And, I suppose, imagery through language choice, or diction. Diamant seems to use a blend of plain talk with some lovely description:
When she first arrived in Gloucester, Ruth had asked a boy how to get to Brimfield farm. Following his directions, she’d taken an old walled road, past weedy fields and stunted trees and through a swamp that seemed to suck the color out of the sky and the song out of the birds. The air was so hot and thick, Ruth felt like she’d stepped into an oven. A parched, abandoned landscape where lightning or carelessness had scorched the trees and only the grasses seemed confident of the future, it was the most desolate place she’d ever seen. (p. 61)
The simplicity of “old walled road” and the image of “weedy fields” rather than “field of weeds” are proof of the thought put into the word structure. I love the swamp, a muddy, mucky waterhole that we’ve all seen likened to the purity of a woodsy pond as a mirror image, yet instead of reflecting the beauty of the sky and nature, steals and dulls it. Who could doubt the fresh newness of the grass when described as “confident of the future.”
Diamant doesn’t overdo it. She understands her object, perhaps has studied and experienced it, and has decided what it is capable of being. All together, we get the whole picture of the scene.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology