Flog a Pro: would you pay to turn the first page of this bestseller?
By Ray Rhamey | October 18, 2018 |
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. In a sense, time is money for a literary agent working her way through a raft of submissions, and she is spending that resource whenever she turns a 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 October 21, 2018. How strong is the opening page—would this narrative, all on its own, hook an agent if it came in from an unpublished writer? Following are what would be the first 17 manuscript lines of the first chapter.
The Center squatted on the corner of Juniper and Montfort behind a wrought-iron gate, like an old bulldog used to guarding its territory. At one point, there had been many like it in Mississippi—nondescript, unassuming buildings where services were provided and needs were met. Then came the restrictions that were designed to make these places go away: The halls had to be wide enough to accommodate two passing gurneys; any clinic where that wasn’t the case had to shut down or spend thousands on reconstruction. The doctors had to have admitting privileges at local hospitals—even though most were from out of state and couldn’t secure them—or the clinics where they practiced risked closing, too. One by one the clinics shuttered their windows and boarded up their doors. Now, the Center was a unicorn—a small rectangle of a structure painted a fluorescent, flagrant orange, like a flag to those who had traveled hundreds of miles to find it. It was the color of safety; the color of warning. It said: I’m here if you need me. It said, Do what you want to me; I’m not going.
The Center had suffered scars from the cuts of politicians and the barbs of protesters. It had licked its wounds and healed. At one point it had been called the Center for Women and Reproductive Health. But there were those who believed if you do not name a thing, it ceases to exist, and so its title was amputated, like a war injury. But still, it survived. First it became the Center for Women. And then, just: the Center.
You can turn the page and read more here.
This is A Spark of Light by Jodi Picoult. Was this opening page compelling?
My vote: Yes.
This book received an average of 3.5 out of 5 stars on Amazon—I suspect that the average was brought down by folks who disagreed on the issues at hand, not the story. In terms of judging this as an agent might, I hope Don Maass will chime in. I’m guessing that a query letter that told of the topic, abortion, would generate a deeper look than the first page. The blurb on Amazon finally gets to the key issue, but it takes a while.
I wonder why the “what this book is about” isn’t included in the first-page narrative; it would have been easy to do. For someone who follows such things as I do, informed by news reports of anti-abortion efforts around the nation, it was clear from the context what the subject was. But I wonder if that would work for less-informed people. I think this is a key issue with this opening page. It seems to me that it would utterly lack tension for people who don’t get what the topic is, and that knowing what it is imbues tension in what is otherwise nothing more than a colorful description of a building,
Because I’m committed to women’s rights, both on principle as a human being and because I have three daughters, two granddaughters, one great-granddaughter, and a wife, I bought that interest to this opening. As a result, I did turn the page. I didn’t turn it because of emotion generated by the narrative, though, but because of emotion that comes with my prior knowledge, understanding, and convictions.
I do wonder, however, what the result would have been had the novel opened with an immediate scene involving a character. Do you think that could have been a stronger way to go? I would like to have seen that opening.
You’re invited to a flogging—your own You see the insights fresh eyes bring to the performance of bestseller first pages, so why not do the same with the opening of your WIP? Submit your prologue/first chapter to my blog, Flogging the Quill, and I’ll give you my thoughts and even a little line editing if I see a need. And the readers of FtQ are good at offering constructive notes, too. Hope to see you there.
To submit, email your first chapter or prologue (or both) as an attachment to me, and let me know if it’s okay to use your first page and to post the complete chapter.
[coffee]
Ray Rhamey is the author of five 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.
Nope. Nothing happened on that page. Regardless, I wouldn’t have read it because it’s written by Jodi Picoult. The bullshit, deus ex machina ending of My Sister’s Keeper turned me off all things Jodi Picoult.
I voted yes, but I can’t provide any solid “writerly” reason for doing so. I’m just interested by the topic. Particularly in this era, with women’s rights imperiled by turbulent sociopolitical trends, there’s a suggestion that I’m going to have a cause to root for in this book, and I like the stubborn resolve that has already been implied in simply describing a building.
I may be way off in this assumption, but I’d turn a few more pages to find out.
I’m sure the image of tiny fingers or feet covered in blood being ripped from a woman’s body would generate more emotion. But I’d pass on this one for moral reasons.
