'Toeing' the line. Metonymy versus synecdoche. Ghost town mad
17:10 Share

Grammar Girl here. I'm Mignon Fogarty, your friendly guide to the English language. We talk about writing, history, rules, and other cool stuff. Today, we're going to talk about towing the line, and then we're going to talk about some fun kinds of metaphors, metonymy and synecdoche. But before we start, I have a quick correction to my piece a few weeks ago about the phrase, the state of the union.

I said the address the president gives the first year in office is called the inaugural address. But that's the address the president gives the day of the inauguration. Duh. Well, my confusion came from a congressional research report that called the first year address the inaugural State of the Union address with inaugural in quotation marks. So in retrospect, I think the report was just using inaugural to mean first. That is one of its meanings.

The address that's a couple of months later that's more analogous to the State of the Union address seems to typically be called something more general, like just saying the president is giving an address to Congress or something like that. But it's not the official inaugural address. That's the one that happens the day of the inauguration.

We're seeing a lot of people under pressure to toe the line these days, which reminded me of a tip I originally wrote back in 2017. Is the phrase written toe the line T-O-E or toe the line T-O-W?

You can imagine a logical reason for it to be either one, but it doesn't have anything to do with pulling or dragging something, even though it might feel like it to the people involved. The right choice is toe the line T-O-E, like the toes on your footsies. One of the first examples in the Oxford English Dictionary is from an 1834 book called Peter Simple, written by the naval officer and novelist Frederick Marriott.

The line reads, he desired us to toe a line, which means to stand in a row. Toe the line is actually part of a group of phrases that all have people towing something. Earlier than snuggling your toes up to a line, you could toe the mark or toe the trig, a line marked on the ground. And later you could toe the scratch, again, a kind of mark.

The general idea is of people lining up in a row in the same place, at least sometimes originally to start a race or contest.

You can imagine how people lining up in a row with their toes on a line could lead to the idea of people falling in line, as in conforming to a political agenda or behaving the way superiors want them to behave. Your quick and dirty tip is that when you're writing about people towing the line, think of them standing with their toes on a real line on the ground, and you'll get the spelling right.

If you've ever been asked to explain the difference between metonymy and synecdoche—and who hasn't?—just know it's a bit of a trick question. Each is a rhetorical literary device used by writers since the invention of the pen—or quill, for that matter. Remember that rhetoric in its original sense means studying and practicing using language effectively and persuasively.

Additionally, metonymy and synecdoche are each a type of metaphor, that is, a figure of speech commonly used by authors to compare two subtle ideas to draw an analogy between them. Here's an example of an old metaphor. Squiggly's life is just a bowl of cherries.

Obviously, life is not literally a bowl of cherries. But by saying so, we're comparing Squiggly's life to the idea of a bowl of cherries, which is nice, assuming, of course, you like cherries. So far, this particular metaphor has stood the test of time, thanks at least in part to Ray Henderson and Lou Brown for their popular and lively 1931 song, Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries.

Using metaphors like metonymy and synecdoche can open up a new world for writers by adding sophistication or an effective tone or both. And what writer, or reader for that matter, doesn't appreciate that. But careful authors often choose when to use which device, even though sometimes a synecdoche can also be a metonym. See, it's a bit of a trick question.

In short, linguists often say synecdoche is a subcategory of metonymy, making it the more common type of metaphor. So if you're ever asked if something is metonymy or synecdoche, you're probably safest putting your money on metonymy.

That said, let's begin with metonymy, which Robert A. Harris, a University of California at Riverside English professor of more than 25 years, defines as when, quote, an associated idea is substituted for the subject idea, unquote. A good example is Aardvark knows you can't fight City Hall. Here, the term City Hall represents the frustrations government agencies can impose, often leading to a sense of hopelessness.

The thing we've named, City Hall, is associated with an unnamed idea of something else, in this case, government bureaucracy. And voila, we have a metonym. One particularly famous writer who expertly used metonymy, as well as dozens of other literary devices, is the bard himself, William Shakespeare.

