What is the meaning of a rosebush?
Better yet, what is the meaning of one particular rosebush:
the one that grows outside the jail in The
Scarlet Letter? My dad likes to tell the story of the time he had to read
that book in school. One of the first things he had to do related to it was
write a short report on the meaning of that rosebush.
Now, my dad isn’t a subtle person. He prefers it
straightforward (and is straightforward himself… it’s amusing sometimes how
much people don’t understand his lack of passive aggressiveness). This rosebush
gave him a hard time.
Because the rosebush
is symbolic. It’s allegorical.
How?
I dunno, your guess is as good as mine. I’ve read the book
(and that opening with the rosebush half a dozen times) and still don’t have
more than a guess.
Perhaps it’s ironic. Does it show how something beautiful can
grow in a place of harsh judgement and punishment?
Maybe.
Or… what if it’s just a rosebush? Nathaniel Hawthorne isn’t
around anymore to tell us, so the literature “experts” get to decide that this
bush with thorns and flowers represents something.
Right.
Many writers use symbolism in their writing. “This sigil
represents despair and darkness because it’s the villain’s sign.” Or “the
sunrise represents hope” and “this rosebush represents purity and the jail
represents the loss of it”.
We even use symbols to represent our characters (something I’ll
talk about later when I prose blip about character masks and handles).
Some of us, however, don’t really get it. How do you create
symbolism and – most importantly – how do you make sure your reader understands
that symbolism?
Simplicity
One of the best ways to make a symbol is to keep it simple. Nobody wants to spend half
their reading time trying to decipher your symbolic oak tree. In fact, if your symbol is too obscure or
complicated, your readers will never understand.
There comes a point where I – as a reader – am not going to
have the time or brain capacity to notice your symbol. Even critics and
literature experts will have a “maximum” symbol intake. They will notice it the
most, to be sure, but your average readers won’t.
Here’s why: we read
quickly. Even the slowest reader turns the page after a minute or two. Those
of us who read very fast will be turning that page every quarter minute or
less.
So.
You have thirty
seconds to a minute to make us understand your symbol (unless you’re like
Hawthorne and spend a whole chapter describing the symbol… please don’t).
Even recurring symbols have very little time available to
them.
Therefore, keep it
simple. Don’t let yourself be caught up in poetic and deep symbolism unless
that is the style of your book. If everything in your story is poetic and deep,
then that’s okay.
Chances are, however, that your story is not. Poetically
deep stories – unfortunately, in many ways – aren’t what people read. You’ll
notice The Scarlet Letter is not on
very many people’s favorite book list. A miniscule number.
How simple?
I’d suggest keeping your symbolism within the scale of
Tolkien’s Ring of Power and J. K. Rowling’s Hedwig. “The Ring to Hedwig” scale,
as it were.
The first is a very obvious symbol. So obvious, in fact,
that we’re told right-out what it represents: it represents power and greed and
filth and temptation and darkness and evil.
Perhaps the most important thing that makes this obvious
symbol a symbol is this: it means
something different to every person. Even when we’re told what it is by
Gandalf, people can draw their own conclusion and observations.
And there’s Hedwig.
“Wait a minute, Aidan, Hedwig? Hedwig is a symbol?”
I think so, yes.
To me, Hedwig represents loyalty and friendship. Especially
loyalty through the hardest of times. Hedwig stays with Harry even when she’s
made to spend her summer in a cage because Harry’s uncle is a vile person. She
doesn’t forsake Harry, even when he “betrays” her and uses other owls (yes, he
uses other owls as messengers for good reasons, but it would still feel like
betrayal to Hedwig).
This symbolism of hers, however, is rather subtle. Rowling
never explicitly states it. She may not have even intended it, for that matter.
But it’s what I draw from Hedwig as a character.
However, Hedwig is not
a complicated symbol. I drew those ideas of her symbolism from one reading of
the Harry Potter books. Actually, from one reading of the first book and second
books.
When in doubt, keep it simple.
Your readers thank you.
Abstract and Concrete
One of the easiest ways to categorize symbols is to assign
them “Abstract” or “Concrete”.
An Abstract symbol
points to something outside itself. This can be one of the harder symbols
to understand. Aslan from The Chronicles
of Narnia can be a difficult symbol to interpret, especially if you don’t
come at him from the correct standpoint/worldview. Hedwig can also be a hard
symbol to approach, because she’s what I’d call a personal symbol. She means something to ME, even if she doesn’t
mean that to YOU.
On the other hand,
Concrete symbols point to themselves or their physical surroundings.
Tolkien’s Ring points to itself. It is
the evil and power and temptation. If it had none of its own power (none of the
soul of Sauron), then it would be a symbol at all.
Other Concrete symbols can point to something directly and
physically related to them. In Brandon Sanderson’s Stormlight Archives, the currency used by the peoples of his worlds
is made up if little glass spheres with gems inside them. These gems are filled
with Stormlight, which in turn generates the “magic” of this world.
These spheres are symbolic of money (actually, all money is
symbolic of some form of worth). And,
in turn, they are a physical symbol of power and strength and influence and the
magic of this world.
Concrete symbols are always easier to understand. Very few people will miss a Concrete symbol.
It’s often spoken of outright by the character, explained in the narrative or
dialogue, and is very important to the plot of the novel.
Abstract symbols are likely to be missed. Your reader has to know what they’re
looking for. They have to be expecting it. Abstract symbols – like the
rosebush and Hedwig – are often personal. They mean different things to
different people. Some of them have multiple layers, and can be so deep that no
one will ever fully understand them except the author.
But that’s okay.
Choosing a Symbol
What is a symbol?
Anything you want.
That twig, this piece of lint I found in my pocket, the
stack of graduation cards sitting on my desk, an oak tree in your backyard.
However, not all of
these things are realistic symbols.
If you pick out your symbols willy-nilly, your reader will
miss them. Every. Single. Time.
A symbol has to mean
something by itself. First to the reader, then to the story, then to its
meaning.
How does this work?
Simple: it has to mean something to the reader in one way or
another. A random piece of lint means nothing. But graduation cards? Those mean
something to people.
Next, the symbol has to mean something to the story. Is the
story about a graduation, or a graduate?
If not, then the cards have no meaning to the story and are
a worthless symbol. If so, then they can have deep and emotional meanings
without very much work.
And finally, it has to mean something to its symbolic
meaning. What are you trying to convey?
If you’re trying to symbolize loneliness, a stack of cards from others wishing
you well on your graduation won’t convey that at all. But if you’re attempting
to symbolize happiness through social interaction, then you have a start.
Symbols can be powerful tools. Used right, with the right
proportion and subtly to fit your story, they can bring deep themes and deep
thoughts to your reader.
Used wrong, they mean… nothing.
Use them right, yeah?
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