How to Close Read

How to Do a Close Reading

The process of writing an essay usually begins with the close reading of a text. Of course, the writer's personal experience may occasionally come into the essay, and all essays depend on the writer's own observations and knowledge. But most essays, especially academic essays, begin with a close reading of some kind of text—a painting, a movie, an event—and usually with that of a written text. When you close read, you observe facts and details about the text. You may focus on a particular passage, or on the text as a whole. Your aim may be to notice all striking features of the text, including rhetorical features, structural elements, cultural references; or, your aim may be to notice only selected features of the text—for instance, oppositions and correspondences, or particular historical references. Either way, making these observations constitutes the first step in the process of close reading.

The second step is interpreting your observations. What we're basically talking about here is inductive reasoning: moving from the observation of particular facts and details to a conclusion, or interpretation, based on those observations. And, as with inductive reasoning, close reading requires careful gathering of data (your observations) and careful thinking about what these data add up to.

How to Begin:

1. Read with a pencil in hand, and annotate the text.

"Annotating" means underlining or highlighting key words and phrases—anything that strikes you as surprising or significant, or that raises questions—as well as making notes in the margins. When we respond to a text in this way, we not only force ourselves to pay close attention, but we also begin to think with the author about the evidence—the first step in moving from reader to writer.

Here's a sample passage by anthropologist and naturalist Loren Eiseley. It's from his essay called "The Hidden Teacher."

. . . I once received an unexpected lesson from a spider. It happened far away on a rainy morning in the West. I had come up a long gulch looking for fossils, and there, just at eye level, lurked a huge yellow-and-black orb spider, whose web was moored to the tall spears of buffalo grass at the edge of the arroyo. It was her universe, and her senses did not extend beyond the lines and spokes of the great wheel she inhabited. Her extended claws could feel every vibration throughout that delicate structure. She knew the tug of wind, the fall of a raindrop, the flutter of a trapped moth's wing. Down one spoke of the web ran a stout ribbon of gossamer on which she could hurry out to investigate her prey. Curious, I took a pencil from my pocket and touched a strand of the web. Immediately there was a response. The web, plucked by its menacing occupant, began to vibrate until it was a blur. Anything that had brushed claw or wing against that amazing snare would be thoroughly entrapped. As the vibrations slowed, I could see the owner fingering her guidelines for signs of struggle. A pencil point was an intrusion into this universe for which no precedent existed. Spider was circumscribed by spider ideas; its universe was spider universe. All outside was irrational, extraneous, at best raw material for spider. As I proceeded on my way along the gully, like a vast impossible shadow, I realized that in the world of spider I did not exist.

2. Look for patterns in the things you've noticed about the text—repetitions, contradictions, similarities.

What do we notice in the previous passage? First, Eiseley tells us that the orb spider taught him a lesson, thus inviting us to consider what that lesson might be. But we'll let that larger question go for now and focus on particulars—we're working inductively. In Eiseley's next sentence, we find that this encounter "happened far away on a rainy morning in the West." This opening locates us in another time, another place, and has echoes of the traditional fairy tale opening: "Once upon a time . . .". What does this mean? Why would Eiseley want to remind us of tales and myth? We don't know yet, but it's curious. We make a note of it.

Details of language convince us of our location "in the West"—gulch, arroyo, and buffalo grass. Beyond that, though, Eiseley calls the spider's web "her universe" and "the great wheel she inhabited," as in the great wheel of the heavens, the galaxies. By metaphor, then, the web becomes the universe, "spider universe." And the spider, "she," whose "senses did not extend beyond" her universe, knows "the flutter of a trapped moth's wing" and hurries "to investigate her prey." Eiseley says he could see her "fingering her guidelines for signs of struggle." These details of language, and others, characterize the "owner" of the web as thinking, feeling, striving—a creature much like ourselves. But so what?

3. Ask questions about the patterns you've noticed—especially how and why.

To answer some of our own questions, we have to look back at the text and see what else is going on. For instance, when Eiseley touches the web with his pencil point—an event "for which no precedent existed"—the spider, naturally, can make no sense of the pencil phenomenon: "Spider was circumscribed by spider ideas." Of course, spiders don't have ideas, but we do. And if we start seeing this passage in human terms, seeing the spider's situation in "her universe" as analogous to our situation in our universe (which we think of as the universe), then we may decide that Eiseley is suggesting that our universe (the universe) is also finite, that our ideas are circumscribed, and that beyond the limits of our universe there might be phenomena as fully beyond our ken as Eiseley himself—that "vast impossible shadow"—was beyond the understanding of the spider.

