Some people write so methodically. They know they are employing literary devices, which in fact gives them a right to believe themselves geniuses with the craft.
But look past that veneer of technical mastery and it's apparent how unnaturally the words come. These phrases do not breathe. There is a laboured lilt to them, as if drawing something out of the syllables that might brush the tips of that vast sense out there that refuses to be captured.
In the end, these words become mechanisms for eliciting precise emotions, forcing specific connections. The adjectives are stacked upon each other, forcing the reader towards a singular definite interpretation of the symbol--suffocating, because symbols ought to take root naturally in the interpreter's mind and forge instinctive connections; that's the very purpose of their inclusion, isn't it?
Ultimately it all seems surgical at best. But no one can make an easy criticism; the writers who do this might as well be masters to everyone else, because in every technical sense, they're doing it right.
Bottom line is: you can create a piece of literary depth sufficient to be worthy of analysis, just by choosing the right words. Even if the process is mechanical and without a touch of inspiration.
