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Using a leitmotif creates deep emotional & thematic resonance
Hi there,
I’ve just got back from the Cymera Festival where I was talking about my short story, Meat. It’s going to be published in The Monster, Capital by Comma Press.
It was an epic journey to Edinburgh from Somerset—10 hours on the train (the train was late), quick change, the panel event, and then, up early the following morning and another 9 hours back home. But there’s no substitute for being face-to-face with readers and chatting to other writers in person! Plus I got to go to café before the event, full of signs that read: JK Rowling did not write Harry Potter here!
By the way, Meat is available for paid subscribers to read for free and using it as an example, I walk you through 7 Steps to Writing a Story.
Also, I’m going to run an Ask Me Anything about writing in July (members, do please let me know your best date and time using the doodle poll link I sent you. Thank you!)
And now, on with leit motifs!
When I was writing my psychological thriller Bone by Bone, I wove the story of Little Red Riding Hood through the narrative as a kind of modern-day cautionary tale. The fairy tale is mentioned, even read aloud once, but more often it lingers in the background—reflected in a red coat worn by Autumn, the little girl in the novel who is being bullied; in the child’s unease as she walks home through a wood in an urban nature reserve in the dark, in the red of the paint used to graffiti the words, Bone by Bone, on to the wall of her house (it’s a line from an Emily Dickinson poem).
For me, threading this fairy tale through my novel became a way to deepen the emotional undercurrent of the novel: an echo of innocence threatened, of power misused, of danger that wears a familiar face. It mirrored the central theme of bullying—how the most evil people in society don’t always appear like the predators they are.
‘It wasn’t until the train went past that she saw the small body lying in the long grass by the side of the wood.
She couldn’t tell how long she’d been searching for her daughter. It was dusk, but it had seemed darker as she ran through the wood, tripping on hooked tree roots, her feet crunching through crisp, curled ash leaves. Round a tight bend, she stopped. Blocking the path was a dog. It was looking directly at her, as if it had been waiting for her. The dog was built like a wolf, but white with uncanny blue eyes. In the twilight, its ghostly fur seemed to glow.’
Bone by Bone by Sanjida Kay
What I was doing was using a leitmotif.
In this article, I’m going to explain what a leitmotif is, where the term first came from, how it was used in literature, show you how Thomas Harris used a leitmotif in The Silence of the Lambs, and then give you an in-depth writing exercise to help you create your own leitmotif.
What is a leitmotif?
A leitmotif is a recurring theme—usually a musical phrase, image, symbol, or phrase—that is associated with a particular character, idea, or emotion in a narrative. It acts as a subtle thread running through a story, reinforcing themes and deepening emotional impact.
In literature, leitmotifs can be words, phrases, images, or even sensory details that appear repeatedly throughout a work, triggering recognition and meaning for the reader. They can serve as foreshadowing, highlight character traits, or evoke a particular mood.
Where does the term come from?
The term leitmotif comes from the German Leitmotiv, meaning 'leading motif’. The earliest recorded use of the term in print was by the German musicologist Friedrich Wilhelm Jähns in 1871, who applied it to describe recurring themes in the works of composer Carl Maria von Weber.
The Ring Motif
One of the most famous and inspirational examples of a leitmotif is in Richard Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen (The Ring Cycle). It’s a monumental four-opera epic, often compared to The Lord of the Rings in its scope and mythology. It tells a story of gods, heroes and a cursed ring that grants power but brings destruction. The cycle, inspired by German and Norse mythology, explores themes of power, greed, fate, and redemption. This four-opera epic features numerous leitmotifs, each representing different characters, objects, and emotions.
For instance, the leitmotif associated with the cursed ring—an object of immense power and destruction—recurs throughout the entire cycle. It is a brief, descending, ominous phrase that signals greed, destiny and doom. Each time the ring is mentioned, desired, or fought over, Wagner weaves this motif into the orchestration, reinforcing its significance.
More recently, John Williams used the idea of leitmotifs in the film score for Star Wars.
How did the idea of a leitmotif become popular?
The term leitmotif was not widely used during Wagner’s lifetime, but his followers and critics quickly adopted it to describe his method. One of the earliest references is from Hans von Wolzogen, a Wagnerian scholar, who in 1876 published Leitfaden durch die Musikdramen Richard Wagners (Guide through the Musical Dramas of Richard Wagner), in which he systematically identified the recurring motifs in Wagner’s operas.
The term itself gained traction in the late 19th century. One of the first English-language references appeared in Edwin Evans’ 1899 work, which described Wagner’s themes as:
‘Musical phrases, persistent in their recurrence, which serve to remind the hearer of the personage, idea, or emotion they represent.’
Leitmotifs in literature
In literature, the adoption of the term ‘leitmotif’ occurred later. While the exact first usage in literary analysis is not precisely documented, the concept has been retrospectively applied to earlier literary works to describe recurring themes or elements. For instance, the motif of darkness in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness has been analysed as a leitmotif, symbolising the unknown and the subconscious.
One of the strongest leitmotifs in Heart of Darkness is darkness itself, which represents the unknown, moral corruption, and the destructive power of imperialism. The word “darkness” recurs throughout the novel in various forms, reinforcing its themes.
A particularly striking example is this passage:
‘It seemed somehow to throw a kind of light on everything about me—and into my thoughts. It was sombre enough, too—and pitiful—not extraordinary in any way—not very clear either. No, not very clear. And yet it seemed to throw a kind of light.’