But why vast and impossible, why a shadow? Does Eiseley mean God, extra-terrestrials? Or something else, something we cannot name or even imagine? Is this the lesson? Now we see that the sense of tale telling or myth at the start of the passage, plus this reference to something vast and unseen, weighs against a simple E.T. sort of interpretation. And though the spider can't explain, or even apprehend, Eiseley's pencil point, that pencil point is explainable—rational after all. So maybe not God. We need more evidence, so we go back to the text—the whole essay now, not just this one passage—and look for additional clues. And as we proceed in this way, paying close attention to the evidence, asking questions, formulating interpretations, we engage in a process that is central to essay writing and to the whole academic enterprise: in other words, we reason toward our own ideas.

Copyright 1998, Patricia Kain, for the Writing Center at Harvard University

Steps for Close Reading or Explication de texte:

Patterns, polarities, problems, paradigm, puzzles, perception

An explication de texte (cf. Latin explicare, to unfold, to fold out, or to make clear the meaning of) is a finely detailed, very specific examination of a short poem or short selected passage from a longer work, in order to find the focus or design of the work, either in its entirety in the case of the shorter poem or, in the case of the selected passage, the meaning of the microcosm, containing or signaling the meaning of the macrocosm (the longer work of which it is a part). To this end "close" reading calls attention to all dynamic tensions, polarities, or problems in the imagery, style, literal content, diction, etc. By examining and thinking about opening up the way the poem or work is perceived, writers establish a central pattern, a design that orders the narrative and that will, in turn, order the organization of any essay about the work. Coleridge knew about this method when he referred to the "germ" of a work of literature (see Biographia Literaria). Very often, the language creates a visual dynamic as well as verbal coherence.

Close Reading or Explication de texte operates on the premise that literature, as artifice, will be more fully understood and appreciated to the extent that the nature and interrelations of its parts are perceived, and that that understanding will take the form of insight into the theme of the work in question. This kind of work must be done before you can begin to appropriate any theoretical or specific literary approach. Follow these instructions so you don't follow what Mrs. Arable says about the magical web of Charlotte's in Charlotte's Web, "I don't understand it, and I don't like what I don't understand."

Follow these steps before you begin writing. These are pre-writing steps, procedures to follow, questions to consider before you commence actual writing. Remember that the knowledge you gain from completing each of the steps is cumulative. There may be some information that overlaps, but do not take shortcuts. In selecting one passage from a short story, poem, or novel, limit your selection to a short paragraph (4-5 sentences), but certainly no more than one paragraph. When one passage, scene, or chapter of a larger work is the subject for explication, that explication will show how its focused-upon subject serves as a macrocosm of the entire work—a means of finding in a small sample patterns which fit the whole work.

If you follow these 12 steps to literary awareness, you will find a new and exciting world. Do not be concerned if you do not have all the answers to the questions in this section. Keep asking questions; keep your intellectual eyes open to new possibilities.

