When describing Sven Hanson's lack of expressiveness, the author utilizes a simile to emphasize the extent of his poker face and his stoicism:
He seemed to do all his mental operations without the aid of physical expression. He was as still as a deserted chamber.
Hanson is not a person who finds it easy to communicate his feelings. This is mirrored in his body, which rarely reflects the contents of his thoughts. The simile in this passage compares Hanson to a "deserted chamber," reinforcing this idea of vacancy and emptiness. “Chambers,” or rooms, need living presences inside them to keep them from being lifeless and inert. By comparing him to an empty room, the narrator suggests that Hanson's lack of expressive reactions makes him appear emotionally vacant, almost devoid of an inner narrative. He’s not actually physically “still,” as he moves around normally, but he’s emotionally unmoving in a way that unnerves the people around him.
Hanson’s thoughts and feelings are also described here as “operations,” making them seem like calculated choices rather than instinctual decisions. This notable lack of expression provides a sharp contrast to characters like Carrie, who’s often described as bubbling over with a set of intense emotional and physical reactions.
Carrie, rather than being swayed by Hurstwood's soothing presence, is enticed by the aura of comfortable security he radiates. The narrator uses a simile referring to a gentle touch to describe this:
In this conversation she heard, instead of his words, the voices of the things which he represented. How suave was the counsel of his appearance! How feelingly did his superior state speak for itself! The growing desire he felt for her lay upon her spirit as a gentle hand.
The language here conveys the sense of calm and assurance that Hurstwood imparts to Carrie, as his "growing desire" feels to her like a "gentle hand" resting on her "spirit." It’s important to note, however, that this sense of security doesn't stem from Hurstwood's personality but from the stability, status, and worldly wisdom his “superior state” confers. His external qualities—rather than his character—create an illusion of alluring solace for Carrie.
By drawing a parallel between Hurstwood's social and financial influence and a hand's tender touch, the narrator conveys how much the “things he represented” (money, security, an entry into upper-class circles) mean to Carrie. It’s not that Hurstwood as a person is soothing—it's that he offers Carrie the tantalizing promise of security, prestige, and comfort. He doesn't have to say anything at all to appease Carrie. Just his presence is enough.
When Hurstwood is cornered by a friend while visiting Carrie in her hotel room, he struggles to react appropriately to the awkward situation. The narrative presents a simile to convey his agitation. When asked what he's doing, Hurstwood responds:
"Just attending to a little private matter," he answered, his mind working like a keyboard of a telephone station.
The 19th-century telephone station looked quite different from the telephones of today. The frenzied “keyboard” Dreiser invokes here doesn't refer to the numbers of a keypad. A "telephone station" would have been a busy room filled with seated operators connecting calls through physical, wired panels. This scene, with its rapid button pressing, switch-pulling, and swift responses, evokes a feeling of frenetic, constant activity and urgency. By comparing Hurstwood's thought process to this chaotic hub of communication, the narrator points to the dexterity and speed at which he's trying to find solutions. It paints an image of someone desperately sifting through multiple options to make a connection—much like an operator connecting calls.
However, there's also a sense of detachment. Hurstwood’s “mind” is the operator in this scenario, and his speech to his friend seems detached from it. Because he’s surprised and panicked, he seems to merely reacting without truly internalizing the gravity of his actions.
In a passage that warns of the prickly and unwelcoming reception given to outsiders by the elite, the narrator uses several similes to underscore the hostility of Hurstwood’s reception among the upper classes of New York:
This atmosphere is easily and quickly felt. Walk among the magnificent residences, the splendid equipages, the gilded shops, restaurants, resorts of all kinds; scent the flowers, the silks, the wines; drink of the laughter springing from the soul of luxurious content, of the glances which gleam like light from defiant spears; feel the quality of the smiles which cut like glistening swords and of strides born of place, and you shall know of what is the atmosphere of the high and mighty.
This passage uses similes to draw vivid comparisons between acts and objects of violence and wealthy society. The narrator portrays the affluence and opulence of New York's high society as both enchanting and threatening. The laughter of the elite is compared to light radiating from "defiant spears." This image evokes grandeur but also a sense of challenge and antagonism. It’s not a friendly sort of laughter: it keeps Hurstwood out rather than inviting him in. Similarly, their smiles are likened to "glistening swords," reinforcing the idea that behind the radiant, beautiful faces lies a potential for conflict and defense.
These similes emphasize the duality of the world Carrie and her companions navigate. On one hand, the opulence of the “high and mighty” is undeniably attractive, beckoning people in with promises of luxury and elevated status. Even its violence is pretty, as it “glistens” and “gleams.” On the other, it's a world filled with potential threats, where the privileged guard their status with sharp defenses. The similes serve to illustrate the paradoxical nature of 19th-century high society. While it looks from the outside to be a better life, it simultaneously poses challenges and hurdles for those who seek to ascend its ranks. Even though Hurstwood is comparatively well-off, he isn’t a natural member of this group and feels shunned by it. He's wealthy enough by Chicago standards, but in New York he is "nothing."
After attending a play in Chapter 31, Carrie is overwhelmed by the displays of wealth around her. Dreiser brings the affluence of Carrie's surroundings to the reader’s attention with a simile:
The scene she had witnessed coming down was now augmented and at its height. Such a crush of finery and folly she had never seen. It clinched her convictions concerning her state. She had not lived, could not lay claim to having lived, until something of this had come into her own life. Women were spending money like water; she could see that in every elegant shop she passed. Flowers, candy, jewelry, seemed the principal things [...] And she—she had scarcely enough pin money to indulge in such outings as this a few times a month.
The simile—"[w]omen were spending money like water"—captures Carrie's perception of the ease with which affluent women make purchases. In contrast to herself, a woman who has only achieved some security after a lifetime of work, money seems to come to these people effortlessly. Just as water flows freely and abundantly, money seems to spill from the hands of these rich ladies. This simile points to the bitterness of Carrie's own financial struggles. It also emphasizes her deep envy towards those who can afford luxuries without a second thought, when her own are so hard-won.
