Call it what you will, but on every platform, app or device there seems to be a way to call attention to something. A shortcut that makes it possible to revisit passages or images later or find a place or time more easily. Some universal signal to others that you appreciated or enjoyed something. A heart on Instagram or a thumbs up. A gesture of recognition or gratitude that takes very little effort and often equally little thought.
When I look at my Tumblr archive back to April 2013, I can filter by tags which I will do sometimes to see what has been interesting me consistently. Bicycles, cameras, flyfishing, coffee, bow ties, Marilyn Monroe, martinis, oysters, kayaks, watches, sushi, bees, scotch, sharks and Hemingway.
I wonder if they share anything in common besides my interest. A few appear as couples, but not as often as I would expect.
I use Yelp to find restaurants or coffee shops. Often in the moment when I find myself in need of a bite, but also when I am planning a trip and want to know what’s around my destination. A friend will mention a place that sounds worth a visit so I will bookmark it.
It’s one thing when you make these gestures yourself. They mean something to you because it was your choice to put your mark on them. When someone else has liked a thing, maybe something you posted, it opens other possibilities.
Instagram has both hearts and comments. Hearts are easy, comments take a bit of thinking to compose them. There are a few people, or “followers” if you prefer, who can be relied upon to like things. I have a friend who likes every oyster picture I post. Without fail. And I post quite a few oyster photos. As I write this, my Instagram page has 2,561 posts. I have 255 followers and in turn follow 627 accounts. My influence score, if you want to call it that, is weak. I likely go to my own archive page more often than most. It’s become a visual diary. I can flip back in time and see that it was November 5, 2022, when I landed a nice steelhead on the Babine River. Or February 20, 2017, when Darren and I were in Tokyo at Shibuya.
Reviews take this a step further, and I find it fascinating what some people will reveal in their recounting of a place, the food or their reaction. I listened to a radio program lamenting the death of the food critic. The educated palate of a professional diner, who anonymously visited a restaurant on a multiple of occasions, had been replaced by the on-line influencers. Influencers who in some cases are not afraid to throw their weight around threatening a bad review if they don’t get a free dessert. I doubt they have any idea how tough it is to make a living as a restaurant owner.
For a good laugh you can search online to find restaurants that have faced down their nasty reviewers. Here’s one. “Hi Jo, thanks for reaching out! We love feedback, whether it be positive or negative, we especially love feedback like this, so others can see the type of people we have to deal with sometimes.”
How about this comeback for a knockout blow, “if you came late and your table was given away, how did you manage to eat the lobster we don’t sell??”
In my Kindle, I will often highlight passages from books as I read them. The great thing is that when I’m done and I open Goodreads, there they are. Beautiful thoughts captured in a few words. A description that is just too perfect. A fact or a statistic that at the time seemed like a piece of knowledge worth remembering or being able to find later to make sure I have it right.
Language is remarkable. In the written word it is elevated even further. Some passages, sentences, even a couple of words assembled or even just the right adjective with a noun will ring in my head. Some of these I will underline or highlight with turned-down pages and later copy into a notebook. They are evidence of the careful labour of the author to find the precise language to evoke emotion or communicate something. I appreciate them long after the book is done and on the shelf.
The shared history of the words, our own associations with them can fuel their impact. The best for me, convey the voice of the narrator. I find the comparison the writer is making convincing, because I believe it would come naturally to them and is rooted in their own lives and experiences. They are detailed, specific, obscure sometimes but not completely outside the reader’s understanding or comprehension. When a writer compares the smell of something to rain on hot pavement, I know what that means. I can bring that smell to mind because I have experienced it.
In Some Hellish, author Nicolas Herring describes "the pair of them laid out on the concrete like forgotten mittens". It’s a natural observation from that particular narrator in those specific circumstances. And I layer on top of it, my own feelings because I have walked past those mittens myself, and it evokes something dormant within me.
The expression a picture is worth a thousand words seems unassailable, and I would tend to agree with the proposition that showing something has more impact than telling. But occasionally, a sentence moves me in a way that no picture can.