Trained by reading hundreds of submissions, editors and agents often make their read/not-read decision on the first page. In a customarily formatted book manuscript with chapters starting about 1/3 of the way down the page (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type), there are 16 or 17 lines on the first page.
Here’s the question:
Would you pay good money to read the rest of the chapter? With 50 chapters in a book that costs $15, each chapter would be “worth” 30 cents.
So, before you read the excerpt, take 30 cents from your pocket or purse. When you’re done, decide what to do with those three dimes or the quarter and a nickel. It’s not much, but think of paying 30 cents for the rest of the chapter every time you sample a book’s first page.
Please judge by storytelling quality, not by genre or content—some reject an opening page immediately because of genre, but that’s not a good enough reason when the point is to analyze for storytelling strength.
This novel was number one on the New York Times hardcover fiction bestseller list for September 18, 2016. How strong is the opening page—would this narrative, all on its own, have hooked an agent if it came in from an unpublished writer? Following are what would be the first 17 manuscript lines of the first chapter.
Armand Gamache sat in the little room and closed the dossier with care, squeezing it shut, trapping the words inside.
It was a thin file. Just a few pages. Like all the rest surrounding him on the old wooden floor of his study. And yet, not like all the rest.
He looked at the slender lives lying at his feet. Waiting for his decision on their fate. He’d been at this for a while now. Reviewing the dossiers. Taking note of the tiny dots on the upper-right corner of the tabs. Red for rejected. Green for accepted.
He had not put those dots there. His predecessor had.
Armand placed the file on the floor and leaned forward in his comfortable armchair, his elbows on his knees. His large hands together, fingers intertwined. He felt like a passenger on a transcontinental flight, staring down at fields below him. Some fertile, some fallow and ripe with potential. And some barren. The topsoil masking the rock beneath.
But which was which?
He’d read, and considered, and tried to drill down past the scant information. He wondered about these lives, and he wondered about the decisions of his predecessor.
For years, decades, as head of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec, his job had been to dig. To collect evidence. To review facts, and question feelings. To pursue and arrest. To use his (snip)
My vote and notes after the fold.
This is A Great Reckoning by Louise Penny. Was this opening page compelling to you?
My vote: no.
The review average on Amazon for A Great Reckoning was a remarkable 4.9, something I rarely see. I was eager to see the narrative that earned such high ratings. It turns out that this novel is for readers different from me.
I was encouraged by the wonderful voice and the strong writing (except for that little POV slip of “large” hands). Later, the narrative takes its time—really takes its time—to reveal potentially interesting characters. But, sadly for me, not story. I did read on, provoked by a question: what were these people being accepted or rejected for? Turns out this is what I call an “information question,” not a story question. I read on for many pages and, somewhere deep in chapter two I found a hint. Only a hint. I think they were students applying to a school that the character now heads. I think. And there was focus on a particular student. But there was no clue why.
This is reported to be a mystery. And it is part of a series—the writer and protagonist have fans galore, which I suspect accounts for the high ratings. Still, after reading two chapters, I had no idea what the “mystery” is. There was plenty of nicely written exposition about past events, but nothing about the story of a great reckoning. I ran out of patience.
I will grant you that the characters are deep and interesting, and could become people I cared about. But, for me, that needs to happen in the context of a story, and this didn’t deliver much in that department. There were no stakes, no consequences, no goals, no (for me) tension. Which is what I mean by it being for readers different from me. Readers who prefer a more literary, slow-moving, detailed narrative may love floating along, buoyed by its prose. I wish them a happy read, but this book failed to capture my interest, not only with the first page, but with the roughly 20+ pages that followed.
Your thoughts?
Turn the page for free by utilizing Amazon’s “Look inside” feature, and I recommend doing that if you have the time and interest. A Great Reckoning is here.
Stop by my Monday “Flog a BookBubber” feature Flogging the Quill. BookBub is a website that offers free or very low cost ebooks. It is heavily used by self-publishers, though established authors are sometimes there.
We often see the meme on the Internet that self-published authors should have had editing done before they published. So the new Flog a BookBubber posts take a look at opening pages to see if that’s true. You can vote on turning the page and then on whether or not they should have sought an editor. Visit on Mondays and take a look.
Wish you could buy this author a cup of joe?
Now, thanks to tinyCoffee and PayPal, you can!
About Ray Rhamey
Ray Rhamey is the author of four novels and one writing craft book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling. He's also an editor of book-length fiction and designs book covers and interiors for Indie authors and small presses. His website, crrreative.com, offers an a la carte menu of creative services for writers and publishers. Learn more about Ray's books at rayrhamey.com.
I gave it a no vote. The setting was fine and the writing is good, but I got no sense of the novel’s tone. There was a lot of description but nothing that steered me toward any emotion. My fear after reading this page would be that the rest of the book was just as slow, so I’d most likely move on to another selection.
Yes. I’d read on. The phrase “slender lives” hooked me.
I’m with Jim. While I don’t yet know what this character is up to, or why he cares (and therefore why I should care), there is a hint in him of…curiosity, compassion, what–?