1. Figurative Language. Examine the passage carefully for similes, images, metaphors, and symbols. Identify any and all. List implications and suggested meanings as well as denotations. What visual insights does each word give? Look for mutiple meanings and overlapping of meaning. Look for repetitions, for oppositions. See also the etymology of each word because you may find that the word you think you are familiar with is actually dependent upon a metaphoric concept. Consider how each word or group of words suggests a pattern and/or points to an abstraction (e.g., time, space, love, soul, death). Can you visualize the metaphoric world? Are there spatial dimensions to the language?
2. Diction. This section is closely connected with the section above. Diction, with its emphasis on words, provides the crux of the explication. Mark all verbs in the passage, mark or list all nouns, all adjectives, all adverbs etc. At this point it is advisable that you type out the passage on a separate sheet to differentiate each grammatical type. Examine each grouping. Look up as many words as you can in a good dictionary, even if you think that you know the meaning of the word. The dictionary will illuminate new connotations and new denotations of a word. Look at all the meanings of the key words. Look up the etymology of the words. How have they changed? The words will begin to take on multistable meanings. Be careful to always check back to the text, keeping meaning contextually sound. Do not assume you know the depth or complexity of meaning at first glance. Rely on the dictionary, particularly the Oxford English Dictionary. Can you establish a word web of contrastive and parallel words? Do dictionary meanings establish any new dynamic associations with other words? What is the etymology of these words? Develop and question the metaphoric, spatial sense of the words. Can you see what the metaphoric words are suggesting?
3. Literal content: this should be done as succinctly as possible. Briefly describe the sketetal contents of the passage in one or two sentences. Answer the journalist's questions (Who? What? When? Where? Why?) in order to establish character/s, plot, and setting as it relates to this passage. What is the context for this passage?
4. Structure. Divide the passage into the more obvious sections (stages of argument, discussion, or action). What is the interrelation of these units? How do they develop? Again, what can you postulate regarding a controlling design for the work at this point? If the work is a poem, identify the poetic structure and note the variations within that structure. In order to fully understand "Scorn Not the Sonnet," you must be knowledgeable about the sonnet as a form. What is free verse? Is this free verse or blank verse? What is the significance of such a form? Does the form contribute to the meaning? How does the theatrical structure of Childress's young adult novel, A Hero Ain't Nothin' But a Sandwich, enhance the narrative?
5. Style. Look for any significant aspects of style—parallel constructions, antithesis, etc. Look for patterns, polarities, and problems. Periodic sentences, clause structures? Polysyndeton etc.? And reexamine all postulates, adding any new ones that occur to you. Look for alliteration, internal rhymes and other such poetic devices which are often used in prose as well as in poetry. A caesura? Enjambment? Anaphora? Polysyndeton? You need to look closely here for meanings that are connected to these rhyme schemes.
6. Characterization. What insight does this passage now give into specific characters as they develop through the work? Is there a persona in this passage? Any allusions to other literary characters? To other literary works that might suggest a perspective. Look for a pattern of metaphoric language to give added insight into their motives and feelings which are not verbalized. You should now be firming up the few most important encompassing postulates for the governing design of the work, for some overriding themes or conflicts.
7. Tone. What is the tone of the passage? How does it elucidate the entire passage? Is the tone one of irony? Sentimental? Serious? Humorous? Ironic?
8. Assessment. This step is not to suggest a reduction; rather, an "close reading" or explication should enable you to problematize and expand your understanding of the text. Ask what insight the passage gives into the work as a whole. How does it relate to themes, ideas, larger actions in other parts of the work? Make sure that your hypothesis regarding the theme(s) of the work is contextually sound. What does it suggest as the polarity of the whole piece?
9. Context: If your text is part of a larger whole, make brief reference to its position in the whole; if it is a short work, say, a poem, refer it to other works in its author's canon, perhaps chronologically, but also thematically. Do this expeditiously.
10. Texture: This term refers to all those features of a work of literature which contribute to its meaning or signification, as distinguished from that signification itself: its structure, including features of grammar, syntax, diction, rhythm, and (for poems, and to some extent) prosody; its imagery, that is, all language which appeals to the senses; and its figuration, better known as similes, metaphors, and other verbal motifs.
11. Theme: A theme is not to be confused with thesis; the theme or more properly themes of a work of literature is its broadest, most pervasive concern, and it is contained in a complex combination of elements. In contrast to a thesis, which is usually expressed in a single, arugumentative, declarative sentence and is characteristic of expository prose rather than creative literature, a theme is not a statement; rather, it often is expressed in a single word or a phrase, such as "love," "illusion versus reality," or "the tyranny of circumstance." Generally, the theme of a work is never "right" or "wrong." There can be virtually as many themes as there are readers, for essentially the concept of theme refers to the emotion and insight which results from the experience of reading a work of literature. As with many things, however, such an experience can be profound or trivial, coherent or giddy; and discussions of a work and its theme can be correspondingly worthwhile and convincing, or not. Everything depends on how well you present and support your ideas. Everything you say about the theme must be supported by the brief quotations from the text. Your argument and proof must be convincing. And that, finally, is what explication is about: marshaling the elements of a work of literature in such a way as to be convincing. Your approach must adhere to the elements of ideas, concepts, and language inherent in the work itself. Remember to avoid phrases and thinking which are expressed in the statement, "what I got out of it was. . . ."
12. Thesis: An explication should most definitely have a thesis statement. Do not try to write your thesis until you have finished all 12 steps. The thesis should take the form, of course, of an assertion about the meaning and function of the text which is your subject. It must be something which you can argue for and prove in your essay.

Conclusion. Now, and only now are you ready to begin your actual writing. If you find that what you had thought might be the theme of the work, and it doesn't "fit," you must then go back to step one and start over. This is a trial and error exercise. You learn by doing. Finally, the explication de texte should be a means to see the complexities and ambiguities in a given work of literature, not for finding solutions and/or didactic truisms.

