Overripe Metaphor in The Big Sleep

Metaphors catch my attention in writing, and they usually please me, though nowadays we writers are warned not to lay them on too thickly. (The Mistress of Metaphor would be offended at the restriction.) Still, when I picked up Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep, published in 1939, I was surprised to see his profuse use of metaphor--metaphors as thick and colorful as birds in a tropical aviary. Here are some selections from the first two chapters:

. . . decorative trees trimmed as carefully as poodle dogs.
. . . she had little sharp predatory teeth, as white as fresh orange pith and as shiny as porcelain.
. . .she lowered her lashes and . . . slowly raised them again, like a theater curtain.
The light had an unreal greenish color, like light filtered through an aquarium tank.
. . . nasty meaty leaves and stalks like the newly washed fingers of dead men. They smelled as overpowering as boiling alcohol under a blanket.
A few locks of dry white hair clung to his scalp, like wild flowers fighting for life on a bare rock.
. . . using his strength as carefully as an out-of-work showgirl uses her last good pair of stockings.
The champagne as cold as Valley Forge . . .
. . . he sniffed at it like a terrier at a rathole.
"I seem to exist largely on heat, like a newborn spider. . ."
". . . their perfume has the rotten sweetness of a prostitute."
. . . with a funereal absorption, like an undertaker dry-washing his hands.

And that's just the first seven pages! Establishes a tone, doesn't it?

Fictionary

When we have large numbers of family and friends gathered in the summer, we like to play games like Charades or Fictionary in the evening. Last night, although our numbers are dwindling as summer blazes to an end, we played Fictionary.

Fictionary requires scraps of paper, pencils or pens, and a large (or at least pretty comprehensive) dictionary. One person looks in the dictionary to find a word no one knows. We don't allow proper nouns or slang, although we argue about that last a lot. After we're certain nobody knows the word, everyone writes down a likely-sounding definition and turns it in to the dictionary holder. The dictionary holder writes down the correct definition.

Then the dictionary holder reads out all the definitions twice. My husband Leo always says incredulously, at the end of the definitions, "Is that all?" because he hasn't heard any definition he likes. On the third time through, we close our eyes and vote on the definition we think most likely. (One is not allowed to vote for one's own definition.)

Each player gets a point for every person who voted for his definition; he also gets a point if he chose the correct definition. The dictionary holder gets a point if no one guesses correctly. Then the dictionary is passed on to the next player.

A lot of the fun of the game comes at the end of a round as we all loudly guess who wrote each definition. We each have a characteristic style; Leo and I usually end up guessing each other's definitions, which we find very frustrating.

Fictionary sounds like a great way to build vocabulary. Unfortunately, though, players usually remember best either the definition they made up or the definition they voted for, even if both are wrong.

Last night was a banner night. Here are some of the words:

solera - My favorite definition was Damian's, which referred to the collection of stars just a bit smaller than our sun. The correct definition, though, had something to do with casks of brandy in a cellar. Not a word I'll use! "Oh, Jeeves, go down to the solera and select an appropriate sample, would you?"

gelada - I am fond of my own definition, about the layer of fine-grained soil that liquefies in an earthquake, but it turns out this is a large, maned, Ethiopian primate that lives on cliffs.

sheugh - Here the definition that will live on in our family was "NO!" as in, "Go to bed, dear." "Sheugh!" The true definition was "a ditch or trench."

nasute - Leo and I both made up definitions that contrasted "nasute" with "hirsute" or hairy. Mine was "scaly;" his was "having oily skin." Turns out "nasute" actually refers to a soldier termite with a long snout that shoots out a noxious substance. Now there's a word we'll use every day. (Maybe it will become a family insult.) My nephew Peter, who doesn't like Fictionary, wrote as his definition "devoid of pleasurable games," as in "So far, this evening has been nasute."

wudu - The stress is on the second syllable. I'll leave this one to you. Invent a great definition and post it below!

If I end a sentence with a preposition, how much trouble will I get in?

Is it ever all right to end a sentence with a preposition?

I tend to be a bit of a stickler about grammar, but there are some “rules” that make me crazy. The rule that you should not end a sentence with a preposition is one of them.

My daughter Rhianon’s ninth grade physics teacher assigned a group project to build and optimize a mousetrap-powered toy car. The students had to describe and quantify what was happening with acceleration, momentum, and friction. They were directed to turn in a very detailed interim report halfway through the project, and they were warned that the presentation and writing must be perfect.
They met often, worked hard, and turned in a ten-page report.

They ended a sentence with a preposition, and for that one error they received a D.

My husband Leo was livid. He wrote the physics teacher to say that he reviewed papers for the New England Journal, submitted by people from all over the world, and no paper was ever rejected for errors of grammar or usage. He said there was no better way to turn bright students off from science than this kind of nit-picking. I took a different tack. I consulted all the grammar manuals I could locate, and found that at least half of them proclaimed ending a sentence with a preposition to be fully acceptable.

Even armed with this research, Rhianon didn’t want to protest. But all through high school and college, she never took another physics course.

I think it was Winston Churchill who said, of the rule against ending a sentence with a preposition, “That is the kind of pedantic nonsense up with which I will not put.”

Someone else (please tell me who, if you know) wrote, “A preposition is a perfectly lovely thing to end a sentence with.”

So let’s all find some prepositions to end our sentences with. They should be easy enough to think of. A world without this ridiculous prejudice against prepositions is well worth striving for!

Blogs for Kids Who Love Words and Numbers

I have stumbled* across two new blogs that look like they'll be fun for kids who love words and numbers.  The first is http://daphneswordblog.tumblr.com.  It's about words, naturally. Daphne has her own approach to words which has as much to do with their sound and history as with their dictionary meaning.

The second blog is http://ivansnumberblog.tumblr.com.  Ivan is on a mission to convince the world that numbers and math problems are fascinating.  In fact, Ivan's blog apparently preceded Daphne's, and one senses a direct rivalry between the two.

Take a look. Bring along a friend, preferably a young one, who loves words or numbers.

     * In the interests of truth in advertising, I hereby disclose that my relationship to these blogs is somewhat closer that having "stumbled" on them.