Favorite First Paragraphs

[Jennifer L. Carson]

I was participating in a thread called The Difficulty of opening a story. This lead me to think about some of my favorite openings, and I listed some of my favorites in that thread. Then I thought, wouldn't it be cool to see what people like and hear why they like it?

My first one is Shirley Jackson's "We Have Always Lived in the Castle." I became enamored with her when I read her short story "The Lottery," which was a very common staple to read in the US when I was growing up. I just love her work.

Here is the opening paragraph:

My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all I could haw been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amonita phalloid the deathcup mushroom. Everyone else in my family is dead.

I love it because it feels oddly disjointed and yet, once you read the book, you realize the first paragraph is an outline for the entire thing. It's a still life shot of what's to come. I am in awe of it whenever I think of it. But even without reading the rest of the book, I find it disturbing in a compelling way.

 

[Steven Sorrels]

One of my favorites would have to be from Stephen King's Dark Tower cycle. Book 1, "The Gunslinger".

Here it is:

The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.

The desert was the apotheosis of all deserts, huge, standing to the sky for what looked like eternity in all directions. It was white and blinding and waterless and without feature save for the faint, cloudy haze of the mountains which sketched themselves on the horizon and the devil-grass which brought sweet dreams, nightmares, death. An occasional tombstone sign pointed the way, for once the drifted track that cut its way through the thick crust of alkali had been a highway. Coaches and buckas had followed it. The world had moved on since then. The world had emptied.

Okay, so it was technically two, but I think you can forgive me. Love that opening. Not only is that a great first line, considering everything to come, but his description of the desert painted a perfectly clear image in my head of the desolation and emptiness of the land around the gunslinger.

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

From More Than Human by Theodore Sturgeon (1953):

The idiot lived in a black and gray world, punctuated by the white lightning of hunger and the flickering of fear. His clothes were old and many-windowed. Here peeped a shinbone, sharp as a cold chisel, and there in the torn coat were ribs like the fingers of a fist. He was tall and flat. His eyes were calm and his face was dead.

 

[Jennifer L. Carson]

The world had emptied.

I love the last line of this.

And I can see why you like that opening, Victoria. The metaphor & similie is wonderful in it. I'm a fan of those. Great opening description. The close scruitiny of a character as the opening paragragh happens in one of the three favorites I listed above. Michael Moorcock's Elric of Melnibone, though I think the description you posted is oddly active. Very interesting.

I can't say I think this is a fantastic first start from a writing perspective, but I still like it. I read the book when I was in my late teens, and I've never forgotten it. I list it because if something has stuck with you for decades, I'm thinking they did something right. Plus I still enjoy reading it. As for why I think it works for me, the vividness just sticks in my head, especially since I'm a sucker for fae-like characters.

ELRIC OF MELNIBONE
It is the colour of a bleached skull, his flesh; and the long hair which flows below his shoulders is milk-white. From the tapering, beautiful head stare two slanting eyes, crimson and moody, and from the loose sleeves of his yellow gown emerge two slender hands, also the colour of bone, resting on each arm of a seat which has been carved from a single, massive ruby.

 

[AnyaKimlin]

It's not a fantasy opening (although I think it would make a brilliant one) and I know it is everything that shouldn't make a wonderful opener but it's the one that sticks with me

MOORLAND COTTAGE BY ELIZABETH GASKELL:
If you take the turn to the left, after you pass the lyke-gate at Combehurst Church, you will come to the wooden bridge over the brook; keep along the field-path which mounts higher and higher, and, in half a mile or so, you will be in a breezy upland field, almost large enough to be called a down, where sheep pasture on the short, fine, elastic turf. You look down on Combehurst and its beautiful church-spire. After the field is crossed, you come to a common, richly colored with the golden gorse and the purple heather, which in summer-time send out their warm scents into the quiet air. The swelling waves of the upland make a near horizon against the sky; the line is only broken in one place by a small grove of Scotch firs, which always look black and shadowed even at mid-day, when all the rest of the landscape seems bathed in sunlight. The lark quivers and sings high up in the air; too high--in too dazzling a region for you to see her. Look! she drops into sight; but, as if loth to leave the heavenly radiance, she balances herself and floats in the ether. Now she falls suddenly right into her nest, hidden among the ling, unseen except by the eyes of Heaven, and the small bright insects that run hither and thither on the elastic flower-stalks. With something like the sudden drop of the lark, the path goes down a green abrupt descent; and in a basin, surrounded by the grassy hills, there stands a dwelling, which is neither cottage nor house, but something between the two in size. Nor yet is it a farm, though surrounded by living things. It is, or rather it was, at the time of which I speak, the dwelling of Mrs. Browne, the widow of the late curate of Combehurst. There she lived with her faithful old servant and her only children, a boy and girl. They were as secluded in their green hollow as the households in the German forest-tales.