Close Reading of a Literary Passage

To do a close reading, you choose a specific passage and analyze it in fine detail, as if with a magnifying glass. You then comment on points of style and on your reactions as a reader. Close reading is important because it is the building block for larger analysis. Your thoughts evolve not from someone else's truth about the reading, but from your own observations. The more closely you can observe, the more original and exact your ideas will be. To begin your close reading, ask yourself several specific questions about the passage. The following questions are not a formula, but a starting point for your own thoughts. When you arrive at some answers, you are ready to organize and write. You should organize your close reading like any other kind of essay, paragraph by paragraph, but you can arrange it any way you like.

I. First Impressions:

• What is the first thing you notice about the passage?
• What is the second thing?
• Do the two things you noticed complement each other? Or contradict each other?
• What mood does the passage create in you? Why?

II. Vocabulary and Diction:

• Which words do you notice first? Why? What is noteworthy about this diction?
• How do the important words relate to one another?
• Do any words seem oddly used to you? Why?
• Do any words have double meanings? Do they have extra connotations?
• Look up any unfamiliar words. For a pre-20th century text, look in the Oxford English Dictionary for possible outdated meanings. (The OED can only be accessed by students with a subscription or from a library computer that has a subscription. Otherwise, you should find a copy in the local library.)

III. Discerning Patterns:

• Does an image here remind you of an image elsewhere in the book? Where? What's the connection?
• How might this image fit into the pattern of the book as a whole?
• Could this passage symbolize the entire work? Could this passage serve as a microcosm--a little picture--of what's taking place in the whole work?
• What is the sentence rhythm like? Short and choppy? Long and flowing? Does it build on itself or stay at an even pace? What is the style like?
• Look at the punctuation. Is there anything unusual about it?
• Is there any repetition within the passage? What is the effect of that repetition?
• How many types of writing are in the passage? (For example, narration, description, argument, dialogue, rhymed or alliterative poetry, etc.)
• Can you identify paradoxes in the author's thought or subject?
• What is left out or kept silent? What would you expect the author to talk about that the author avoided?

IV. Point of View and Characterization:

• How does the passage make us react or think about any characters or events within the narrative?
• Are there colors, sounds, physical description that appeals to the senses? Does this imagery form a pattern? Why might the author have chosen that color, sound or physical description?
• Who speaks in the passage? To whom does he or she speak? Does the narrator have a limited or partial point of view? Or does the narrator appear to be omniscient, and he knows things the characters couldn't possibly know? (For example, omniscient narrators might mention future historical events, events taking place "off stage," the thoughts and feelings of multiple characters, and so on).

V. Symbolism:

• Are there metaphors? What kinds?
• Is there one controlling metaphor? If not, how many different metaphors are there, and in what order do they occur? How might that be significant?
• How might objects represent something else?
• Do any of the objects, colors, animals, or plants appearing in the passage have traditional connotations or meaning? What about religious or biblical significance?
• If there are multiple symbols in the work, could we read the entire passage as having allegorical meaning beyond the literal level?

What is close reading? – guidance notes

a brief guide to advanced reading skills

1. Close reading is the most important skill you need for any form of literary studies. It means paying especially close attention to what is printed on the page. It is a much more subtle and complex process than the term might suggest.

2. Close reading means not only reading and understanding the meanings of the individual printed words; it also involves making yourself sensitive to all the nuances and connotations of language as it is used by skilled writers.

3. This can mean anything from a work’s particular vocabulary, sentence construction, and imagery, to the themes that are being dealt with, the way in which the story is being told, and the view of the world that it offers. It involves almost everything from the smallest linguistic items to the largest issues of literary understanding and judgement.

4. Close reading can be seen as four separate levels of attention which we can bring to the text. Most normal people read without being aware of them, and employ all four simultaneously. The four levels or types of reading become progressively more complex.

• Linguistic
  You pay especially close attention to the surface linguistic elements of the text – that is, to aspects of vocabulary, grammar, and syntax. You might also note such things as figures of speech or any other features which contribute to the writer’s individual style.
• Semantic
  You take account at a deeper level of what the words mean – that is, what information they yield up, what meanings they denote and connote.
• Structural
  You note the possible relationships between words within the text – and this might include items from either the linguistic or semantic types of reading.
• Cultural
  You note the relationship of any elements of the text to things outside it. These might be other pieces of writing by the same author, or other writings of the same type by different writers. They might be items of social or cultural history, or even other academic disciplines which might seem relevant, such as philosophy or psychology.

