Anaphora is good. Anaphora is great. Anaphora is a rhetorical device that can be quite powerful when used sparingly.

Anaphora is the repetition of one or more words at the beginnings of neighboring clauses.

Note the definition is neighboring clauses, not just sentences. So any sort of repetition within a single sentence, or repetition over many adjacent ones, can count as anaphora, as long as what's repeated is the same set of words and at the beginning of the clause. (Repetition at the end of a clause is known as epistrophe, but that's another post for another time.)

The title of this essay itself is a two-word example of anaphora, where the repeated words are 'anaphora is'. I know, meta, right?

However, that's just one use of anaphora. You can expand it to repeat multiple words, granted, of course, that their order is always the same in each usage. For example, you could say:

I thought about my friends. I thought about my family. I thought about my mistakes that I had made with all of them, and everything those mistakes had led to.

See how the last sentence lands even harder than it would if it were to stand alone? That's because the repetition of the first two sentences—the anaphora—sets up a rhythm that creates a bit of a mini-contract with the reader.

In another example, let's look at a passage that occurs fairly late in The Bleeding Stone, where Ferrin is angry (heavily paraphrased because the full set includes spoilers):

Anger at having nearly killed himself. Anger at all the injustices he'd witnessed. Anger, above all, at his own stupidity.

(Do not worry—I can assure you that Ferrin being angry at himself is not a spoiler in any sense of the word!) In this example, the anaphora immediately gives the reader a sense that Ferrin is ruminating about the angry thoughts, playing them over and over in his head, and that this isn't the first time he's thought them. It also affords me an opportunity to use the device to elevate the final beat with the 'above all' clause. (In this case I technically break the 'anger at' anaphora, but the 'anger' alone, at least, is still repeated.)

Or this one, also from The Bleeding Stone, which is a one-word anaphora on 'damp', an internal comma-clause anaphora that sets up something between zeugma and syllepsis:

Ferrin lay beneath a blanket glittering with moisture, inside a low, round house smelling of damp earth, damp pelts, and damp survival.

Here, the reader is likely expecting another descriptive noun, but I've exchanged that for an abstract noun, which sounds lyrical in nature and also adds to the atmosphere of the scene, ensuring that the reader knows Ferrin is not simply damp, but in a place where the dampness is bordering on despair.

(I will eventually post about zeugma and syllepsis, too. They can be fun and powerful, but are also, in my humble opinion, to be used sparingly when the moment is right.)

What to Watch Out For When Using Anaphora

Because by definition anaphora requires the use of word repetition, it should (again in my humble opinion) be used sparingly, and it sounds the most lyrical in groups of three. Oftentimes, one of the safest places to use anaphora is within free indirect discourse, because it effectively mimics the way humans think from time to time, especially during sequences of brooding anger or boredom where it might be common for a character to cycle over the same thoughts again and again.

However, it can earn its spot in direct narration as well, such as the strong and famous opener to Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness...

This is a rather extensive example of the technique, but one can appreciate the rhythm it forms all the same.

So! I hope you liked this little write-up on anaphora.

Until next time!

—Chris