This book I think should be classed as Magical Realism. It's a back story so again it's not one that I should like but this book dragged me in from the first word and didn't let me go until the last. (It still does and I must have read it 100s of times)

MIST OVER PENDLE BY ROBERT NEIL
In December 1595 died Dr William Whitaker, Master of St John's College and Regius Professore of Divinity in the University of Cambridge. He left to his widow some books, some sermons and the care of eight children, the youngest not a week old. And since he had been a poor man, he left her very little else.

It soon appeared that she might expect little help from his College, for he had been more esteemed out of it than in it. He had been too stern a Calvinist to please the Fellows, who would have liked him better, as one of them said, if they had found in him more of sweet England and less of sour Geneva.

 

[Juliana]

Here are a couple of openings I like, in very different styles.

1. The opening to Joe Abercrombie's The Blade Itself, since at the time I read it I hadn't yet read any fantasy that started in that sort of way, straight in the middle of things:

"Logen plunged through the trees, bare feet slipping and sliding on the wet earth, the slush, the wet pine needles, breath rasping in his chest, blood thumping in his head. He stumbled and sprawled onto his side, nearly cut his chest open with his own axe, lay there panting, peering through the shadowy forest."

Why do I like it? It neatly mixes action and description, so that even though we're set down bang in the middle of an action scene we can picture it, and immediately get a feel for the character even though we've just met him. I think it's incredibly effective.

2. The opening to V.E. Schwab's A Darker Shade of Magic. I'd never read anything by Victoria when I picked this up, and was instantly smitten.

"Kell wore a very peculiar coat.

It had neither one side, which would be conventional, nor two, which would be unexpected, but several, which was, of course, impossible."

Why do I like it? Not only is it catchy, but it's the perfect introduction to the slightly quirky magic in her world of parallel Londons.

 

[Ragandar]

I'll second The Blade Itself. It drew me in immediately, and got me back into reading fantasy at the time. It even got one of my friends to read, and I don't think he's touched a book in several years.

 

[Phyrebrat]

Surprised that Shirley Jackson's been mentioned but not in any reference to Hill House I agree with @Jennifer L. Carson - We Have Always Lived in the Castle has always been a favourite of mine, though, too.

Anyway, I've tried to limit my favourites - I wanted to put in Jonathan Strange, House of Leaves and Veronika Decides to Die, but here are the ones I limited myself to, in order of favouritity:

No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.

- Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House. (1959)
​

In the middle of a desolate Wednesday afternoon in the last swetlering days of May, and handful of mourneers were gathered in the church dedicated to St. Jude Thaddeus in Mobile, Alabama. The air conditioning in the small sanctuary sometimes covered the noise of traffic at the intersection outside, but occasiibaky it did not, and the strident honking of an automobile horn would soujnd above the organ music like a mutilated stop. The space was dim, damply cool and stank of refrigerated flowers. Two dozen enormous and very expensive arrangements had been set in converging lines behind the altar. A massive blanket of silver roses lay draped across the light-blue casket, and there were petals scattered over the white satin interiro. In the coffin was the body of a woman no more than fifty-five. Her features were squarish ad set; the lines that ran from the corners of her mouth to her jaw were deeply-plowed. Marian Savage had not been overtaken happily.

- Michael McDowell, The Elementals. (1981)​

The place is not like everywhere. Normally as you walk through the city, from Kissy by the harbour up to Murray Town at the top, you can hear various greetings; some say 'Indireh', others 'Buwa', occasionally you might get a 'Bonjour', and many people just say: 'Mornin, ma.' It is a city where everyone speaks at least two different languages, and meeting and greeting is not necessarily a quick and simple thing. That is how different people have lived together there for a long, long time. But war came, and greeting near-strangers became a fool's pastime.

- Deliah Jarrett-Macauley, Moses, Citizen & Me. (2005)
​

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

- Rebecca, Daphne Du Maurier. (1938)​

It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn’t care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.