5. Close reading is not a skill which can be developed to a sophisticated extent overnight. It requires a lot of practice in the various linguistic and literary disciplines involved – and it requires that you do a lot of reading. The good news is that most people already possess the skills required. They have acquired them automatically through being able to read – even though they havn’t been conscious of doing so.
This is rather like many other things which we learn unconsciously. After all, you don’t need to know the names of your leg muscles in order to walk down the street.

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Dr. McClennen's Close Reading Guide

HOW TO DO A CLOSE READING

The following has been Adapted From Albert Sheen's site at: http://www.sit.wisc.edu/~aesheen/Eng208-2-1999/closeread1.htm

The skill called "close reading" is fundamental for interpreting literature. "Reading closely" means developing a deep understanding and a precise interpretation of a literary passage that is based first and foremost on the words themselves. But a close reading does not stop there; rather, it embraces larger themes and ideas evoked and/or implied by the passage itself. It is essential that we distinguish between doing a close reading and writing one. Doing a close reading involves a thought process that moves from small details to larger issues. Writing a close reading begins with these larger issues and uses the relevant details as evidence.

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I. Doing a close reading

1. Getting Started: Treat the passage as if it were complete in itself. Read it a few times, at least once aloud. Concentrate on all its details and assume that everything is significant.  Determine what the passage is about and try to paraphrase it.  Make sure that you begin with a general sense of the passage’s meaning.
2. Word meaning: Determine the meanings of words and references. Also, note (and verify) interesting connotations of words. Look up any words you do not know or which are used in unfamiliar ways. (Laziness in this step will inevitably result in diminished comprehension.) Consider the diction of the passage. What is the source of the language, i.e., out of what kind of discourse does the language seem to come? Did the author coin any words? Are there any slang words, innuendoes, puns, ambiguities? Do the words have interesting etymologies?
3. Structure: Examine the structure of the passage. How does it develop its themes and ideas? How is the passage organized? Are there climaxes and turning points?
4. Sound and Rhythm: Acquire a feel for the sound, meter, and rhythm; note any aural clues that may affect the meaning. Even punctuation may be significant. Be alert to devices such as alliteration, assonance, rhyme, consonance, euphony, cacophony, onomatopoeia. See a dictionary of poetics or rhetoric for precise definitions of these and other terms. Examine the meter of the passage in the same way. Is it regular or not? Determine whether the lines breaks compliment or complicate the meanings of the sentences.
5. Syntax: Examine the syntax and the arrangement of words in the sentences. Does the syntax call attention to itself? Are the sentences simple or complex? What is the rhythm of the sentences? How do subordinate clauses work in the passage? Are there interesting suspensions, inversions, parallels, oppositions, repetitions? Does the syntax allow for ambiguity or double meanings?
6.  Textual Context: In what specific and general dramatic and/or narrative contexts does the passage appear? How do these contexts modify the meaning of the passage? What role does the passage play in the overall movement/moment of the text?
7. Irony: How does irony operate in the passage, if at all?
8. Tone and Narrative Voice: What is the speaker’s (as distinct from the narrator’s and author’s) attitude towards his or her subject and hearers? How is this reflected in the tone? What does the passage reveal about the speaker?  Who is the narrator?  What is the relationship between the narrator and the speaker?  Is there more than one speaker?
9. Imagery: What sort of imagery is invoked? How do the images relate to those in the rest of the text? How do the images work in the particular passage and throughout the text? What happens to the imagery over the course of the passage? Does the passage noticeably lack imagery? If so, why? 
10. Rhetorical Devices: Note particularly interesting metaphors, similes, images, or symbols especially ones that recur in the passage or that were important for the entire text. How do they work with respect to the themes of the passage and the text as a whole? Are there any other notable rhetorical devices? Are there any classical, biblical or historical allusions? How do they work?
11. Themes: Relate all of these details to possible themes that are both explicitly and implicitly evoked by the passage. Attempt to relate these themes to others appearing outside the immediate passage. These other themes may be from the larger story from which the passage is excerpted; or from other tales; or from knowledge about the narrator; or from the work as a whole.
12. Gender: How does the passage construct gender?  What issues of gender identity does it evoke?  How does it represent women’s issues?  Does it reveal something interesting about women’s writing?
13. History: How does the passage narrate history?  How does it present "facts" versus observations?
14. Construct a Thesis: Based on all of this information and observation, construct a thesis that ties the details together. Determine how the passage illuminates the concerns, themes, and issues of the entire text it is a part of.  Ask yourself how the passage provides insight into the text (and the context of the text).  Try to determine how the passage provides us a key to understanding the work as whole.

