Chekhov's Mistress
First Sentence Meme: An Appreciation
I don’t know if this really counts as a meme, but a lot of people are talking about “great first sentences” of novels. I believe Ed started this and then his link to Litline’s 100 Best First Sentences stirred up more thoughts, the best of which is Jenny Davidson’s.
The problem I have with the Litline list is that it reads more like a list of popular books whose first sentences have become immortalized (is that the right word for something that wasn’t mortal in the first place, words themselves not being subject to death?), rather than truly compelling first lines. As Jenny pointed out, “Call me Ishmael” would not be so great if we didn’t know the power of what follows. Or, “For a long time, I went to bed early.” If I wrote that instead of Proust, I doubt very much it would make any lists.
What’s my favorite first line? I’m not sure. But the exercise of coming up with one is fun and valuable. With a similar feeling of looking at old family snapshots, I find myself thinking about the great books I’ve read, thumbing through them, trying to resist dropping everything to re-read them. Should I pop open a bottle of wine?
Okay, here’s my entry (In everything below I’ve specifically avoided anything from the Litline list):
“Even Camilla had enjoyed masquerades, of the safe sort where the mask may be dropped at that critical moment it presumes itself as reality.”
- William Gaddis, The Recognitions
I’m amazed, considering Gaddis was on the Litline list twice, that this wasn’t there. This is a chunky sentence and practically stands on its own, full of meaning and portent.
But first lines are so important, in my view, because they have the power to convey the entire mood of the book. Here’s one from what is probably my favorite novel, The Charterhouse of Parma, Stendhal begins:
“On May 15, 1796, General Bonaparte entered Milan at the head of that young army which had lately crossed the Lodi bridge and taught the world that after so many centuries Caesar and Alexander had a successor.”
The interesting thing about this sentence, while not being clever like the Gaddis, and not necessarily indicating what the book is about since Napoleon doesn’t figure heavily as a character in the book, only as a figure or metaphor, is that it sets you up for an epic story. Reading that, I expect great things.
Then there’s my favorite short-story writer, Flannery O’Connor, who, in Wise Blood (which is not a short story) begins with:
“Hazel Motes sat at a forward angle on the green plush train seat, looking one minute at the window as if he might jump out of it, and the next down the aisle at the other end of the car.”
This sentence isn’t monumental, but in O’Conner fashion – she doesn’t throw around extraneous details – it sets a tone and gives us just enough information to compel us to the next.
I could go on all day with this if I had the time. I’m one of those people who will toss aside a story if the first sentence is bad. But not always. Just to be different, I’ll give you a bad one. Here’s a first line that is, in my estimation, a terrible sentence, but the first in a very good book:
“Business once took me to Thessaly, where my mother’s family originated; I have by the way, the distinction of being descended through her from the famous Plutarch.”
- Apuleius, The Transformations of Lucius Otherwise Known as the Golden Ass (tr. Robert Graves)
Admittedly this isn’t a modern novel and you could allow for translation issues, but it really is just a bad sentence. Here’s one last line (from a short story), just for kicks:
“Celia’s large black breasts lumbered before the rest of her body as she hunched over a shopping cart, pushing it down the middle of the street, sweating and talking, it would seem, to the groceries she had just bought.”
comments
Sorry Bud couldn’t resist:)
“I’m one of those people who will toss aside a story if the sentence is bad. But not always. Just to be different, I’ll put give a bad one.
– Steve Clackson (02/01 at 04:11 PM)
Thanks, Steve. Fixed.
– Bud Parr (02/01 at 07:14 PM)
The Apuleius one is certainly bad, but it sounded incomplete to me, so I checked another edition I have, the 1566 translation by William Adlington. The first sentence in that one, which I’m willing to bet is much closer to the original Latin, is much longer:
“As I fortuned to take my voyage into Thessaly, about certaine affaires which I had to doe (for there myne auncestry by mothers side inhabiteth, descended of the line of that most excellent person Plutarch, and of Sextus the Philosopher his Nephew, which is to us a great honour) and after that by much travell and great paine I had passed over the high mountaines and slipperie vallies, and had ridden through the cloggy fallowed fields; perceiving that my horse did waxe somewhat slow, and to the intent likewise I might repose and strengthen my self (being weary with riding I lighted off my horse, and wiping away the sweat from every part of his body, unbrideled him, and walked him softly in my hand, to the end that he might pisse, and ease himself of his weariness and travell: and while hee went grazing freshly in the field (casting his head sometimes aside, as a token of rejoycing and gladnesse) I perceived a little before me two companions riding, and so I overtaking them made the third.”
In this one, the bit about the ancestry is merely an aside that introduces the narrator to us, whereas in Graves’s version, it’s given more weight, and sounds irrelevant.
– Thomas (02/02 at 05:53 AM)
Thanks for that, Thomas, that’s interesting. Graves puts Addlington’s version into several sentences. Given the comparison between the two it’s tempting (being the heretic that I am) to wonder what Graves was thinking when he made that sentence.
– Bud Parr (02/02 at 10:57 AM)
Yes, first lines in books are most memorable and most important for author. I few in my mind and reading your blog made me smile, i haven’t been thinking for first lines for a while. It’s a nice exercise.” People are many and for many kinds”
– canopy beds (06/01 at 08:42 AM)
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