He is questioning the judgments of his predecessor, certainly, and that is both plot-intriguing and just emotionally-engaging enough for me to turn the page.
Also, Ray, this slow opening sets my expectations for a thoughtful, in depth pace. We’re not rushing to the crime scene or to the brink of world disaster, we’re gonna take our time with this case.
When the writing is this good, I’m okay with that. This author is going to make it worth my while–as Louise Penny usually does.
Thanks, Don. Your comment reflects exactly why I said this could be just fine for readers other than me.
Hi Ray–thank as usual for “Flog a Pro.”
Recently, I read a review for a highly successful first novel written by a British writer. He was the first “graduate” of a special program to educate young novelists. The book came blasting onto the market with lots of high-powered endorsements, blurbs, etc. The reviewer thought the book was a dud, and said that the first two-thirds involved countless recyclings of the opening hook–“wash, rinse, spin, repeat.”
He attribute what to him was the book’s undeserved success to “guerilla marketing”–lining up, in advance, high-profile “shock troops” like Dennis Lehane to provide the imprimatur of quality.
My guess is, guerilla marketing (and name recognition) are what lie behind the success of so many of the undeserving bestsellers you feature in your posts.
Today’s offering doesn’t get my thirty cents for reasons of style. The writer makes repeated use of staccato short sentences. The purpose is to generate a sense of tension in the reader, a feeling of mounting suspense. But it doesn’t work, because it’s too obviously intended to manipulate the reader, and comes off as amateurish. When this sort of stylistic device draws attention to itself, I stop focusing on the story. I know I’m being “had,” and don’t bother.
I would be interested enough to turn the page. I want to know what this character is wrestling with.
I’m in a generous mood today, if 30 cents counts as generous. On the key question the answer was “yes.” I liked enough about the writing style to give it a whirl, or at least a turn of the page. My interest might wane, but not yet.
I particularly liked the character comparing his task to that of assessing fields from an airplane. I figure if that is the way the character thinks and if he remains a primary narrative vehicle (unclear at this point), I might enjoy the ride.
May not be much, but for an opening page it worked.
I found it impossible to cast a fair vote because I know and love the series (except for one book which was a horrible dud owing to some gross errors and implausibilities about the setting and characters) and recognized the character right away. I’m on the wait list for this book at the library.
On a cold reading I would probably have voted no, based on all the reasons already cited.
Am I alone in noticing that series authors often start out tentatively but writing well enough to enlist their readers, then get progressively better and better, then begin to overreach themselves and either jump the shark or get sloppy? (Just speaking generally, not necessarily about this particular author.) At any rate, may such a fate never befall any of us!
Which book in the series was that?
Jump the shark? I’d love to know what this means. A great expression, whatever the meaning.
Jump the shark comes from an episode of Happy Days where the Fonz literally jumps a shark while water skiing. It has come to mean the point when a story goes too far and into the realm of the ridiculous and is never as good again.
I’m curious about where this is going because I am familiar with the character and the interesting choices that he has made in prior books. It is hard for me to read this without a layer of bias because I love the Gamache books.
That being said, if I was encountering this page, with no expectations and prior knowledge, it might be a pass.
I loved the opening. It intrigued me, and the writing made me smile with pleasure, as if the author were inviting me to sit by a stream and listen to the quiet sounds that rushing water might have masked.
So, I’d turn the page or pages.
This was really helpful to see as a writer — because I’ve been wrestling over the first 250 words of a WIP for the last few weeks. If Penny’s story had started with the second paragraph, I might have voted yes. I voted no because I was not immediately drawn in. I really loved the concept and the image of the dossiers, but the beginning felt too disjointed and repetitive to me. Really useful post, thank you!
I agree with Barry – the staccato sentences turned me off as they continued on.
I’ve never heard of the series, but I’m handing over my 30 cents on the strength of the opening paragraph. “Armand Gamache sat in the little room and closed the dossier with care, squeezing it shut, trapping the words inside.”
Trapping the words inside immediately shows me what this character is like, and I want to figure out what he’s doing. This is going to be a story of character revelation, and this looks like an intriguing character. And then, I’ll also get to go to Québec!
Funny – “trapping the words inside” immediately turned me off to this first page. Felt way too precious. After that, in a bookstore I probably would’ve put it back on the shelf.
Like Ray said, for different type of readers.
I voted “no”. I instantly identified this author because I recognized her habitual style of writing, and I agree entirely with Barry: “The writer makes repeated use of staccato short sentences. The purpose is to generate a sense of tension in the reader, a feeling of mounting suspense. But it doesn’t work, because it’s too obviously intended to manipulate the reader, and comes off as amateurish. When this sort of stylistic device draws attention to itself, I stop focusing on the story. I know I’m being “had,” and don’t bother.”
I voted yes. The introduction may be slow but it immediately delivered a personality worth following. The protagonist closed a file ‘with care’. He ‘trapped the words inside’… and likened a spread of files on a floor to a ‘landscape of fields seen from the air’. Yes, I would read on. This writer promises a story rich in style.