I think you make great points here, Ray. I love setting-rich stories, and like that the “Center” has a personality here (although my mind immediately jumped to a Center on a basketball team, which made the reference to guarding its territory confusing—yep, if it’s possible to misunderstand, I will). But as you said, it would be easy enough to thread a character in scene through this opening, ensuring that the reader invests, no matter how they feel about reproductive rights.
I made that same leap, Kathryn. I thought ‘the Center’ was a codename for a spook. It ‘squatted’ and ‘guarded its territory’, which anthropomorphized it for me.
I also thought the center was a type of guard in a sport. It was very confusing. It took me awhile to get that the center was a building. I didn’t read long enough to know that this was a pro-choice piece. I lost interest before the author got to the point.
Make the point. Make it at once. Make it compelling. Then back up the reason for that point.
This piece beat around the bush too much in the opening.
No. It strikes me as political propaganda, and even though I’m pro-choice, I get enough of that already.
Plus it fails the entire page-1 checklist. No MC, no story question, and nothing going on. It’s scenery+backstory. Yawn.
Sure, nothing happens in this opening scene, but there’s enough excellent and surprising description here to make me want to read on.
This first page looked like a non-fiction book. I like reading for fun, for stories. Those stories can and should bring relevant social discussions and I’m delighted when the book gets it nailed. But I wouldn’t read that book based on the first page.
It’s like reading The March of Folly: From Troy to Vietnam against any book from Alan Massie, Margaret George or Steven Pressfield. I did like the first, but I would never read it again.
I voted no — not because of any gut reaction to the issue, but because the writing was a near-instant turn-off. It’s heavy and thick, and it’s that way straight from the off. I’m no stranger to writing long sentences strung together with colons and semicolons and dashes galore, but I try to kill most of them in the edit (like I did at the end of this sentence before posting this comment), and to avoid letting the survivors crowd together. This feels to me like first-draft graduate writing workshop material from somebody trying to sound very literary and overdoing it — not least with the constructed image of the “Center” as organism fighting on its own behalf.
It could work for me if the author had set up some kind of “tow rope” to pull me through in the expectation of reward, but not jumping in cold. Probably not an issue for anyone who’d pick this up from a review, I suppose.
I base my vote on whether or not the story was, by the end of the passage, interesting. Generally speaking, I never quit a book on the first page. Even the first chapter. Some are slow starters, and this could be one of them.
This opener didn’t interest me. The importance of the building was muddy, even though its symbolism was clear by the end. I’d have to read on to see if that level of subtlety had a purpose, but at this point, it did little to stir any emotions, despite the obvious wink towards mistreatment of women.
If the second paragraph had included a character, maybe. But it got a no from me before I was sure of the “issue” at hand, which no, I don’t care to read about. But a great character could have brought me into the story even though I’m not interested in reading a book about that particular issue. Starting with and sticking with the issue doesn’t feel like “this is going to be one hell of a story!” It feels like “this is going to be one hell of a long lecture.”
My eyes glazed over after half a dozen lines so I never got to the gory bit.
No pressure, eh? I voted yes. Why? Not because of any feelings about “the issue”, but because of the strong authorial voice. I’ll explain.
Lately I have been teaching (and will be again this weekend at the Surrey International Writers Conference) the technique that I call “immersive POV”. This is a step beyond “close” third person. It is more than just what a POV character would see and hear, acting as our window onto what is happening, but the POV character’s whole experience of that. We don’t just see and hear, we sink into everything that a character thinks, feels, judges and observes.
Now, you might conclude that immersive POV must be limited to first person or close third person narration. Not so. Authorial POV can immerse us too. To accomplish that, the author must bring his or her own ideas, judgments and observations to the story. In a scene setting opening such as this one, immersive POV should produce in us a feeling. In the old days we spoke of creating “atmosphere”, but that’s a limited view of it.
In this case, the author’s take on the Center is evident. It’s not just a building. It’s a place with history. Despite the pressures upon it, it endures. It guards. Interesting choice of imagery. Guards what? Well, once you pick up that this is an abortion clinic, you can guess: it’s guarding a legal right. If you feel that this right is a moral wrong, you are nevertheless challenged by the attitude seeping through the author’s language. You are stirred up. You are engaged, even if your hackles rise. Thus, the narrative is doing its job. This opening isn’t just description, scene setting or atmosphere, we are immersed.
