For whatever reason, the trick of implanting writing devices into a story makes it better. We believe that a story is more intelligent, has more depth, or has some great meaning when the writer uses - what are essentially - tricks.
Take a minute and think of three or four of your favorite movies or books. At some point in the story, there's a solid chance that the main character - the lovable rogue bucking the system, proving that heart wins out over money, handsomely wooing the young object of his love - there's a solid chance that a puppy or kitten shows him affection.
This is one of my favorite tricks. You denote which character the audience is supposed to love by having an innocent being - like a dog or cat or baby - show him a lot of love. Usually, the owner will note how unusual it is for their normally distant (or fussy) pet (or child) to be so sweet to a stranger. This let's us know that the main character is 1) naturally lovable 2) unique and 3) probably has bacon in his pocket.
This is one of my favorite tricks because of how easy it is and how prevalent in literature it is. It also works in reverse. You can easily show an audience your bad guy by having a really lovable pet growl and snarl at him. Or bite him in the trousers. Because that's telling and hilarious at the same time. Especially if he's wearing heart-covered boxers.
This got me thinking about the important we place on symbols and signifiers, the common ones anyway. I soon realized that I could make a heroic statement about almost any inanimate object.
The key here is that inanimate objects have no real ethical value - they don't commit acts of moral sin or acts of moral heroism. They can't, because they aren't living or cogent or active. But we can make it seem that way.
Some inanimate objects deserving of medals:
The Shoe: Steadfast and supportive, the shoe is always there when I need it. Reliable to a fault, it selflessly protects me from the elements - things that might harm me like rain puddles and errant nails. Even if I lose my temper and throw my shoe across the room, it never faults, never attacks me back, and always stays right where I leave it to be used again the next day.
The Computer Speaker - Without the incredibly versatile speaker, life would be a much more silent, dismal place. It fills the room with just the right amount of glorious music for me to enjoy without irritating the neighbors, and it even lets me know what actors are saying in movies. It, too, can be thrown across the room without retaliation.
The Fancy Feather Boa That My Friend Wore To This One Halloween Party - More than just a costume accessory, the boa became an icon for the night. It embodied the idea of the party, and idea that we could change ourselves for just one evening and grow into the realm of possibilities. That boa was soft and gentle, always willing to be close by in case it needed to comfort you. What's more, it was unselfish with its talents, allowing that comfort to be used by anyone who wanted to partake. Plus, it looked great.
It seems obvious that most good things we can say about inanimate objects involve inaction or defense. Since they can't do anything on their own, we have to bring them to life ourselves or notice the traits that they possess as something more than what they are.
But it's not hard. We essentially give human traits to these objects and they become more than objects - they become symbols or metaphors. We have to put that meaning into them, though. They don't come with it already installed. Thus, we could place almost any meaning into almost any object.
Obviously, the next step is to note that we can do that with humans as well. We can shape the meaning of our existence in almost any way. We can define ourselves beyond our usefulness or our skills our traits. We can inject meaning and symbolism into who we are or who are friends are or into the villains into our lives. This notion has a ton of implications about the roles we end up playing in life.
Of course, the obvious exception to the rule is The Brave Little Toaster - an inanimate object that actually is brave and little and, I think, is going on a journey to find its mother or something.
Which reminds me: call your mother. It's almost mother's day.
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