Mood in literature is the feeling a piece of writing creates in the reader: dread, calm, longing, giddiness, unease. It is also called atmosphere. Writers build it from setting, imagery, the sound and rhythm of their sentences and the pace at which events unfold, so the reader feels a scene before anyone in it names a feeling. Tone is the writer's attitude; mood is the reader's response.
Below: how mood works in five classic texts, 40 mood words with what builds each one, the mistakes that break a mood, and how to build one. For the writer's side of the pair, the attitude, see tone in literature.
Mood and atmosphere, defined
Mood and atmosphere are often used as synonyms. When the two are separated, atmosphere is the quality of the story's world, the air of the place, and mood is what that world does to the reader. Fog in the streets is atmosphere. The tightness in your chest as you read about it is mood.
Mood is cumulative. A single detail rarely creates it; a run of details pointing the same way does. It is easiest to see in openings, where the feeling has to be set before the plot can carry it. Mood is also separate from tone, which is the attitude the writing takes. A narrator can be calm, even amused, while the reader grows afraid.
How writers create mood
Four kinds of choice do most of the work. The examples come from public-domain novels, stories and poems, so they are quoted at length.
Setting and weather
Place and weather are the oldest mood tools. A page into Emily Brontë's novel, the narrator, a new tenant named Lockwood, explains the name of his landlord's house.
Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling. “Wuthering” being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the power of the north wind, blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones.
Stunted, gaunt, craving, defended: a place that survives by bracing itself. The mood is harsh and exposed, and it prepares the reader for the people inside. Lockwood's jokey “pure, bracing ventilation” shows the gap between tone and mood: he is breezy, the house is not.
The thorns “craving alms of the sun” give the landscape a human need. John Ruskin named that habit the pathetic fallacy in the third volume of Modern Painters (1856). Used lightly, as here, it lets weather carry emotion. Used on cue, with a storm for every quarrel, it tends to become cliché.
Imagery and the senses
Sensory detail puts the reader in the scene, and the choice of senses sets the feeling. Dickens opens Bleak House with a London you can feel underfoot.
London. Michaelmas term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln's Inn Hall. Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill. Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes—gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun. Dogs, undistinguishable in mire. Horses, scarcely better; splashed to their very blinkers.
Mud is the detail that keeps coming back. It starts in the streets, then swallows the dogs (“undistinguishable in mire”), then reaches the horses, “splashed to their very blinkers.” Each return covers more of the city, until the reader feels it on everything. Most of the sentences have no main verb, so nothing moves and the city seems stuck.
The narrator's tone is something else: amused, even showy. A Megalosaurus waddling up Holborn Hill and soot “gone into mourning” for “the death of the sun” are jokes, told by someone enjoying the gloom. They don't lift the reader's mood. They make the weather feel like the end of the world, and the mood stays oppressive and grimy, grotesquely comic at the edges.
Sound and rhythm
Long sentences slow the reader down; dashes, repetitions and pauses hold them in place. Poe's narrator reaches the House of Usher at dusk, feels “a sense of insufferable gloom” at the first glimpse, and then looks:
I looked upon the scene before me—upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain—upon the bleak walls—upon the vacant eye-like windows—upon a few rank sedges—and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees—with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveller upon opium—the bitter lapse into everyday life—the hideous dropping off of the veil.
“Upon” opens six phrases in a row, and the dashes stop the eye at each detail, as the narrator's eye stops. The sentence keeps adding instead of resolving and ends on its heaviest words. The mood is oppressive gloom, and the rhythm is half of it.
Sound can also change a mood inside a poem. Matthew Arnold's “Dover Beach” (1867) opens in calm, “The sea is calm to-night,” and then asks the reader to listen:
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
“Begin, and cease, and then again begin” moves the way the water does, the commas pausing with each wave. By the end of the sentence the calm has turned to sadness, and later the poem hears a “melancholy, long, withdrawing roar.”
Contrast and pacing
A mood is sharpest against its opposite. W. W. Jacobs starts a horror story in comfort, and the comfort is what makes the reader uneasy.
Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnam Villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly. Father and son were at chess, the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the white-haired old lady knitting placidly by the fire.
Drawn blinds and a bright fire make a snug room, but “Without” draws a line around it, and the night waits outside. The father's reckless chess is comic and also a warning, a small piece of foreshadowing. The mood is cozy, with a draft of unease.