This is an accomplished piece of writing. Despite the absence of characters, action, hook or overt conflict, it snagged me. I’d read on.
I don’t buy it, Don. Call it whatever you want, authorial voice, immersive authorial POV, whatever, this piece was not compelling, to me. Your explanation reminds me of a professor explaining why great literature is great, even if it’s boring. I know, I know, it’s been done so that people can appreciate Shakespeare. But Shakespeare wrote in a different time. The people he wrote for spoke the English he wrote, they understood without a translator. If you’re a writer in modern times and I need a translator ‘splainer to understand your point, I don’t think you’ve done your job as a writer, which is to communicate. I will follow you anywhere if you captivate me, even down a rabbit hole of a building as a character. If you reach me, I am yours, no need of a translator.
LOL. Well, Bernadette, I think “boring” is valid, except of course in high school English class. In general, I’m with you. Characters engage me more than architecture. That said, narrative voice can be captivating by itself, and I found Picoult’s voice in this instance compelling enough to turn the page. How many more pages I can’t say, but one anyway.
Don, we can agree to disagree on this Picoult piece.
I’m not saying a building as a character or immersive is boring. Just that this piece is, to me. Do you remember a story by Ray Bradbury, I think it might have been part of The Martian Chronicles–called There Will Come Soft Rains?
It’s an immersive piece about an automatic house devoid of its owners. That is a mind blowing story.
When done with that kind of skill the story sticks with you forever.
Thanks as always for a thought-provoking discussion.
I agree. That story still sticks in my mind to this day, decades later.
Thank you, Don. This struck me as a teaching moment (for me), and you rose to the occasion admirably.
It is an accomplished piece of writing, but:
Writing is supposed to serve the story, and be transparent.
Here, the story seems to be just a platform for showing off the writing. It’s impressive– if you’re evaluating a writing class assignment, “describe a building in no less than 250 words.”
But it’s not what I’d plunk down money for at B&N.
I voted no. I don’t need a lecture on a social issue that I have to pay for. I can turn on cable news and get it 24 / 7 for free. That’s not to say I’m not interested or sympathetic. But I would rather be engaged with a character that has something on the line. Slip in the issue as part of the STORY.
One other thing. The cover is awful. It tells me nothing. My general rule for covers is: If the author’s name is larger and above the title, the publisher is selling the author – not interested.
I did turn the page, despite — and because of — my strong opposition to the stance the author seemed to advocate. I was rewarded by finding myself quickly immersed in stories of several characters, although these too were rather dense and difficult at first to follow. I agree, though: if not for my personal beliefs, I would have put down the book as heavy-handed and dogmatic. That was a risk Picoult — and her editors, no doubt — must have known they were taking. On the other hand, they might have been counting on it.
I found myself reading back to check whom, where or what the Centre was. I’d have liked a name to ground me. ‘The old Center building’ would have helped.
That said, the writing skill was evident. I’m on the fence here.
I knew before finishing the excerpt what this was about and I vote yes. I can picture not only the building, but the tension and emotion that it creates in anyone who walks by–both positive and negative. It grabbed me. The book would too.
Ray, couldn’t help noticing you introduced the book as “A Spark of Life” and the cover next to your words shows the book title is actually “A Spark of Light.” Interesting typo, given the subject matter.
Wow, Carol. Freud would be pleased, I think. I’ve corrected it, and thanks for letting me know.
Ray
Yeah, I did a double-take at first. Thought it was me reading it wrong.
For the record, I’d vote no. I rarely would vote yes – Celeste Ng’s “Little Fires Everywhere” was one of the few, and the book knocked me out.
The description of the Center as an old bulldog squatting behind wrought iron gates, then as an orange unicorn was confusing. These metaphors convey a very different tone and visual imagery. The lack of consistency was enough to turn me off.
Lovely imagery, but I agree that knowing the theme of the story would have made me really turn the page. Otherwise, it’s just scenery.
No. I, too, had trouble figuring out that the center was a building and not a person right off the bat. I did not feel drawn in by the end of the page. If it had said at the very first “the Women’s Helath Center,” I probably would have said yes.