Note that this process moves from the smallest bits of information (words, sound, punctuation) to larger groupings (images, metaphors) to larger concepts (themes). Also, the final argument is based on these smaller levels of the passage; this is why it is called a close reading. Of course your thought processes may not follow such a rigid order (mine usually don’t). Just don’t omit any of the steps.

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II. Writing it

1. The paper should begin with a closely argued thesis, which is the result of the last step above. Include a general orientation to the passage to be analyzed, explaining the text of origin and the author.
2. The thesis depends on the analysis already done, and the point is to relate all of the relevant details to that thesis. This means that some details may be omitted in the paper because they do not support or concern the thesis being argued. Too much detail about unimportant features will draw attention from your thesis.  However, you must be careful that you do not ignore details that contradict your thesis; if you find these, this means that you need to reevaluate your thesis and make it more complex (in other words, you don’t necessarily have to abandon it altogether).
3. Note that the order of the evidence presented should not follow the order of the passage being discussed. Rather, the order of the evidence depends on how it relates to your central argument. Don’t let the passage walk you through your analysis; instead, re- organize the passage to suit your discussion of it.
4. The body of the paper presents relevant textual evidence in a meaningful order. Avoid being overly mechanical in the organization of your paper. That is, don’t write one paragraph on diction, one on sound, one on metaphor, etc. Instead try to bring these observations together on the same words or phrases together. Organize the paragraphs around issues of meaning rather than of technique.
5. Make sure you don’t read so closely that you transform a clear though complex passage into a bundle of nonsense.
6. If you relate the passage to text outside it, make sure your emphasis remains on the passage itself; do not neglect it in favor of external textual evidence.

Getting an A on an English Paper

Jack Lynch,
Rutgers University – Newark

Close Reading

An English teacher's heart will go pitter-pat whenever he or she sees close engagement with the language of the text.

That means reading every word: it's not enough to have a vague sense of the plot. Maybe that sounds obvious, but few people pay serious attention to the words that make up every work of literature. Remember, English papers aren't about the real world; they're about representations of the world in language. Words are all we have to work with, and you have to pay attention to them.

The problem's most acute in poetry. Here, for instance, is the opening of Gray's famous “Elegy Written in a Country Church-Yard”:

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
   The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
   And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

The surface-level meaning is something like this: “At evening, when the curfew bell rings, the cows and the plowman go home and leave me in the dark.” Many students read passages like this, “decode” them into something they can understand, and then ask, “Why didn't he just say that?”

That's usually a dismissive rhetorical question, with the implication, “Why is that nasty old author making my life difficult when he could have said it simply?” But in fact “Why didn't he just say that?” can be a great question, and you should learn to take it seriously. Why did he say it in the denser way? Answer that, and you're on your way to a good thesis. (Hint: with good writers, the answer is almost never “Because he had to rhyme” or “Because he couldn't do it any better.”)

An incomplete list of things to look for:

• Diction. Diction means word choice. In English, we usually have a choice of several ways of saying more or less the same thing: see and observe and notice and spot; overweight and portly and fat; have intercourse with, make love to, and fuck. Notice that they're never perfectly interchangeable: some are formal, some are euphemistic, some are clinical, some are vulgar. Pay attention to similar words authors might have used, and try to figure out why they chose as they did.
• Word Order. Most declarative sentences and clauses in Modern English (since about 1500) follow the word order subject — verb — object. Adjectives tend to come before nouns, adverbs usually come before verbs or adjectives. You know all that. If a poet departs from standard English word order, consider whether it's important. (It's not always, but usually.)
• Verb Forms. Most narratives are told in the past tense, active voice, and are usually in either the first person ("I”) or the third ("he,” “she,” “they”). But not always, and not consistently. What might it mean if an author relies on the passive voice? Why is this narrative written in the present tense? Teach yourself to look for these things. (Pay particular attention when they change. If a work suddenly switches from the past tense to the present, or if a work filled with the active voice begins to rely on the passive, or a third-person narrative changes to first, it's almost certainly important.)
• Point of View. Narratives have to be told from some point of view: the narrator might be the central character in the work (as in David Copperfield, narrated by David himself); he or she might be a secondary character in the work (as in The Great Gatsby, narrated by Nick Carraway); or the narrator may be “omniscient” (as in Pride and Prejudice, narrated by someone not in the story and able to tell what happened to all the characters). Some works mix things up, telling different things from different points of view (as in As I Lay Dying, where different chapters are told from the point of view of different characters.) Narrators might also be reliable — readers are expected to take their word for everything — or unreliable — readers have reasons to doubt the narrator is telling the story “straight.” Try to stay conscious of these things. Often there's nothing to say about them, but sometimes they really pay off. Look especially for changes in the point of view: if a narrative has been described from the point of view of one character all along, and it suddenly shifts to someone else, that's almost certainly worth thinking about.
• Metaphors. Metaphors — the likening of one thing to another — are much more common than most casual readers realize. Here's a passage from chapter 12 of The Scarlet Letter: “It was an obscure night in early May. An unwearied pall of cloud muffled the whole expanse of sky from zenith to horizon.” The word pall here means “covering” — he's just talking about cloud-cover. But a pall is actually a piece of velvet used to cover a coffin: think about the implications, then, of likening clouds to a shroud. Metaphors are often lurking in the literal meanings or etymological origins of common words that don't seem metaphorical at all. Disaster, for instance, comes from the words for “bad star,” on the assumption that the heavens influence things on earth: it's a metaphor from astronomy. Ardent, meaning “passionate,” comes from the Latin word ardere, “to burn,” and therefore originally meant something like “burning with passion.” Most people who use ardent aren't thinking of fire, but some — including many good poets — are. Pay attention to such things.