Pacing is the other half of contrast: a slow release of information lets dread build, and a sudden short sentence breaks it. The guides to pacing and suspense go further into timing.
More openings that set a mood
Mood isn't only gloom. These three openings set very different feelings with the same tools.
| Opening | Mood | What builds it |
|---|---|---|
| Opening“A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere.” Washington Irving, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” (1820) | MoodDrowsy, enchanted | What builds itSoft repeated sounds (drowsy, dreamy), a vague “influence” rather than a cause |
| Opening“A Saturday afternoon in November was approaching the time of twilight, and the vast tract of unenclosed wild known as Egdon Heath embrowned itself moment by moment.” Thomas Hardy, The Return of the Native (1878) | MoodBrooding, somber | What builds itNovember, twilight, a vast empty heath darkening “moment by moment” |
| Opening“Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing.” Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows (1908) | MoodRestless, joyful | What builds itMovement everywhere (above, below, around), a dark house broken open by spring |
40 mood words
Each word below names a feeling a passage can leave in the reader, with the details that usually build it. Use them to describe a mood in analysis, or to decide one before you draft. For words that name a writer's attitude instead, see the tone words list.
Dread and unease
- eerie — strangeness that suggests something unseen. Silence, emptiness, one thing out of place.
- ominous — a sense that something bad is coming. Warnings, darkening weather, small wrong details.
- menacing — a threat with a source. Someone watching, a dog that doesn't bark.
- claustrophobic — no room, no air, no exit. Narrow spaces, low ceilings, sentences that don't stop.
- uncanny — the familiar turned strange. Doubles, dolls, a home where one object has moved.
- suspenseful — waiting for an outcome the reader fears. Delay, and knowledge the character lacks.
- tense — nerves stretched, a scene about to snap. Short exchanges, pauses, hands and breath.
- haunted — the past pressing on the present. Old objects, repeated sounds, a room where something happened.
Sadness and loss
- melancholy — a quiet, lingering sadness. Dusk, autumn, slow rhythm.
- desolate — empty and abandoned. Open land, ruins, the absence of people.
- bleak — cold, gray and hopeless. Winter, poverty, plain short sentences.
- mournful — grief openly felt. Rituals, black clothes, the silence after a death.
- somber — grave and dark-hued. Formal settings, muted color, restraint.
- wistful — longing for something out of reach. Memory, distance, a window looking out.
- nostalgic — warm sadness for the past. Childhood smells, old songs, places since changed.
- lonely — isolation the reader shares. One figure, empty rooms, calls that go unanswered.
Calm and comfort
- serene — deep calm. Stillness, long vowels, even rhythm.
- peaceful — free of conflict. Nature, routine, soft sounds.
- cozy — warm and enclosed. Fires, food, bad weather kept outside.
- idyllic — an ideal, almost too perfect place. Summer, plenty, no visible work. Idylls often come just before a disruption.
- dreamy — soft-focused and drowsy. Haze, warmth, blurred edges, as in Sleepy Hollow.
- tranquil — settled and quiet. Still water, slow time.
- reverent — hushed awe. Sacred places, great height, silence.
- contemplative — an invitation to think. Solitude, open space, unhurried sentences.
Joy and energy
- joyful — open happiness. Celebration, color, movement.
- festive — shared celebration. Crowds, music, food.
- exhilarating — rushing excitement. Speed, height, short breathless clauses.
- whimsical — playful and a little magical. Talking animals, odd rules, gentle surprise.
- lighthearted — easy and untroubled. Banter, small stakes.
- hopeful — an expectation of good. Spring, beginnings, open doors.
- romantic — charged with love or longing. Nearness, glances, a setting that flatters both.
- triumphant — victory after struggle. A long buildup, then its release.
Strange, wild and mixed
- mysterious — something hidden that invites curiosity. Withheld facts, closed doors.
- surreal — dream logic in waking life. Impossible events reported calmly.
- chaotic — confusion and noise. Crowds, overlapping speech, broken sentences.
- frantic — desperate haste. Deadlines, running, clauses piling up.
- oppressive — a weight on the reader. Heat, crowds, authority, long airless paragraphs.
- gloomy — dark and dispiriting. Low light, heavy weather, decay.
- grotesque — distorted, both comic and repellent. Exaggerated bodies, mud, rot, as in Dickens's London.
- bittersweet — joy and sadness at once. Endings that cost something, reunions that come late.
