“So why won’t you tell me your name?” He leans forward and I freeze.
I melt. “Juliette,” I whisper. “My name is Juliette.”
In her debut novel, Shatter Me, Tahereh Mafi skillfully uses metaphors and similes to lend her prose a musical, dreamlike feel. Which is a relief for the reader, because Shatter Me takes place in one truly brutal world: diseases are wiping out humans, birds no longer fly, and even the clouds are the wrong color. Anyone could use a break, which Tahereh’s beautiful figurative language provides.
In honor of Mafi’s use of metaphor, we asked you to write some beautiful metaphors and similes of your own! You took to the forums and wrote about a baby’s laugh, your favorite place to read, your favorite seasons, and much more. Below are some of our favorites, but we want to say a big thank you to everyone who participated!
Lucy Shifflett wrote about the feeling of finishing the last page of a book:
The last page of a book is like the bottom of a water canteen in a barren desert. You slowly drink the last bit of life, savouring each droplet, and then you are quickly left with a feeling of emptiness that it is now all gone.
Jessica Boesch commented on the freshness of both spring and a baby’s laugh:
The baby’s laugh was a newly thawed spring brook, gushing out great rivulets of burbling water, and rejoicing in having broken out of the womb of thick winter ice.
For Anna Hirsch, fall leaves are the page of a book:
This is the time where gold-edged precious pages are shaken off of the twisting, high-stretching limbs and to the earth in soft drifts. The air is a waft of nostalgia, crisp as a finger-snap. This is Autumn, my favorite season.
But Fly took on the harshness of winter:
Winter is revenge. What once sweltered and buzzed around my head now hangs frozen and dead in the smokey air. Not all savor the winter, but I will endure the biting cold with which it encases my heart for the pure sweet knowledge that the fly that bites flies no more.
We bet you’re all looking forward to the last minute of school, as described by penny dreadful:
There’s a team of five strong men standing at the ready – as the end of the last period creeps closer, they start unloading. One boulder. Two boulders. Your shoulder blades have become accustomed to hard rock digging into them, your legs have become used to the extra weight.
The very moment the bell rings, the last boulder is unloaded. You stretch. You feel the unfamiliar air touching your shoulders. You look at the boulders lying there, and give one a little kick. You know they’ll be loaded onto your back again in two months, and you’ll be hunchbacked and panting again. But for now – you just close your eyes and feel the sun – the sun that’s not been felt for ten months – warming your back.