- The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler. (1939)

​

With Jackson, you get a picture of the house, and its sinister predilections, in that first paragraph. In fact, when we meet the protag afterwards, it's a huge let down in comparison. But that opening... [wish]If I could write like that...[/wish]

McDowell breaks the rule of being character-y and deep-focused with an interesting if drawn-out description of a funeral chapel before introducing the darkly humorous line about Marian Savage. McDowell is the King of such cynical and often belly-busting humour - far better than Stephen King - and the book - in omni - gives you a strong sense of each character with the author not wasting any opportunity to bring in similar world-weary humour (Southern style) through dialogue, too. Anyone who loves the Deep South should read this book.

Moses, Citizen and Me, deals with the use of child soldiers in Sierra Leone's Civil War of 1992. Depending on your knowledge of West Africa and the francophone languages, plus the 'African way', this opening paragraph captures, for me, the beauty of W.Africa's people, and then hammers you with the dreadful last line. What follows is a heartwarming and heartbreaking - at times shamanic - tale of a Tottenham lady who comes across such child soldiers, and tries to rehabilitate them into the community by way of a performance of the krio version of Julius Siza. There's something The Tempest-like about this tale, it has a dreamy quality to the bush scenes that is pure poetry.

pH

 

[Gawian]

Maybe not just one paragraph, but lets all agree that the beginning of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy is just gold dust.

 

[Jennifer L. Carson]

Okay, Juliana, you got me with this one. I'm adding it to my reading list.

"Kell wore a very peculiar coat.

It had neither one side, which would be conventional, nor two, which would be unexpected, but several, which was, of course, impossible."

Phyrebrat, Yeah, Shirley Jackson, she's awesome. I just wish there was more to read by her...I'll join you in that wish to write like that, too. I remember finishing Castle and rereading the first paragraph and being stunned at how it outlined the entire book. And Hill House is magnificent. I forget the opening of lottery, must revisit that.

And people sometimes talk in other forums about writing the first line of a story. I think some of these posts have proove just how important the last line of the first para can be. Like a punch, as Phyrebrat noted about Moses, Citizen, and Me.

I have to give props to Joan Didion on first paras, too. I know she's an essayist, but man can she write. I learned a lot from her. I'll have to look up the one I'm thinking of and post it.

 

[Cli-Fi]

I was participating in a thread called The Difficulty of opening a story. This lead me to think about some of my favorite openings, and I listed some of my favorites in that thread. Then I thought, wouldn't it be cool to see what people like and hear why they like it?

My first one is Shirley Jackson's "We Have Always Lived in the Castle." I became enamored with her when I read her short story "The Lottery," which was a very common staple to read in the US when I was growing up. I just love her work.

Here is the opening paragraph:

My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all I could haw been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amonita phalloid the deathcup mushroom. Everyone else in my family is dead.

I love it because it feels oddly disjointed and yet, once you read the book, you realize the first paragraph is an outline for the entire thing. It's a still life shot of what's to come. I am in awe of it whenever I think of it. But even without reading the rest of the book, I find it disturbing in a compelling way.

Even though it's sort of a cop-out as someone who doesn't read many books would say, (I do read more than average people), I always liked the catcher in the rye's opening. Which sort of ties into your favorite:

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.

It was just really original writing and the way the book was written was beautiful.

Also maybe not the first paragraph but I always loved the Hobbit's famous opening line.

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit

Now you want to know what the heck a hobbit is!

 

[Cli-Fi]

Maybe not just one paragraph, but lets all agree that the beginning of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy is just gold dust.

No question about it. Another book with interesting prose and narrative all wrapped in a nice guidebook theme.

 

[Dave Barsby]

My two favourite opening lines would have to be:

George Orwell's 1984: "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen."

Philip Reeve's Mortal Engines: "It was a dark, blustery afternoon in spring, and the city of London was chasing a small mining town across the dried-out bed of the old North Sea."

Both of which start by innocuously establishing the climate and time of year, then knock reality out the ballpark.

 

[Jennifer L. Carson]

Also maybe not the first paragraph but I always loved the Hobbit's famous opening line.

Well how could you not like that one!

"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen."

Oh yeah, I had forgotten this one. Shame on me, cause I do love it. The other one is worthy of investigation, too. Very cool the way he knocks reality.

 

[Toby Frost]

Most of my favourite openings have already been covered, but I would mention two others. First, Ray Bradbury's opening to Farenheit 451: "It was a pleasure to burn." It's such a sinister, perverse sentence that it sets up the rest of the book perfectly.

