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 online or at the bookstore.
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 nine on the New York Times paperback trade fiction bestseller list for August 20, 2017. How strong is the opening page—would this narrative, all on its own, have hooked an agent if it came in from an unpublished writer?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.
Anne can feel the acid churning in her stomach and creeping up her throat; her head is swimming. She’s had too much to drink. Cynthia has been topping her up all night. Anne had meant to keep herself to a limit, but she’d let things slide—she didn’t know how else she was supposed to get through the evening. Now she has no idea how much wine she’s drunk over the course of this interminable dinner party. She’ll have to pump and dump her breast milk in the morning.
Anne wilts in the heat of the summer night and watches her hostess with narrowed eyes. Cynthia is flirting openly with Anne’s husband, Marco. Why does Anne put up with it? Why does Cynthia’s husband, Graham, allow it? Anne is angry but powerless; she doesn’t know how to put a stop to it without looking pathetic and ridiculous. They are all a little tanked. So she ignores it, quietly seething, and sips at the chilled wine. Anne wasn’t brought up to create a scene, isn’t one to draw attention to herself.
Cynthia, on the other hand . . .
All three of them—Anne, Marco, and Cynthia’s mild-mannered husband, Graham—are watching her, as if fascinated. Marco in particular can’t seem to take his eyes off Cynthia. She leans in a little too close to Marco as she bends over and fills his glass, her clingy top cut so low that Marco’s practically rubbing his nose in her cleavage.
Was this opening page compelling to you? If it was, you can turn the page here. My votes and notes after the fold.
This is The Couple Next Door by Shari Lapena. Was this opening page compelling?
My vote: no.
This story received an review rating of 4.1 stars out of 5 on Amazon. While I think there is tension in this scene and that there are story questions raised, the writing failed to engage me with the character. Anne is certainly sympathetic—pregnant, tipsy, watching sexual tension happen between her husband and the sexy neighbor.
But the narrative feels arms-length to me. A couple of examples: the first sentence distances me with the old reliable “feel” filter. The narrative as it is:
Anne can feel the acid churning in her stomach and creeping up her throat; her head is swimming.
If you want to engage me in what’s happening to the character, immerse me in it rather than stand back and watch. To remove that filter:
Acid churns in Anne’s stomach and creeps up her throat; her head swims.
Here’s another one that seems to leap out of a close third pov to omniscient:
Why does Anne put up with it?
Who’s asking that question? The author? For this reader, overuse of “telling” plus dipping in and out of a consistent point of view promises more of the same in what’s to come, and I’m not prepared to pay good money for that ride. I should add that the actual story is about her six-month-old baby being taken, who she and her husband have stupidly left in their house next door without a babysitter. No hint of that kind of compelling tension in this page. I passed.
Your thoughts?
Flogging the Indie side: you’re invited to walk a little on the Indie side most every Monday, when I flog an author who has offered their novel free on BookBub. Just visit Flogging the Quill. You get to vote on turning the page and whether or not the author should have hired an editor. I occasionally find a gem that’s free, so it might be worth your time. Hope to see you there.
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.
No, I wouldn’t have turned the page, mainly for the same reasons as you. Plus, that reiteration of exactly who Graham was only a paragraph later was an amateur mistake, in my opinion (“Why does Cynthia’s husband, Graham, allow it?” followed by “Cynthia’s mild-mannered husband, Graham”). The rhetorical questions were another stickler.
Not my cuppa.
I voted yes.
I see the same flaws that you saw Ray, but the page held my attention throughout. I didn’t take a pause to reread a paragraph, which I do a lot in opening pages to make sure I didn’t miss some key element. It certainly wasn’t the best opening, but it was competent enough for me. (Excluding what Mike said above about reiteration).
I seem to be the first woman commenting today. Is that why I voted yes–merely because I’m a woman, have been a nursing mother, have watched my (now ex-) husband flirting with my neighbor’s wife, and occasionally have consumed too much alcohol? And therefore can identify with Anne and be blind to any weaknesses in the writing?
Maybe.
Or maybe I was intrigued because the description of garden-variety tipsiness ended with a punchy new element: “pump and dump,” which held my attention.
Or maybe those first paragraphs seemed to me to be competently organized and readable: (1) Anne in a bad state, (2) the predatory Cynthia described and contrasted with the more retiring Anne, (3) the response of this little gathering to Cynthia’s tactics. The scene is set, we know who the characters are, and relationships are sketched adequately. I’m ready to find out what happens.
I’m not bestowing high praise on high literature. But I do acknowledge a level of skill that is not always present in the clunkers Ray often offers us.
Yes on “no”. Thanks for showing me why.
I actually saw advertisements for this book and got it from my library. I liked the premise, the first page is full of tension and, as a mom, I could relate to the main character somewhat. BUT, the writing was not good in my opinion, for reasons you stated, and it didn’t get any better. After about three chapters, I abandoned the book. Thank you for the post!
I voted no. The writer showed us what was happening and then told us. Then there were the rhetorical questions. It also reads very awkwardly. I couldn’t even finish the sample shown here.
Good grief, NO! For all the same reasons you and Mike stated.