In revision, the word belongs in your notes, not on the page. A few examples of turning the name of a mood into details that produce it:
| Mood | Naming it | Building it |
|---|---|---|
| Moodeerie | Naming it“The street was eerie.” | Building it“Every porch light on the street was on, and every house was dark.” |
| Moodclaustrophobic | Naming it“The attic felt claustrophobic.” | Building it“She had to crouch under the rafters, and every breath tasted of insulation.” |
| Moodtense | Naming it“The meeting was tense.” | Building it“Nobody touched the pastries. When the door opened, three people looked at their phones.” |
| Moodcozy | Naming it“The kitchen was cozy.” | Building it“Rain on the window, the oven door open a crack for the heat, a dog asleep on someone's feet.” |
| Moodnostalgic | Naming it“The smell made him nostalgic.” | Building it“The bakery still used the same paper bags, and he folded the top twice, the way his mother had.” |
Mistakes that break a mood
- Naming the feeling. “An eerie silence fell” tells the reader what to feel and gives them nothing to feel it about. Show the silence: the fridge stops humming, and nobody moves. That is show, don't tell applied to atmosphere.
- Filtering it through a character. “She felt a sense of dread” puts a layer between the reader and the scene. Filter words like felt, noticed and sensed thin a mood out. Give the reader what she sees instead.
- Stacking adjectives. Dark, gloomy, shadowy and menacing in one sentence read as purple prose. Poe's sentence above works because its words are nouns and images, not a pile of synonyms.
- Weather on cue. Rain for every sad scene is the pathetic fallacy as habit. Let the weather work against the feeling now and then, as the perfect day does in Mansfield's “The Garden Party” (1922), a story with a death in it.
- One wrong detail. A wisecrack, a modern word in a period scene, a breezy sentence in the middle of dread. Readers often feel the break before they find the cause, so make every mood-breaker deliberate.
Build the mood of a scene
- Choose one mood and write it down
Pick a word from the list and put it at the top of the scene. In the scene outline template, add it next to the setting.
- Pick three concrete details that produce it
Choose details from the setting, at least one through a sense other than sight: a smell, a temperature, a sound that stops. The descriptive words list is sorted by subject if you need the exact word.
- Let the viewpoint character notice them
A frightened person and a bored one notice different things in the same room. Choose details your point of view character would actually register, in words they would use.
- Set the rhythm to match
Long sentences for immersion and slow dread, short ones for shock, panic or relief. Change the rhythm when the mood should change.
- Read it aloud and cut what breaks it
Listen for the one detail that belongs to a different scene, and remove or move it. On a long chapter, ask the Strokes Assistant to review it for the mood you wrote at the top and list the sentences that break it or name the feeling instead of building it.
Lonely. At two in the morning the Suds & Duds on Fulton Avenue had one customer and nine empty dryers. Maya watched her own sheets turn, the only thing in the room that moved, and read the corkboard twice: guitar lessons, a lost cat named Pepper, a room for rent in a house that wanted a quiet person.
Uneasy. At two in the morning the Suds & Duds on Fulton Avenue had one customer and nine empty dryers, but dryer six was warm. Maya touched the glass and took her hand back. The door chime hadn't rung all night. Behind her, on the corkboard, the flyer for the lost cat had been taken down, and the pin was still swinging.
Same place, same hour, same woman. The first version picks details about absence and other people's small lives. The second keeps the absence but adds three things that shouldn't be true, and gives the one that explains nothing, the chime that never rang, a short sentence of its own.
Frequently asked questions
Can a story have more than one mood?
Yes, and most long ones do. A mood can turn inside a single poem: "Dover Beach" opens on a calm sea and, by the end of its first stanza, hears "the eternal note of sadness." In fiction the turn often comes with an event, as when a death interrupts the party in Mansfield's "The Garden Party." Name the mood of each part and say where it turns.
Is mood the same as tone?
No. Tone is the attitude the writer or narrator takes toward the subject; mood is the feeling the reader is left with. They often match, but they can split: in Wuthering Heights, Lockwood jokes about the "bracing ventilation" while the reader senses a hostile house. Ask how the writer feels for tone, and how you feel for mood.
Is mood the same as atmosphere?
Usually the words are used interchangeably. When they are separated, atmosphere is the quality of the story's world, the air of a place such as Dickens's mud-bound London, and mood is the emotional effect that world has on the reader. Atmosphere is in the setting; mood is in the person reading it.
