Flog a Pro: would you pay to turn the first page of this bestseller?
By Ray Rhamey | July 19, 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 trade paperback fiction bestseller list for July 22, 2018. How strong is the opening page of the prologue—would this narrative, all on its own, hook an agent if it came in from an unpublished writer?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 page.
Nicholas Young slumped into the nearest seat in the hotel lobby, drained from the sixteen-hour flight from Singapore, the train ride from Heathrow Airport, and trudging through the rain-soaked streets. His cousin Astrid Leong shivered stoically next to him, all because her mother, Felicity, his dai gu cheh—or “big aunt” in Cantonese—said it was a sin to take a taxi nine blocks and forced everyone to walk all the way from Piccadilly Tube Station.
Anyone else happening upon the scene might have noticed an unusually composed eight-year-old boy and an ethereal wisp of a girl sitting quietly in a corner, but all Reginald Ormsby saw from his desk overlooking the lobby were two little Chinese children staining the damask settee with their sodden coats. And it only got worse from there. Three Chinese women stood nearby, frantically blotting themselves dry with tissues, while a teenager slid wildly across the lobby, his sneakers leaving muddy tracks on the black-and-white checker board marble.
Ormsby rushed downstairs from the mezzanine, knowing he could more efficiently dispatch these foreigners than his front-desk clerks. “Good evening, I am the general manager. Can I help you?” he said slowly, over-enunciating every word.
“Yes, good evening, we have a reservation,” the woman replied in perfect English.
Ormsby peered at her in surprise. “What name is it under?”
“Eleanor Young and family.”
You can turn the page and read more here.
This is Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan. Was this opening page compelling?
My vote: Yes.
This book received an average of 4.1 stars out of 5 on Amazon. I had mixed feelings about this one, primarily because the POV in the opening paragraph led me to think that this was Nicholas’s story, but it quickly seemed to divert from that. (I checked the first chapter and, sure enough, it does look like it’s his story.) Still, though, the author does a good job of signaling that trouble is coming by letting the bigotry in the hotel manager seep through—the children are staining the settee, Chinese is constantly used to “other” the women and children, and then he over-enunciates what he says in the way one does when talking down to a perceived inferior. Those hints, plus a strong voice and writing, moved me to another page to see what would happen next (and I wasn’t disappointed). What did you think?
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.
Slumped…drained…trudging…stoically…
The language of the first paragraph promises a story only static, inactive and dull. The instant POV switch to the prejudiced hotel manager is obviously a setup for what is certain to be a reversal: these hotel guests will turn out to be something other than what the manager expects. That is exactly what happens.
What I see here is the author making easy choices, trying to build sympathy with humdrum pathos and using the hotel manager’s prejudice as an ironic device. All of that is fine in a comedy, which is grounded in exaggeration and stereotypes. This isn’t terribly funny so far, though.
The best seller status suggests there’s more to this novel than I’m seeing so far, but for me it’s off to a weak start.
I voted no for the same reasons. The more I trudged through the page, the more I slumped in my seat…drained.
I voted yes, but just barely. I wouldn’t buy the book. I guess the lesson here is When in doubt, read page two.
I was confused by the overpopulation of the first page (who belongs to whom?), intrigued by the vivid contrast between the grubby rainy trek to the hotel and the luxury of the hotel lobby, and eager to see the outcome of the manager’s condescending attitude to the Chinese women. I’m curious, so Yes.
Lots of names all at once and the jump in POV gave me pause. I really didn’t know how to vote. I ultimately voted yes, because I would actually turn the page to read the ensuing conversation, but I didn’t feel excited about it.
Oh. Hell. No.
Verbose and klunky, not a trace of conflict (other than wet people dripping water in a hotel lobby), and all written in a stodgy, prissy voice.
Nope.
Got better ways to spend my time. Like maybe flossing. Or toenail-trimming.
Where was the assassination?
I was on the fence. The second paragraph seems to switch to omniscient; I didn’t feel drawn in by the prose, and there was no real conflict. That immediate switch was a red flag; why didn’t the author stick with the boy’s POV, which could have presented an intriguing take on the overt racism?
I quite enjoyed the character detail, however: “…women stood nearby, frantically blotting themselves dry with tissues, while a teenager slid wildly across the lobby, his sneakers leaving muddy tracks on the black-and-white checker board marble.” I can see this in vivid color, and that’s why I want to see where it goes.
I got confused with the first paragraph POV switch, but I was drawn in with wanting to know what happened to the family. I did go to Amazon and finished the prologue (skipping some wordiness in the middle which I am sure would be needed to understand family dynamics if I was reading the rest of the book) and it was entertaining, easy to read and had an awesome twist ending. I’d seen this book last weekend, thought about buying it, but didn’t. Now I think I might!
Oh, wow. That cover is startlingly different from the one I’ve been seeing for months. Implies a rom-com rather than mainstream fiction.
I found the description of the group to be vivid and cinematic, but because the POV change meant I wasn’t bonded to anyone, it didn’t pull me in.
I might read it out of curiosity, to see if I can figure out what made it a bestseller, but on its own it doesn’t appeal.
” . . . drained from the sixteen-hour flight from Singapore, the train ride from Heathrow Airport, and trudging through the rain-soaked streets.” Nope, I’m out, simple as that. Parallel agreement is important to this old bird! Must say though, even without the least bit of tension, I might have been able to overlook the grammar if I’d found even a single interesting detail to draw me in.
Yeah. I was going to comment on the breakdown of the parallel structure in the first sentence if no one else did.
I voted yes, but just barely. I wouldn’t buy the book. I guess the lesson here is When in doubt, read page two.
My vote is yes. The author immediately elicits sympathy for Nicholas for enduring his traveling ordeal (something many of us can relate to), then more sympathy after reading Ormsby’s observations and his subsequent behavior (over-enunciating his words), and finally a little satisfaction when the woman answers him in his own tongue and gives a name that we know will surprise him, maybe take him aback. I want to know what happens next.
I was drawn in by the characters and wanted to know more. The writing was clunky at times but when a story pulls me in, I don’t mind if the writing isn’t stellar. Story trumps everything for me.
My yes was also a “just barely” because my curiosity was piqued. As a freelance editor, I would have liked to have had a hand in shaping this awkward opening. Now I have to go to the Amazon preview… Sigh.