I voted no. I would have put the book down as another cliche domestic drama that are flooding the fiction market. Nothing here to really grab me in the writing or action. I agree with Ray that the narrative distance is too far away. I really don’t enjoy being on the outside of characters and that’s where I was as a reader. Also—forgive me for this picky editing comment—this sentence seemed poorly written: ‘Anne wilts in the heat of the summer night and watches her hostess with narrowed eyes.’ Who has the narrowed eyes? Anne or her hostess? And since the narrowed eyes didn’t bring us into a deeper perspective or meaning, it seemed superfluous.
Nice catch on the “narrowed eyes,” Paula.
So here’s the problem no one is addressing. Is it even possible to write this scene third person? Look at the number of times the author has to use “Anne” to refer to the focus character because “she” is unavailable. In close-third or first, the problem would vanish. I think you have to choose – find a different opening (that’s the room we enter where we don’t know anyone and are trying to figure out who’s hosting the party), or find a different voice.
Thank you! That is what was wrong! I struggled to get to the end of the page and realized that I would prefer to watch paint dry over reading more. It read awkwardly to me and it is because it is in the wrong POV. It is all over the place and makes it impossible to care about any of the characters. In case you were wondering, I voted a big NO! :)
I voted no. The writing is all over the place. Dizzyfying and boring.
Not in a million years. The present tense is offputting too.
No, and for Ray’s same reasons. Also the present tense didn’t work here, as David A. points out.
Books are expensive, I got it from the library and it was really terrible. One, page–return. So many books, so little …….Ann
Based on just tension and story questions, and for what this book is – domestic drama – I think yes, it’s enough to turn the page (just barely).
For anything else, no.
And like others, the writing was a no for me. This sort of distance is fine (and sometimes preferable) for other genres, but here I want to be in that character’s thoughts, and I’m not.
I voted no. The first paragraph was okay, but the author lost me with “Why does Anne put up with it?” Inconsistent POV is a dealbreaker for me.
The arm’s length POV is an immediate turn-off for me. And I am not interested in these characters.
I voted yes. Not a fan of filters, and the writing is a bit lackluster, but I was entertained and that’s usually why I read, as long as errors don’t detract from my enjoyment. In this case, the mediocre writing style is not enough to put me off when the situation engaged me as well as it did, so yes, I’d definitely read on.
Yes, though I’m not sure how long I’d stick with it.
I agree with the comments on POV distance and the craft questions. That said, there are enough story questions to keep me engaged, with the promise of imminent, overt conflict.
Plus, there are flashes of a funny, edgy voice I find appealing. (Pump and dump, Marco rubbing his nose in her cleavage.)
Nope.
For me it’s the subject matter: I just couldn’t care less about this kind of stuff, and would never subject myself to it in the name of entertainment.
The story seems, at least potentially, interesting. But the writing makes it hard for me to keep reading. Especially considering nowadays there are so many books offering compelling stories complemented by an impeccable style.
I never made it through the first paragraph. But the few words I did read made it clear the writer is after certain kinds of women readers. That said, this sample, courtesy of Flog a Pro, is more proof that “bestseller” is often strictly and economic indicator.
I thought ‘bestseller’ was ONLY an economic indicator.
I almost stopped in the first paragraph, but figured I might as well give it the old college try. Didn’t like it. Skimmed the end. I found it dull and awkward. Bad news for me? My WiP is in present tense (though first person). I’m not sure I like present tense.
EDIT: Opening line of this post is not meant as a snark at Barry, which it kind of looks like. Not intended that way!
Drunk and pregnant- Does not engage me
POV – it’s off putting and inconsistent
Any engaging characters or action- not for me
I will pass on spending the money to read more.
No, even though I am a woman, I have breast fed, and I have been subjected to a former husband’s flirtation with a predatory female. I too felt a distance from the character. And that last paragraph confused me on first reading. I thought everyone was watching Anne at first. Because this paragraph is preceded by “Cynthia on the other hand,…” it may have worked better to make Cynthia the subject and not the object in the following first sentence of the paragraph. The last sentence could have been moved up here, “She leans in a little too close to Marco as she bends over and fills his glass, her clingy top cut so low that Marco’s practically rubbing his nose in her cleavage.” Even better, have Anne express how she feels about Cynthia (let the reader get in her head) by referring to her in this line as “the bitch,” “the hussy,” “the bimbo”…By the way, I didn’t read this as Anne being pregnant, but rather as her being a new mom still breast feeding. One doesn’t pump before the delivery (unless things have really changed in the last 20 years.)
I voted no – the tense was distracting, the POV made me feel tipsy myself, and at the end of the day it’s a narrator telling us about four people sitting around staring at each other.
I almost voted “no” at the first sentence. Good lord, if I want to feel acid churning in my stomach, I’ll eat a pizza. But . . . I would pay 30 cents to see if the next page was any better. Honestly, though, I probably wouldn’t go past a buck and a half.
Why yes? Well, you’ve got a new mother (not pregnant! Breast milk is pumped after the baby comes) dealing with the age-old triangle situation. She’s got hormones coming out of her ears, and there’s good chance she’s going to get past this submissive, wimpy wife stage because she’s got a child whose future is depending on what she does now. Does she secure a secure future with a cheating husband who doesn’t go all the way? Does she find a backbone and bring hubby up-to-date on his new responsibilities as a father? Or does she find her ovaries and divorce the creep, get good child support and find the love of her life?
The title suggests option one or two.
Seriously not my cup of tea, but I kind of wonder how the author deals with this in the 21st century. She’s going to have to make her case pretty fast, though. I estimate that there’s an 80 percent chance that this is going to be an angsty bore until Anne finds her backbone.