More of my favourite metaphors and phrases
by Jennifer Bryce
Menacing architecture | Sulari Gentill, Gentlemen Formerly Dressed |
Yawning fireplace | Sulari Gentill, Gentlemen Formerly Dressed |
the train began to heave itself slowly out of the station | Kate Atkinson: Life After Life p. 6 |
twitching in and out of sleep | Emily Bitto: The Strays p.113 |
the pristine intimacy of our childhood | Emily Bitto: The Strays p.180 |
orbited by grandchildren like bright moons | Emily Bitto: The Strays p.256 |
the air is gaspingly cold | Helen Garner: Regions of thick-ribbed ice,p.8 |
a sudden wind springs up . . making the water bristle | Helen Garner: Regions of thick-ribbed ice, p.25 |
stranded somewhere in her forties | Kate Atkinson: Case Histories, p. 88 |
she controlled him with one eyebrow | Kate Atkinson: Case Histories, p. 400 |
a starched silence | Kate Atkinson: Behind the Scenes at the Museum, p. 325 |
She put that thought away, like linen in a drawer | Heather Rose: The Museum of Modern Love p.27 |
As fragile as mist | Heather Rose: The Museum of Modern Love p.198 |
The city grayed into winter | Margaret Ann Spence: Lipstick on the Strawberry |
A muttering sort of man | Brian Aldiss: When the Feast is Finished, p. 32 |
Broth of grief | Brian Aldiss: When the Feast is Finished, p.88 |
A hollow panic in his voice | Sulari Gentill: A Dangerous Language, p.24 |
Gurgling birdsong | Sulari Gentill: A Dangerous Language, p. 54 |
Drifts of science fiction magazines | John Baxter: A Pound of Paper, p.63 |
An antique Rolls-Royce sagged elegantly at the kerb | John Baxter: A Pound of Paper, p. 175 |
[describing the people of Afghanistan]: the antiquity of their expression | Eddie Ayres: Danger Music, p. 1 |
Thumping dockland… the river is thickly commercial | Julian Barnes: Flaubert’s Parrot, p.20 |
Calamitously inadequate | Julian Barnes: Flaubert’s Parrot, p. 75 |
Lorries bullied past on the road | Julian Barnes: Flaubert’s Parrot, p. 114 |
Talking of bereavement: ‘You don’t come out of it like a train coming out of a tunnel, bursting through the Downs into sunshine and that swift, rattling descent to the Channel; you come out of it as a gull comes out of an oil-slick. You are tarred and feathered for life.’ | Julian Barnes: Flaubert’s Parrot, p. 161 |