As I mentioned in
an earlier post, I’m not captured by the first sentence in Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, but the following sentences
succeed where the first fails. Here is the entire beginning paragraph:
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long
precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to
interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery
part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating
the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever
it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily
pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I
meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it
requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into
the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high
time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball.
With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly
take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it,
almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the
same feelings towards the ocean with me.
I can’t help
wondering what a highly educated and apparently intelligent man is doing as an
ordinary seaman. I’m intrigued, so I keep reading. That’s why this type of opening
works.
Then there is
Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the
Rye by J.D. Salinger. The first paragraph is too long to quote in full, so
here are the first two sentences.
If you really want to
hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was
born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied
and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I
don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. In the first place,
that stuff bores me, and in the second place, my parents would have about two
hemorrhages apiece if I told anything pretty personal about them.
Clearly, Holden
has an “attitude,” and that attitude intrigues some readers. I’m not one of
them, but that goes to a point in a previous post: no first line (or first
paragraph) will appeal to everyone. In fact, no story will appeal to everyone.
I can tell from the first paragraph that the book is filled with profanity, so
I’ll pass. But for some readers, the opening has the opposite effect. And even
though I choose not to read The Catcher
in the Rye, maybe that’s also a function of a successful first line—to weed
out the readers who won’t appreciate the book.
Like Salinger in The Catcher in the Rye, C.S. Lewis begins
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader with
the description of an intriguing youth and his parents.
There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he
almost deserved it. His parents called him Eustace Clarence and masters called
him Scrubb. I can’t tell you how his friends spoke to him, for he had none. He
didn’t call his Father and Mother “Father” and “Mother,” but Harold and
Alberta. They were very up-to-date and advanced people. They were vegetarians,
non-smokers and teetotalers and wore a special kind of underclothes. In their
house there was very little furniture and very few clothes on the beds and the
windows were always open.
What kind of boy
almost deserves to be called Eustace Clarence Scrubb? Not a very likeable one,
but intriguing none-the-less. And I have read and enjoyed this book. I
originally bought it because I like the author, but I also appreciate the
writing style.
As with any other
opening, however, there are pitfalls to beginning a book by introducing an
intriguing character. The first is self-evident: not making the character
sufficiently intriguing to capture the reader’s attention. Just because I love
my character doesn’t mean my readers will have the same feeling at the
beginning of the book. By the time I finalize those opening paragraphs, I have
been living with my protagonist for months and know both her quirks and her
deepest secrets. When a new reader looks at the first pages to make a
purchasing decision, he or she doesn’t know that character yet. The trick is to
make the reader feel the same interest the author does but do it while the
character is still a stranger to the reader. And that isn’t easy.
The other pitfall
is maintaining the momentum. The character must fulfill the promise of the
opening lines and remain intriguing throughout the story. If you empty your gun
at the beginning and never reload, readers will cheer for you (as author) to die
in the dust. And they won’t return for the next gunfight.
So if you want to
begin with an intriguing character, make sure he or she fulfills that promise.
Next week we will
move on to openings that foreshadow the story.
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