Here, Conrad plays with light and darkness—the supposed ‘enlightenment' of European imperialism is, in fact, murky, ambiguous, and full of contradictions. This irony—where light is unclear and darkness holds more truth—is a repeating idea throughout the book.
Another key example appears when Marlow reflects on Kurtz’s final words, 'The horror! The horror!’:
‘I saw the inconceivable mystery of a soul that knew no restraint, no faith, and no fear, yet struggling blindly with itself.’
This continues the leitmotif of darkness, now internalised as the moral abyss within Kurtz. Throughout Heart of Darkness, Conrad uses darkness in a literal sense (the Congo jungle, the night) and a metaphorical one (moral decay, ignorance, and the savagery within so-called civilisation).
Thus, while the term originated in musical analysis in the late 19th century, its application to literature and other art forms developed subsequently, enriching the analysis of recurring themes across various mediums.
The Silence of the Lambs
In crime and thriller fiction, leitmotifs often take the form of repeated imagery, objects, or phrases that carry thematic weight. A good example is in The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris. The recurring motif of moths, particularly the death’s-head hawkmoth, serves multiple symbolic roles:
Clues in the investigation: The killer, Buffalo Bill, leaves moth pupae in his victims’ throats.
Symbol of transformation: Moths represent change, mirroring the killer’s twisted desire for transformation and Clarice Starling’s own evolution.
Recurring imagery: The motif reappears in dialogue, descriptions, and even in the film adaptation’s iconic poster.
This leitmotif ties together themes of identity, change and death, making it an integral part of the novel’s atmosphere and storytelling.
Writing exercise: Crafting a subtle leitmotif
A leitmotif in thriller and crime fiction should be subtle yet powerful—a recurring thread that adds depth to the atmosphere, foreshadows danger or reveals character psychology without being heavy-handed.
Step 1: Choose a leitmotif
Instead of something overt like a ticking clock or a recurring nightmare, select a motif that feels organic to your story and setting. Here are some ideas:
A specific texture (e.g., the smoothness of glass, evoking a character’s need for control)
An odd detail (e.g., the way light reflects off surfaces, such as a on wet pavement, hinting at a hidden truth)
A repeated but seemingly insignificant sound (e.g., the hum of an old fridge in tense moments)
A recurring interaction with an object (e.g., adjusting a crooked picture frame)
A faint, ambiguous scent (e.g., traces of antiseptic, hinting at past violence or an unseen presence)
Step 2: Connect your leitmotif to theme and character
Your leitmotif should serve a deeper purpose. Consider:
What does it symbolise? (Is it linked to deception, obsession, memory or control for instance?)
How does it evolve? (Does its meaning shift as the protagonist learns more?)
Can it be misleading? (Perhaps it lulls the reader into a false sense of security before revealing something sinister.)
Write a short paragraph explaining how this motif ties into your protagonist’s emotional state or the central mystery.
Step 3: Introduce your leitmotif naturally
Write a short scene (300-500 words) where your leitmotif first appears. Avoid drawing too much attention to it—let it emerge as part of the setting or an action.
Some approaches:
A detective notices something seemingly trivial while interviewing a suspect.
A protagonist absentmindedly interacts with an object, hinting at suppressed emotions.
A small but strange detail lingers in the background, creating unease.
Step 4: Reinforce it subtly
Rewrite the same motif’s appearance later in the story, but with added weight. Perhaps:
A new context makes the motif take on a darker meaning.
A character realises they’ve overlooked something crucial.
A slight variation suggests an unexpected shift in power or perception.
Bonus Challenge: The Red Herring Effect
If you want to experiment, use your leitmotif to mislead the reader.
Make it appear to be one thing early on, only for its true significance to emerge later.
Example: A Leitmotif in Action
Motif: A faint, bitter scent of burnt coffee.
First appearance: The protagonist, a journalist investigating a cold case, enters an abandoned house. There’s a lingering smell of burnt coffee, though no one has lived there for years.
Second appearance: During an interrogation, the suspect stirs sugar into his espresso, and the protagonist feels an odd sense of déjà vu.
Final appearance: In a crucial moment, she realises the killer wasn’t drinking coffee—it was the acidic smell of old blood she had unconsciously associated with the crime scene.
Let me know how you get on!
Sanjida x
PS If you want to read Bone by Bone and see if you can spot the leitmotifs, it’s available here.
You might want to read my article on red herrings first if you missed that one.
Or this masterclass on genre:
Coming next month, a masterclass on creating suspense and in-depth articles on how to weave fairy tales into modern fiction.
I've just finished reading 'A God in Ruins' by Kate Atkinson, and in the author's notes at the end, she talks about using leitmotifs (not that she calls it that):
'Imagery is for me of paramount importance in a text, not complex imagery that jumps up and down and demands to have its hand shaken but a more subtle web that weaves its way throughout, often enigmatically, and knits everything together. The 'red thread' of blood that binds the Todds echoes the red ribbon of the long leg to Nuremberg that echoes the thin red cords of Teddy's sheltered housing - a pattern that I hadn't even noticed until the final read-through of the novel and yet makes perfect sense to me now.'
She also talks about how the novel is about 'the Fall (of Man. From grace)', adding 'I see only now how much rising and falling there is in the text. Everyone and everything ascending in flight or falling to earth. (And the birds! Flock upon flock!)'
Really interesting thank you. I have a recurrent mermaid/water theme throughout my wip but you've made me think about how I can deepen some of the occurrences.