Strange the Dreamer: Master of Metaphor and Simile

All his miserable life, Lazlo Strange has dreamt of folktales, fairy tales, myths, and legends. As he grew up in a joyless monastery, tales of the lost city of Weep kept his spirit alive. When warriors straight out of the tales arrive at his library, asking for help to solve the very mysteries Lazlo has always dreamt of, Lazlo defies his lowly station and seizes his chance to visit the forbidden city. But the force behind the city’s disappearance is more incredible than the stories say, and the mysteries of Weep are more tantalizing—and more dangerous—than even Lazlo could have imagined.

Laini Taylor’s Strange the Dreamer is the most beautiful book I’ve ever read

(and that’s not hyperbole).

I picked it up recently to reread the first chapter, trying to analyze how it had captured me so completely. The next thing I knew, I had tears streaming down my face as I closed the book, having reread not the first chapter but all 536 pages of it. And I still don’t fully understand how Laini Taylor did that to me.

One thing I do know is that Taylor is a wordsmith.

From the very first page, she had me hooked with the poetry of her words.

Searching through the book for examples to share with you almost sucked me into her trap again, and I caught myself reading for the sheer pleasure of the words.

Whoops.

I did manage to find some beautiful examples for you. It’s not difficult: they’re on every page of this glorious book.

Sometimes, I think authors are afraid to use the poetic tools of metaphor and simile. Maybe it’s the oft-repeated warnings to stay away from “flowery” language and “purple prose.” We’re warned so frequently to avoid overusing lyrical language, that we tend not to use it at all.

There’s certainly a place for “windowpane prose,” where the words call no attention to themselves. But there’s also a place (a wonderful, soul-expanding place) for beautiful language that enhances the world and the characters.

Take for example this metaphor Taylor gives us on page 59 (chapter 7):

“He had a trio of fears that sat in his gut like swallowed teeth, and when he was too quiet with his own thoughts, they’d grind together to gnaw at him from within.”

Jaw. Floor. When I read that, I had this visceral reaction, like those teeth had found their way into my own stomach and were churning inside me. Those words, with their undeniably repugnant imagery, made me feel what Lazlo felt. His fear became my fear, and Laini Taylor’s words made Lazlo’s character all the more real for me.

And as if that weren’t magical enough, Taylor uses an extended simile to enhance the moment (in the same chapter) when Lazlo’s fears are swept aside by his dream becoming reality (page 59-60):

All his life, time had been passing in the only way he knew time to pass: unrushed and unrushable, as sands running through an hourglass grain by grain. And if the hourglass had been real, then in the bottom and neck—the past and present—the sands of Lazlo’s life would be as gray as his robes, as gray as his eyes, but the top—the future—would hold a brilliant storm of color . . . . And at that moment, for no reason he could put into words, the hourglass shattered. No more, the cool gray sift of days, the diligent waiting for the future to trickle forth. Lazlo’s dream was spilled out into the air, the color and storm of it no longer a future to be reached, but a cyclone here and now.”

Here, it’s the imagery that makes this simile come alive. The comparison of time to an hourglass is nothing new, but Taylor makes it her own and makes it magnificent. The imagery of the different colored sands, the description of their movement and what it all represents for Lazlo—that moment of change captured so perfectly in the image of a shattering hourglass—made the common comparison of the hourglass into something character-specific and tangible.

And this all happens on one page.

Because the words are not just pretty to be pretty. They’re not there to distract the reader from the story to pay attention to how clever or poetic the author is. These passages work because they are there to enhance some aspect of the storytelling: the characterization, the setting, the world building. Nothing is over the top, nothing is distracting. It feels effortless because it blends perfectly with the story and with the voice of the rest of the narration.

So go ahead, let your words be beautiful. Practice weaving metaphor and simile into your story. And go pick up Strange the Dreamer—because it’s a master class in language.

*Bonus! The second book of this duology, Muse of Nightmares, came out in October and it definitely lives up to the standard set in book one.

Add it to your Goodreads here or check it out on Amazon here.

Add it to your Goodreads here or check it out on Amazon here.

Then let us know what you think of the book!