See if you can identify the metonymy in this example, taken from Julius Caesar, one of the most famous lines in all of Shakespeare's plays, as Mark Antony delivers a speech at Caesar's funeral. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears. Caesar just wants the crowd to listen to him, right?

Well, since we obviously can't literally lend our ears to someone, Shakespeare has used metonymy by employing something named, the word ears, with the concept of being listened to without actually using the word listen. The word ears substitutes for the act of listening, making it a metonym. Imagine if Shakespeare had written, friends, Romans, countrymen, please listen to me.

Although it makes the same point, you have to admit it's not nearly as compelling. Perhaps better than anyone, Shakespeare understood how using powerful rhetorical devices could convey his ideas through imagery and help his audience feel the narrative tone of his work.

But Shakespeare certainly wasn't the only writer in history who used this type of metaphor to their advantage. Take the English author Edward Bulwer-Lytton, who is credited with coining such familiar phrases as the pursuit of the almighty dollar and it was a dark and stormy night. Here's another of his famous phrases. The pen is mightier than the sword from his 1839 play Richelieu or The Conspiracy.

Here, the word pen is closely related to writing, something that conveys the expression of ideas. Although the playwright never uses the words writing or ideas, he instead substitutes the word pen to make his point, so to speak.

But wait, there's more. Sword conveys the idea of warfare or battle. So by substituting the word sword for going to war, this second occurrence of metonymy within this one sentence heightens the prose to great effect. Bulwer-Lytton could simply have written, the expression of ideas is more effective than resorting to physical action.

But again, without the creative nuance of using the words pen and sword, the author's style and tone have less imagery and are noticeably less effective. Before moving on to synecdoche, let's quickly review. Metonymy is a literary device that uses metaphorical words for named terms, like using ears to mean pay attention to and sword to represent a physical threat. And now for synecdoche.

This was first used in the 15th century and is derived from the ancient Greek word synecdoche, meaning interpretation. This kind of metaphor uses a named part or parts in place of the unnamed whole and is known as part-for-the-whole substitution. It's the more common of two types of synecdoche.

Now, before you start scratching your head, let's look at two examples of sentences containing a part for the whole substitution synecdoche. Yes, it's a mouthful, but for writers, it's worth the effort. Squiggly couldn't wait to show off his new wheels. Here, the word wheels depicts the parts and is substituted for the whole, or in this case, the car.

The words wheels and car are closely related. Interestingly, the word wheels as a substitute for the word car is so common that dictionaries actually label it as slang. Language evolves. Here's another sentence that uses synecdoche. As acting captain, Aardvark commanded a hundred sails. The word sails is the part that represents ships, as sails are part of a ship, or rather the whole.

Sails and ships have a direct relationship. Notice that even though the word "sails" is a great metaphor, it's yet to reach slang status the same way "wheels" has. Yet like a ship, it may be well on its way. Earlier, we mentioned there are two types of synecdoche. The other type uses a named whole to substitute for the unnamed part or parts.

This type is referred to as whole for the part substitution and is less common of the two types of synecdoche. Listen for the subtle difference from the previous examples in this sentence. Squiggly heard that the government announced its new budget. The word government is the whole, but it's literally made up of officials, or rather the parts,

Notice, too, that government and budget officials are related to one another. The entire government didn't make the budget. It was just part of the government, making it a whole-for-the-part substitution, not the other way around or a part-for-the-whole substitution. Here's another one. The law finally caught up with aardvark. Now, the word law is considered the whole, which represents all the parts of the legal system, such as politicians, lawyers, judges, and so on.

The law is directly related to the justice system. Again, it probably wasn't the entire law that caught up with Aardvark, just a few determined police officers. So again, let's review. Synecdoche is a type of metaphor that either substitutes the parts for the whole or the whole for the parts. But let's face it, it's highly unlikely you'll ever be asked to name both types of synecdoche. Yet for word nerds like us, it's a great way to impress your friends at your book club.

A word of caution, however, just remember to avoid overreaching with your metaphors. Doing so can inadvertently confuse or even offend your audience with references that might come across as cruel or violent, like "kill two birds with one stone." Similarly, avoid overused metaphors or clichés like "nip it in the bud," especially if your readers live in another region or country where the expression might not be fully understood.