Secondly, this, from the start of Count Zero by William Gibson.

They set a Slamhound on Turner's trail in New Delhi, slotted it to his pheromones and the color of his hair. It caught up with him on a street called Chandni Chauk and came scrambling for his rented BMW through a forest of bare brown legs and pedicab tires. Its core was a kilogram of recrystallized hexogene and flaked TNT.

The reason I like this is that it's full of images and ideas, but it gives you room for imagination. Another writer might spend half a page describing this street, but Gibson gives you enough. I don't know what a slamhound is or what it looks like - some kind of robot dog, presumably - but I get the feeling it's quite small, because it moves between legs and tyres.

Also, look at how succinctly Gibson introduces his world. Here's a street that is presumably poor and in the third world. People don't wear shiny foil suits here: their legs are still bare, and there are still pedicabs. But there are also rented BMWs, robot dogs and pheromone trackers. And if that didn't hint at the disparity and ruthlessness of Gibson's world, setting a bomb off to kill one man in a crowded street is a pretty clear idea of the sort of place we are dealing with.

I can see why some people might not like this opening. Some might consider it too condensed. But I think it's great - a swift and violent introduction to the story, with enough questions left over to keep the reader going.

 

[Carolyn Hill]

The first paragraph from The Left Hand of Darkness has always been one of my favorites.

"I'll make my report as if I told a story, for I was taught as a child on my homeward that Truth is a matter of the imagination. The soundest fact may fail or prevail in the style of its telling: like that singular organic jewel of our seas, which grows brighter as one woman wears it and, worn by another, dulls and goes to dust. Facts are no more solid, coherent, round, and real than pearls are. But both are sensitive."

The paragraph wakes my brain.

 

[Martin Gill]

Interesting how many of the paragraphs evoke very little conflict or sense of what's at stake. Consistent feedback on the writing forums here challenges would-be writers to set the scene very quickly with a feel for what's at stake. Gibson and Abecrombie's openers definitely do by hurling us into the action. The Stephen King one kind of does in the opening line, but then delivers a description of a desert. Many others are just descriptive (e.g. Elric). Evocative, yes, hinting at interesting concepts, yes, but often purely descriptive.

 

[Carolyn Hill]

LeGuin's first paragraph, like several others, makes claims that conflict with what many people usually expect to hear (in this case, what they expect to hear about truth and about facts.) That's one reason it "wakes my brain."

 

[Dan Jones]

Interesting how many of the paragraphs evoke very little conflict or sense of what's at stake. Consistent feedback on the writing forums here challenges would-be writers to set the scene very quickly with a feel for what's at stake.

I think this is a really astute observation. As budding writers with the odds stacked against us (of both/either trying to secure a traditional publishing contract, or making a success of self-publishing), there's naturally a desire to "know" the secret formula or algorithm that combines the right amount of Conflict, Stakes, Tension, Closeness to Character, etc on a first page. Maybe statistically this stuff helps, but I've always thought that, so long as something is well-written and compelling, or even just conveys an interesting idea, well put, then it merits the ongoing attention of the reader.

Unfortunately, as reading is such a subjective experience (see the "Authors you just don't get" in the Books discussion boards for evidence), there is no secret algorithm.

As for my own favourite opening paragraphs, I've got three, but one of them is from Moby Dick, and as such is far too long to type out here. The other two are:

"A green hunting cap squeezed the top of the fleshy balloon of a head. The green earflaps, full of large ears and uncut hair and the fine bristles that grew in the ears themselves, stuck out on either side like turn signals indicating two directions at once. Full, pursed lips protruded beneath the bushy black moustache and, at their corners, sank into little folds filled with disapproval and potati chip crumbs. In the shadow under the green visor of the cap Ignatius J. Reilly's supercilious blue and yellow eyes looked down upon the other people waiting under the clock at the D. H. Holmes department store, studying the crowd of people for signs of bad taste in dress. Several of the outfits, Ignatius noticed, were new enough and expensive enough to be properly considered offences against taste and decency. Possession of anything new or expensive only reflected a person's lack of theology and geometry; it even cast doubts upon one's soul." - A Condeferacy Of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole.

And...

"Into the face of the young man who sat on the terrace of the Hotel Magnifique at Cannes there had crept a look of furtive shame, the shifty, hangdog look which announces that an Englishman is about to talk French." - The Luck Of The Bodkins, PG Wodehouse.