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Here's a useful exercise: take an important sentence or two in the work you're analyzing, and look up every word in the Oxford English Dictionary. (Okay, if you're in a hurry, you have my permisison to skip the and is.) Paradise Lost uses the word individual: what did it mean when Milton wrote? What does Frances Burney mean when she writes, “We have been a shopping, as Mrs. Mirvan calls it”? Is the name of the prodigiously endowed “Dick” in the pornographic novel Fanny Hill (1759) a dirty joke, or just a coincidence? The OED will let you know.

Learning to read closely, with attention to the history of words and the meanings lurking in their etymologies and connotations, will go a long way toward making your paper solid. For starters, it helps you avoid the awful problem of generalization. And individual words aren't the only thing to study carefully. Unusual word-order, for instance, is almost always significant. Shifts in person, number, or tense may be loaded with meaning.

The deeper you dig into the text, the more things you'll find. So keep digging, and don't be content with a surface-level reading.

How to mark a book

We pressed a thought into the wayside,
planted an impression along the verge.

- from “Marginalia” by Billy Collins

From the looks of a lot of home libraries I’ve been in, it would be presumptuous of me to start right in with “how to mark a book.” I might as well start in with “how to destroy your garden.” Most people would never mark a book. Most people teach their children not to color in books. (I think that coloring books are meant to wean us of this habit. They’re a kind of nicotine patch for preschoolers.) Schoolchildren must lug around books all day and read them, but they must never mark in them. At the end of the school year, students are fined if the books have marks. So we have a nation that equates marking in books with sin and shame.

To most adults, I think, books are rarefied or holy, perhaps too holy to interact with. Books crouch on shelves like household gods, keeping ignorance at bay. A small library on a home’s main floor may amount to a false front, a prop to give neighbors a certain impression of their host’s intellectual life. Neighbors may get the idea that he holds a reservoir of learning that could pour out of his mouth at any twist of the conversation.

But the presence of a book may have nothing to do with its impact on its owner. A lot of people never really get mad at a book. Few people ever throw a book, kiss a book, cry over a book, or reread a page in a book more than once or twice, if that. Some people never use a dictionary to find out what a big word in a book means. As a species, people don’t interact with books much.

I’m not suggesting that you mark every book you own, any more than I would suggest that my dog mark every tree he sniffs. But you should be free to mark up most books in the most worthwhile core of your collection. My dog has his favorites, and so should you.

I mark in (i.e., annotate) a book for four reasons. First,  I annotate a book to create trails as if I were the first person to hike through a particular forest. I may want to read the text, or part of a text, more than once. (Why else would I keep the book after I’ve read it?) During my second reading, my first reading’s marginal comments and summaries quickly give me the gist of my first reading so I can take advantage of my second, which has its own charms.  It’s like I’ve blazed a trail for my future self.

(It’s funny how people and bookstores sell used books on sites like Alibris.com and Amazon.com. The fewer the marks, the greater the price! This is backwards thinking, so take advantage of the bargains. People love the idea of a pristine forest, but wouldn’t you compromise some of that pristine-ness for a well-marked trail if you wished to hike in that forest?)

Second, I annotate a book to interact with the author – to hold up my end of the conversation.  Without annotating, books are like lectures.  I make reading a conversation instead by jotting down my reactions as well as new thinking a passage leads me to.

