Searching for Light in Darkness of Insanity
The protagonist(s) of this novel suffers from encroaching schizophrenia. With that in mind, one might expect to be delivered a steady stream of figurative imagery. One would be right to expect that; metaphor and simile abound:
“A strong beam of light shines from the corner of the clearing, the people are enveloped in the light. The light revolves, light and darkness alternating on the people’s bodies like a slithering snake entwining itself around them, twisting and turning, the people begin to gyrate, too.”
Donner Lake
Conflicting levels of direct metaphor battle for the soul of Donner Lake which itself is in conflict between its summer and winter offering to visiting tourists:
“Donner Lake lies in the basin of a valley…In the summer the lake is a green mirror reflecting forests of willow and pine…In the winter, Donner Lake is the West’s largest skating rink.”
It's Quiet. Too...No, Wait, it's Not Quiet Enough
An interesting and unexpected little twist comes at the end of a philosophically metaphoric observation about the fear quotient associated with silence:
“When it’s quiet like this and nobody is speaking, it’s really scary. But when you talk it’s also scary, like a ghost talking.”
Extending the Metaphor Too Much for Comfort
One of the most powerful uses of metaphorical imagery occurs when the narrator describes what the noise she hears in the attic sounds like. She starts with a simple, but completely effective simile. But that will hardly do. And so she just keeps going and going:
“It’s like rotting ceiling beams splitting apart, or like rats gnawing on bones, gnawing their way slowly from the corner all along the eaves, stopping just above the place where I am lying. Gnawing overhead from my toes to my forehead, then back down again. Gnawing up and down, finally stopping at my breasts. Gnawing my nipples. Two rows of tiny, sharp rat teeth.”
It's great writing. Very effective. The author puts you right there in that bed with her character. But if she had taken it just another two or three lines further, she would definitely have run the risk of losing readers who can stand only so much vividly disturbing imagery.
A Primitive Bridge over Troubled Waters
A conversation ensues about the inevitability for everyone of having to cross over a bridge situated over roaring waters; a bridge in name only. Basically, it is crumbling wood boarding held up by a few iron chains of questionable reliance. The character who suggests that crossing this bridge is inevitable has just done so himself. He is asked what the experience was like. His reply is full-on, one-hundred percent metaphorical philosophy:
“You’re suspended there, unable to touch the sky above you or the earth below you, pitch-black mountains all around you and crashing water underneath. You’re completely cut off from the world, as if you’ve been dangling there since creation."
