGuffin’s importance to the story is not the object or goal itself, but rather its effect on the characters and their motivations.

Many times, it is inserted into the narrative with little or no explanation, as the sole purpose of the MacGuffin is to move the plot forward.

Every story has a quest of some sort. It can be a personal quest for enlightenment or a search for the Holy Grail. No matter what, the characters want something, and that thing must be sharply defined.

If the quest has become a MacGuffin, the real quest is not for the object. It is a search for power, love, money, or personal growth and must be given more prominence. The effect that searching for it has on the characters must be clearly shown.

We peel back the layers of our first draft. What symbolism have we subconsciously inserted into the story, clues that we can work with?

Authors always leave hints and symbols in their work, signs of who they are and what they believe. Sometimes it is intentional, but often it is our subconscious writer-mind in action.

If we can identify the symbolic aspect of the plot, we have the opportunity to amplify it.

I have often used the film, The Matrix as an example of how symbolism, intentionally applied, is an underpinning of world-building. When it’s done right, it can show the story in a more focused light.

In one of my favorite scenes, when Neo answers the door and is invited to the party, he at first declines. But then he notices that Du Jour, the woman with Choi, bears a tattoo of a white rabbit. He remembers seeing the words: follow the white rabbit, on his computer.

Curious and slightly fearful of what it all means, he changes his mind and goes to the party, setting a sequence of events in motion. The white rabbit tattoo is a symbol, an allegorical reference to Alice in Wonderland, a subliminal clue that things are not what they seem.

What is the deeper story? With each pass through our manuscript, we sharpen the final product, scrape away from this part and add some over here, rewording and redefining as we go.

Ultimately, we will have exposed the core of our original vision, revealed the parts we couldn’t articulate at first. Some things only become more apparent to us as we dig deeper.

This is why, while many people can write, not everyone can write well. It takes patience and time to cut away the fat and bring out the core of the plot, the story that needs to be told. It also takes practice.

Digging the deeper story out doesn’t happen overnight.

A first draft is our block of clay, and after much effort, the final draft is our finished sculpture. November 30^th has arrived, and NaNoWriMo 2020 is over.

Now the real work begins.

Credits and Attributions

David Monniaux, CC BY-SA 3.0 <http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/>, via Wikimedia Commons

Auguste Rodin (French, 1840-1917): Bust of Albert-Ernest Carrier-Belleuse, 1882, terracotta, Iris & B. Gerald Cantor Center for Visual Arts, Stanford University Campus, Palo Alto, United States Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:Rodin Carrie-Belleuse p1070141.jpg,” Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Rodin_Carrie-Belleuse_p1070141.jpg&oldid=451362532 (accessed November 29, 2020).