An Analysis of Twelve First Lines and Why They Work
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The first line of your novel is an invitation to the reader:
It invites them into the world of the story.
It forces them to ask a question that they want answered.
It lets them know the tone of the story: humorous, dark, quirky, contemporary, historical…
It introduces a place or a character.
Writers agonize over their first line, with good reason. It has to do a lot of heavy lifting! Ironically, it may be the very last thing you write, once you know how the story will fully play out.
Today, I want to look at some first lines and break them down to see how they do that work of helping the reader enter the story. Not necessarily famous first lines, but first lines of books I have around my house right now.
“In a hole in the ground lived a Hobbit.” The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien. Why it works: it immediately makes us ask: What is a hobbit?” We want to read on to find out. It’s a new term, and we want to know: what is it? Why does it live in a hole? What kind of hole?” It sets us in another world right away, and grounds us in the gentle tone of the story.
“Conscription Day is always the deadliest.” Fourth Wing, Rebecca Yarrow. Why it works: Again, we are immediately introduced to the new world. What is Conscription Day? Why is it deadly? In contrast to the The Hobbit, it shows us this world is brutal and exciting right away.
“Lymond is back.” The Game of Kings, Dorothy Dunnett. Why it works: Who is Lymond? Back from where? Why was he away? Why has he returned? These questions literally form the crux of the whole story, from 3 simple words.
“Nineteen years before she decided to die, Nora Seed sat in the warmth of the small library at Hazeldene School in the town of Bedford.” The Midnight Library, Matt Haig. Why it works: We’re hooked on the phrase, “decided to die.” What happens in the intervening nineteen years? Why will she decide to die? The tone is cozy, an intriguing contrast to the stark idea of approaching death.
“They shoot the white girl first.” Paradise, Toni Morrison. Why it works: This is a great example of the shock opening. Who shoots the girl, and why? Why is it notable that they shoot the white girl first? What is going on here?
“Darkness suits me.” Remarkably Bright Creatures, Shelby Van Pelt. Why it works: Who or what is speaking? Why does darkness suit them? That alone is unusual, and piques our interest. It also helps that the headline to the chapter is: “Day 1,299 of my captivity.” That could be considered the first line. Who or what has been captured? Why?
“‘Oh dear,’ Linus Baker said, wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘This is most unusual.’” The House in the Cerulean Sea, T.J. Klune. Why it works: Who is Linus Baker? Why does he seem so agitated? What is so unusual? The tone is set for a whimsical, offbeat story.
“I hold the note in my hand and look over at Scott Fenwick, not with my head but with my eyes only.” The Scott Fenwick Diaries, Kristin Nilsen. Why it works: Who is speaking? Who is Scott Fenwick? Why is the character looking at him without moving her head? What does the note say? This is a YA novel, so immediately we’re taken back to our own experience of passing notes in class.
“There was a time in Africa the people could fly.” The Invention of Wings, Sue Monk Kidd. Why it works: This sets a particular, almost mythic tone. It tells us this story may be grounded in the “real world” but will have some elements that are distinctly different. It also gives a sense of the narrator’s voice.
“The City of Water runs by its own clock.” The Glassmaker, Tracy Chevalier. Why it works: It introduces us to Venice, a very particular place, by a very particular idea: that it has its own sense of time. We’re transported into this world and how it experiences time from the very first sentence. We ask: What does it mean, that this city “runs by its own clock?”
“What’s the story you want?” Death of the Author, Nnedi Okorafor. Why it works: It shows us the main character right away. A little sassy, a little confrontational. We’re drawn in to ask: What is the story you have to tell? Also, are there different stories possible?
“I’m pretty much fucked.” The Martian, Andy Weir. Why it works: The immediate use of blunt, strong language, letting us right away into the mind - and peril - of this character. We want to know what happened, and, since the book is several hundred pages long, how he’s going to get out of the trouble he’s in.
As I looked at various opening lines, I realized I could have put ten where death is the main component, and most of them weren’t murder mysteries. Why does death work as an opening line? It’s shocking and it sets immediate high stakes. If death figures as a catalyst in your story, you may want to put it in the first line, setting the tone and the stakes right away.
What are the commonalities of the above lines? They signal something unusual. Something intriguing, that draws us in. A different way of looking at the world. A sense of mystery. A particular voice.
Try this: Look through the first lines of a dozen or more books on your shelf. Write them down. Think about the questions they force the reader to ask. How do they create a tone, or a voice, or a sense of the story?
Experiment with your own first lines. Take the first line of a work in progress, and write it at least five different ways (preferably ten). How do the different openings change your perspective of the story?
Note that none of these have the character simply waking up to a new day. That opening is now considered cliche and boring. Unless, like Gregor Samsa, they’re waking up to discover they’re suddenly a bug, ("As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect," from Franz Kafka’s “The Metamorphosis”) you want to stay away from a banal opening that says nothing special about the character or the day. Even if it’s in contrast to wildly chaotic happenings later, readers tend to skip over what they think they already know. We already know what it’s like to wake up, to face a day we’re looking forward to (or not).
Which brings up the point that sometimes your best first line is in your second paragraph. Or on the next page. It’s common for writers to do some “throat clearing" before they get to the meat of the story. Figure out where your story really begins.
And also, as mentioned earlier, where it really ends. The ending will need to answer any questions posed at the beginning, or at least lead the reader to believe the character is well on their way to answering those questions. That is how you set up a satisfying ending.
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