What I wouldn’t give a yes to is the amateurish book cover.
If you’re a well known author you don’t need thoughtful and creative packaging. Which rather confirms readers judge a book by its author. Obviously a wholly blah cover still sells a book when a name has earned stars.
I couldn’t agree with you more, Ray, and you too Barry. The pacing in Penny’s tedious tomes is non-existent.
Nope.
I would not.
Definitely not.
Not me.
Even though I like sentence fragments.
As much as the next guy.
This author is taking forever.
Freaking FOREVER.
To get to the point.
So, nope.
I would not.
Definitely not.
Not me.
Like several others here, I recognized Penny (and Gamache) right away, having read a number of earlier books in the series. So yes, it was hard to assess this one objectively, but I gave it a shot. In the end, though, I was/am too accustomed to Penny’s style and would definitely turn the page on this one.
I’ve noticed that bookstores now shelve Penny in both the Fiction and Mystery sections, and I think she’s straddling both genres. That might be part of the problem for some readers, but when I pick up one of her books, I know that I’m getting explorations of character, relationships and motivation, a portrait of a particular town/community, and the mystery in question is often secondary to that. Increasingly secondary, in fact, as the series progresses, and that’s not going to be to everyone’s taste.
I voted yes.
Slender lives waiting at his feet for his decision? Yes, I want to know more. Who is he and why is he deciding their fate, or some part of it? Why did his predecessor reject some of those lives and accept others? Why is this character now wondering about those decisions? How well did he know his predecessor? Who was his predecessor and what happened to him/her? And, whose lives are awaiting a decision? Yup, for me there’s plenty to keep me reading.
I’ve never read Louise Penny, but now I’m interested–just put this book on reserve at the library.
Be sure to read the series from the beginning. They really do build on each other. (Even though not *technically* a series, the characters and plot lines develop over the 13 books and it is so delightful.)
I voted yes for the sense of control the author conveyed- yes, it’s taking awhile but you know you’re in good hands. It was close, and it’s a matter of taste in the end: personally I found the high-altitude metaphor too gratuitous, an example of hey-there’s-this-comparison as opposed to one that actually works. I’ve had the same feeling from being high in an airplane, but I don’t think it’s the same as how you’d feel “towering” over a bunch of files on the floor. The main carp I have is not enough sense of emotion, why the MC cares (and therefore why I should).
I voted no. A novel ought to open with some sort of emotional attachment for the reader to CARE.
This protagonist seemed settled to contemplate his navel.
I’m not an impatient reader, and I appreciate good writing style (this has it for me), but I don’t appreciate words for the sake of words, and I want to see some forward motion.
The character failed to engage my sympathy, and one small phrase (“slender lives”) was not intrigue enough to pull me in.
I agree we should care … and I did care enough about the lives he was trying to make a decision about. I don’t usually want a slower pace, but I was okay with the beginning of this – at least enough to turn the page.
Hello Pam
I was unable to care about the protagonist. Which is what I meant. I certainly was unable to care about the lives of characters I hadn’t yet met. :o)
Although the writing I most appreciate is character-driven, and this is obviously character-driven, I also feel that a sense of STORY ought to appear in the first page(s). In this first page, I had no sense of story direction. It just seemed to float in situ with his elbows on his knees.
I would pass on this, as well. But maybe this is because the line-editor part of me has taken over.
This first paragraph for example: Armand Gamache sat in the little room and closed the dossier with care, squeezing it shut, trapping the words inside.
Trapping the words inside is a nice touch. But why little room? Why not just: AG closed the dossier with care, squeezing it shut, trapping the words inside?
Likewise, the rest of this writing seems bloated. What he’s trying to say can be said more effectively in fewer words. The comparison of sitting in an armchair looking at the floor to looking out an airplane window at the fields below doesn’t work at all. Maybe it would if there were windows in the floors of airplanes.
I liked it enough to actually put the book on hold at the library. Well, book one because I hate starting in the middle of a series.
Yes, read the books in order! The characters develop over time.
I voted yes – I was intrigued. And sometimes I like a slow – or should I say, subtle – start. I don’t know the author or character, so no previous thoughts.
I’m in.
The first sentence delivered style and character, setting and the hint of a problem. After that , it was the author’s to lose, and she didn’t.
For me, the short sentences read as thoughts, commentary on setting and the problem at hand.
The one positive is that I knew the name of the protagonist up front. I’m not a fan of stories that start with a pronoun and don’t get to a name for three pages.
However, when the name is the first two words of the book, I find that an equal put off. It’s like name-dropping at a party, signaling that the name is more important than anything else.
Not being familiar with the author or series, I had no preconceived ideas.
Were I wearing an agent or publisher hat, I’d have returned the manuscript to the author, suggesting an assertive editor or incisive critique group would help get it in better shape.
This is not an author I’d take on as an editorial client. I’m afraid I’d be bogged down in trying to explain the inexplicable to someone who didn’t get it.
Nope.
Snooze-arama.