Third, I annotate a book to learn what the book teaches.  (To return to my dog and the trees, you might say I annotate to establish territory.) By the time I break in certain books, I’ve gone beyond just the book’s facts and opinions.  I’ve developed new interests or considered new ideas. Maybe I’ve learned more about myself.  (Books often meet me in ways the author couldn’t have anticipated, though an author who writes a penetrating and nuanced book provides such experiences to many readers.) By annotating, the book becomes my territory. In fact, the book sometimes becomes part of me in some way.

Finally, I annotate my books to learn to write, or at least to learn how a book was written. My improvement in writing and in literary analysis involves close readings of writers I admire. There are patterns in the use of nouns, pronouns, verbs and other parts of speech; there are patterns in syntax and in sentence variation; and there are patterns in sound devices, such as alliteration and assonance. I mark these with different symbols or colors, and I connect these dots. Patterns emerge, and style emerges from patterns. To read like a writer, I have to annotate like one, too.

How to annotate a book

Speaking of style, you’ll develop your own annotation style very quickly.  But like a writing style, your annotating style can always be improved even if your style works for you.  So here are some ideas for annotating.

First off, let’s be clear: where does one annotate? In the book’s text and in its margins.  Interlineations are notes you insert between the text’s lines (difficult to do in most books).  Marginalia are notes you write in the text’s margins.

Use marks.  Use question marks to show what is unclear or confusing. Use exclamation marks or smiley faces to show your agreement or delight. Employ other marks, and invent still others with their own significance!

Marginal comments serve many purposes.  Summarizing a passage’s information in the margins can help you find information quickly and can help you go beyond a first-draft reading quickly the next time you read a passage.  (Summarizing in the margins means you’ll never accidentally separate your summaries from the book summarized, as you might if you wrote your summaries in a notebook or somewhere else.)  Stating your agreements and disagreements with the text helps keep your reading more conversational and may give you material for use in later assignments – essays and discussions, for instance – if you’re reading for a class or book group.  Reflecting on associations you’re making with the text – associations such as other books and movies, personal memories, and current events the text reminds you of – makes the reading more personal and more valuable to you in the long run.  Your book’s margins may begin to resemble a shorthand journal or diary!  Associations, such as a song, a dream, or a stray memory, may seem random, but they may carry more psychic weight than you may realize at first.  When you connect the dots during a subsequent reading, those connections can be powerful!  (I love to write about how my experiences in reading a single text differ over time.)

Highlight, bracket, or underline text you think will be the most significant to you when you read those pages again later.  Consider labeling the text that you highlighted, bracketed, or underlined: you’d be leaving a better trail for yourself for subsequent readings.

Circle words you’re not familiar with, look them up, and write their definitions in the margins beside them.  Consider creating on a blank page in the book’s front or back matter a running glossary complete with the page numbers where the new words can be found in context.

Mark and label a work’s literary and rhetorical devices.  This will assist you in any assignment involving literary analysis by helping you to discover how the author gets across his material.  It may also lead to an appreciation of the writer’s craft that could improve your own writing style!  You may wish to use different shapes (triangles, rectangles, ovals) or colors to mark different literary devices.  Draw a quick legend to later remind yourself of what each shape or color stands for.

Make impromptu graphic organizers – tables, diagrams, and the like – in the margins to summarize your understanding of complicated passages.  That way, you won’t have to learn the material all over again in subsequent readings.

Cross-reference topics and ideas that recur in the text.  If you’re interested in references to tragedy in a book about the history of theater, for instance, write the page number of the most important text on tragedy in the margins beside the book’s other references to tragedy.  That most important reference to tragedy would also be a place to jot down the page numbers where all of the other references to tragedy you’ve discovered can be found.  (You might even put letters such as T, M, or B after those page numbers to indicate that the information is at the top, middle or bottom of the page in question.)  You’ll be able to quickly find related material the next time you use the book!

The next logical step when you begin to cross-reference is to start an index in the back or to supplement the book’s existing index.  (Click here for an example of an index I put together for one of my core books.)  I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve referred back to my own index to find things in a book.  The index sometimes also develops into a shorthand list of things that I found helpful or inspiring in a book, so my indexes have sometimes served me as alphabetized lists of writing prompts.

Click here for an outline that includes these annotation methods and a few others.

Here are some other resources for learning how to make a satisfying mess out of your books:

“How to Mark a Book,” an essay by Mortimer J. Adler

“All Books are Coloring Books,” a book review of The Art of Reading: a Handbook on Writing by Roger J. Ray and Ann Ray