George Orwell hates me and my dying metaphors and that is fine by moi because I did not love Animal Farm.

I wanted it to be Charlotte’s Web but it was not. I also did not appreciate Lord of the Flies with its pig-hunting and Piggy-haunting. For all of these reasons, I boycotted the movie Babe. Our cultural imagination is whipsawed by conflict and confusion about the essence and symbolism of pork – vulnerable, sunburnable pink proxies for humanity? Or a tasty breakfast side dish? – and frankly I just can’t be moved even though the goddamn wolf keeps blowing my house down.

Don’t even get me started on wolves. I may have to run with them.

———-

The lessons?

1. When George Orwell is not writing about pigs, he’s my dude. His rant on dying metaphors is the most important thing I’ve ever learned about writing:

A newly invented metaphor assists thought by evoking a visual image, while on the other hand a metaphor which is technically “dead” (e.g. iron resolution) has in effect reverted to being an ordinary word and can generally be used without loss of vividness. But in between these two classes there is a huge dump of worn-out metaphors which have lost all evocative power and are merely used because they save people the trouble of inventing phrases for themselves. Examples are: Ring the changes on, take up the cudgel for, toe the line, ride roughshod over, stand shoulder to shoulder with, play into the hands of, no axe to grind, grist to the mill, fishing in troubled waters, on the order of the day, Achilles’ heel, swan song, hotbed. Many of these are used without knowledge of their meaning (what is a “rift,” for instance?), and incompatible metaphors are frequently mixed, a sure sign that the writer is not interested in what he is saying. (emphasis mine)

2. Writing is a way of thinking and the inventiveness of your metaphors mirrors the agility of your argument.

3. Language is a raucous, celebratory crowd of soccer hooligans. It can go good or very, very bad and the moment before the crowd turns is thrilling. Take the risk. Riot.

4. Some attempts at wild-ride writing are precious, affected, and immature. That’s okay. Juvenile is part of the process. Sometimes it’s the juiciest part of the process.

5. Just ask Dave Eggers and Douglas Coupland (both of whom doth rocketh).

6. Go play.

——————–

Sunday School for Sentences will be a sixteen-part series. Missed one? Here they are: