✍️ Symbolism is a Double-edged Sword – with a Dull Second Edge
…or, the Doo Doo Dos and Da Da Don’ts of Connecting with Readers through Symbols
I learned firsthand that in Hungary, it’s rude to open a door for a woman.
Not for any gender equality reasons. Actually, it’s for the same chivalrous reasons that Western men do hold the door. In Hungary, it’s rude because the man should go into the room first to make sure there isn’t any danger on the other side.
This is a cultural thing, of course, based on dangers from a more ruthless era in human history. Both groups of people grew up with a set of unspoken rules for being ethical and moral. Each rule, even though they contradict each other, symbolizes the same thing: chivalry, consideration, and caring. Those who hold open the door – or don’t, depending on the culture – are fine, upstanding people. Those who do not (or do…) are rude, careless people who should be avoided.
Same symbol, opposite meaning. It’s easy to see how humans get their signals crossed!
So what the hell does this have to do with writing? I’ll tell you. I recently came across the term “personal symbology”. Essentially, it means symbols that have deep personal meaning, and by definition, don’t necessarily means anything to anyone else. The term immediately resonated with me because that was one of the pitfalls I kept falling into while writing my first novel.
“I didn’t get the references,” was a common refrain from my beta readers.
The symbols I used were so unique to me and maybe a small sub-section of people that it made reading the novel difficult. These included music references from 50+ years ago and oblique, obscure mentions from niche books. References that of course nobody else would get.
I was semi-conscious even then that not everyone would understand every cultural shout-out, so I invented what I thought was an ingenious solution. I encouraged readers to <Google> references using the same HTML code I use every day in my web design work </Google>, eventually shortening it to <g> as people used to it deeper into the novel </g>.
Only problem was, readers didn’t understand the HTML code references, either. I was purposefully being coy and oblique to tweak the mystery and intellectual excitement of the reader, opening the door for them to walk in blindly. Instead, I should have been more Hungarian, leading them through the door and helping them see what was on the other side…
How I Approach Symbolism Now
I’ve talked before about being inclusionary with your readers instead of exclusionary. Symbols can be either, depending on how you use them. The wrong way – like I did, way back when – is to assume the reader will have fun decoding your hidden messages. The right way is to make abundantly clear what the symbol is and what it might mean.
This doesn’t mean you need anything as prosaic as a Legend page at the front of your book.
Sunflower = happy
Bones = sad
…and so on
Take, for example, one of the most famous symbols in literature: the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock from The Great Gatsby. It’s been a hundred years, and scholars and readers still struggle to put into words what the green light symbolizes. I haven’t been all that successful either. But I think that deep down, we all know what it means, if we trust our instincts. It’s an image that reacts at the reptilian level of our brain – which may explain why it’s so hard to describe in words. It’s universal, yet at the same time intensely personal.
This kind of symbolism is hard to pull off, which in part shows why F. Scott Fitzgerald was one of the best writers of all time.
However, it’s easy enough to make a symbol. Take this quote from the TV show, Community:
Jeff Winger: I can pick up this pencil, tell you its name is Steve and go like this... [breaks pencil. Abed’s face careens into shock and remorse] and part of you dies just a little bit on the inside. Because people can connect with anything. We can sympathize with a pencil…
Four words, “its name is Steve…”, and one gesture. Any future mention in your book of a pencil or a guy named Steve will bring us back to this moment. We all get the symbol. We all get the connection, now that it’s been shown to us.
It’s a fine line between the spell-it-out Legend and the leave-them-in-obscurity vague references. It can be challenging to open up your personal symbology so that the readers understand the meaning, too.
I’m not sure I’ve totally mastered it yet – my next novel will answer that question. But I do believe I’m slightly more Hungarian about it.
Over to You
How do you handle symbolism? Any tips you can pass along? Or maybe you’re not a fan of symbolism in the first place? Let us know in the comments below!
Until next time, keep writing with wild abandon!
~Graham
email me if you get lost.
That's interesting. I never thought about symbols, but I'm very aware of references that may be obscure to some readers - I try to avoid them, unless it's part of the narrative. For example, in my last PI novel, the detective buys a sculpture of an eviscerated black bird and jokes with the gallery girl: "It will be my Maltese Falcon", and she doesn't get it, which makes for a funny scene (note that he doesn't explain it to her!).