Such confusion works both ways. Imagine hearing the translation of the Swedish metaphor at Glida in Poe and Rackmack, which literally means to slide in on a shrimp sandwich. Unless you're well-versed in Swedish, including its metaphors, you probably would never guess this expression means somebody who didn't have to work to get where they are.

In short, successful writers know how to use textured and styled metaphors that strengthen and enrich their prose. Literary devices such as metonymy and synecdoche work for a reason. The secret is to choose words carefully by rejecting some and welcoming others. After all, if it worked for the bard, it can work for you too. And now for some fun trivia. Remember the 2008 critically acclaimed film Synecdoche, New York?

It was written and directed by the quirky filmmaker Charlie Kaufman, who also directed Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Adaptation, and Being John Malkovich, and stars Philip Seymour Hoffman and Michelle Williams in the lead roles. Well, filmgoers everywhere mistook the title as Schenectady, New York, the city, not the literary device.

The confusion over the title even had rumor mongers alleging the original manuscript was titled Schenectady, New York, and that it had been stolen online and subsequently had its cover page replaced with a misspelled title.

Kaufman has maintained that the title Synecdoche, New York was always his intention, which makes sense because the film itself is one big synecdoche. If you haven't seen the film, don't worry, we won't give anything away, but in the film, the main character tries to create a play that represents his entire life.

This is synecdoche because it uses a part of something, the play, to stand in for the whole, his life's experiences. In short, the play stands in for his life. Clever, yes. Mistitled, no. In fact, the website Screen Crush rates the title as the fifth best in history. Clearly, metaphors work, if you work them.

That segment was written by Jim Norina, a passionate Bay Area-based freelance writer and editor whose career spans more than 35 years, working for book publishers, nonprofits, and higher education. He started his own editing service, which he affectionately calls Typo Suction, to highlight how much he enjoys working with words.

Among his favorite past projects are teaching grammar and proofreading workshops at Media Alliance and organizing editorial events at Bay Area Editors Forum. You can visit his About page at typosuction.com or search for him on LinkedIn. Finally, I have a familect story from Sherry.

Hi, my name is Sherry Sliwa and I'm from Florida. So here's the story behind a fun little phrase we use in my family, and it all goes back to a trip I took to North Carolina with two families I babysat for. On this particular trip, we visited an old amusement park, Ghost Town in the Sky. In the parking lot, as we were heading to the entrance, an argument continued between one of the couples.

The husband had wanted to visit the Scottish Museum in Franklin, and the wife didn't want to hear it. This trip was all about spending time as a family, and the museum was of no interest to her or her four-year-old child. That argument, which had been brewing since the beginning of the trip, escalated in the parking lot of Ghost Town, and then certainly took on a life of its own. Now, more than two decades later, that moment remains the measurement of anger in my family, as well as those I took the trip with.

So now when someone's getting mad, we ask, are you mad or are you ghost town mad? Ghost town mad is a whole other level. And it all came from one couple's argument at a now defunct amusement park. Thanks for letting me share. Oh, you bet. I love that one, Sherry. I don't know why, since I've never even heard of ghost town, but I've already used this a couple of times myself. Are you mad or are you ghost town mad? It's perfect. I love it.

If you want to share the story of a word you use with your family or friends that's just an insider thing nobody else would know, your familect, your family dialect, you can send it to me through a voice chat on WhatsApp, or you can call the voicemail line at 83-321-4GIRL. And both those are in the show notes.

Grammar Girl is a Quick and Dirty Tips podcast. Thanks to Davina Tomlin and Nat Hoops in marketing, Dan Feierabend in audio, Brandon Goetjes, director of podcasts, Morgan Christensen in advertising, and Holly Hutchings in digital operations, who's currently reading How to Be Enough by Dr. Ellen Hendrickson, the former host of the Savvy Psychologist podcast. And Holly says it's so good in all caps.

And I'm Mignon Fogarty, better known as Grammar Girl and author of the tip of day book, The Grammar Daily. That's all. Thanks for listening.