Flog a Pro: Would You Turn the First Page of this Bestseller?
By Ray Rhamey | April 20, 2023 |
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.
How strong is the opening page of this novel—would it, all on its own, hook an agent if it was submitted by an unpublished writer?
Adelaide Hills, South Australia
1959
New Year’s Day
And, of course, there was to be a lunch party to mark the new year. A small affair, just family, but Thomas would require all the trimmings. Unthinkable that they would do otherwise: the Turners were big on tradition, and with Nora and Richard visiting from Sydney, neither frippery nor fanfare was to be skipped.
Isabel had decided to set up in a different part of the garden this year. Usually, they sat beneath the walnut tree on the eastern lawn, but today she’d been drawn to the stretch of grass in the shade of Mr. Wentworth’s cedar. She’d walked across it when she was cutting flowers for the table earlier and been struck by the pretty westward view toward the mountains. Yes, she’d said to herself. This will do very well. The arrival of the thought, her own decisiveness, had been intoxicating.
She told herself it was all part of her New Year’s resolution—to approach 1959 with a fresh pair of eyes and expectations—but there was a small internal voice that wondered whether she wasn’t rather tormenting her husband just a little with the sudden breach of protocol. Ever since they’d discovered the sepia photograph of Mr. Wentworth and his similarly bearded Victorian friends arranged in elegant wooden recliners on the eastern lawn, Thomas had been immovable in his conviction that it represented the superior entertaining spot.
It was unclear to Isabel exactly when she’d first started taking guilty pleasure in causing (snip)
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You can turn the page and read more here. Kindle users can request a sample sent to their devices, and I’ve found this to be a great way to evaluate a narrative that is borderline on the first page and see if it’s worth my coin.
This novel was number two on the New York Times hardcover fiction bestseller list for April 23, 2023. Were the opening pages of the first chapter of Homecoming by Kate Morton compelling?
My vote: No.
This book received 4.5 out of 5 stars on Amazon. For me, this opening is about as tension free as anything we’ve looked at whilst flogging a pro. Again, for me, whether or not Thomas will be upset because of the change of the entertainment area does not raise a story question significant enough to motivate a page turn. Maybe if Thomas was a killer with serious anger management issues who explodes into a killing rage at being crossed, then maybe . . .
And this is just the prologue. There are slightly more than 9000 words to go before the story opens in Part 1. Care to guess how many compelling (or even mildly interesting) story questions were on the first page there?
Your thoughts?
You’re invited to a flogging—your own You see here 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.
The writing was very competent and tight, I never doubted I was headed somewhere. And the stakes can be small, no problem, she was moved by just twitting her husband a bit and I felt that was well done.
It’s simply not my genre, and there’s hardly anything less my genre than harkening to Victorian ideals. Gad, how I hate the constraints of the manners novels, makes me want to chew glass. And to think someone was still acting that way almost a hundred years later- ugh. More No over here.
I’m an easy “No” on this one. Just don’t care about where anyone sets up their garden party. Don’t know why it matters. Don’t particularly care to know. Moving on.
Couldn’t help thinking of Mrs. Dalloway—but Woolf did it better (of course), with more energy prickling throughout. So sorry: No.
I also thought of Mrs. Dalloway!
Me three :)
I voted NO, because, although I wish Isabel well with her new year of finding a path to awareness of her own identity, she’s got a long way to go and turning the page, I’m afraid, will bring me more about Thomas and what Thomas thinks. I don’t want to read anymore about Thomas.
After I voted, I felt so mystified this is a best seller, that I clicked to the Amazon link. I was shocked that the premise is interesting and nothing like I’d imagined from the first page. (It looks possible I wouldn’t have to read much more about Thomas.) When I reread, the anticipation I felt from reading the blurb pushed me to turn a few more pages of the Look Inside. Still, it wasn’t enough for me to want to read more, but I can understand now that someone with other tastes, that wants to sink into a long, slow saga, with a family mystery, might want to read this.
This opening promises a social train wreck.
Isabel doesn’t seem to have much respect for the depth of her closest friends? relatives? and she seems to be lying to herself about her reasons for wanting to honk them off. The point of contention is trivial, which seems to suggest there are some deep-seated conflicts in this group that no one is willing to discuss openly.
As long as she keeps digging into that well, I’ll keep reading.
I said yes because she sounds like she’s plotting small revenges, and there’s a reason she’s embarking on that path, so it sounds like fun. But I see why you found this less than interesting. Surprised it is Morton, because I was less than thrilled with the one book of hers that I read. Now I’m daunted by another 9000 words to get anywhere with this story, but that makes sense considering her Clockmaker’s Daughter novel.
As usual, gag me with a spoon. What I find particularly ironic about this monthly exercise is that while most readers on this site consistently give the examples a thumbs down, a significant number of contributors and commenters here either write in or aspire to write in this style.
That’s quite a statement …
It is, isn’t it? After linking to uncounted contributors and commentors efforts, both on Amazon and personal websites, I don’t offer this perspective lightly or without context. I read what I read. I see what I see. I’m willing to discuss or debate.
I dare say reading Victoria Holt or Phyllis Whitney during childhood helped me recognize the subtle suspense. I voted yes, solely on did it make me wonder what was going on? Yes. Do I know at all what is going on? No.
Would I continue? Only if I’m in an AirBnb with no power on vacation. Then reading further, maybe I’d again find myself to be wrong. I’ll stay open minded that I really don’t know. So maybe it’s a No?
Here’s another question for everyone else: if any kind of romance was hinted at, would your No have gone to Yes?
Sorry, no. Found myself skimming. It’s also not a genre I read very often.
I don’t require that conventional wisdom figure in openings–tension, action, jump-cut editing, etc. But I do expect physical movement, not just thought, so I vote no. The writer would do better to have Isabel make her decisions as she moves through the garden to cut flowers, etc.
Man, did I love the first three words. I was rarin’ to go! And then… I went nowhere. Halfway down the page, I was ready to move on. Just not my style, I suppose.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….
(in other words: nope)
I voted yes. I haven’t yet read beyond this front page, but I think people who commented that they didn’t care to read more about Thomas may be missing the point. What intrigued me was the portent of Isabel’s rebellion against the constraints of a woman in the 1950s. Pay attention to the date 1959. Isabel is on the verge of the most turbulent decade in American history. How she navigates all those upcoming changes and finds her place among them could be interesting. Of course, I’m saying this without knowing if any of this plays a part in the author’s plot, but I would make a more informed decision based on the sample. Unless I am reading an author whose work I know and trust I’ve finally learned to download a sample before purchasing the entire novel.
However, I can afford the luxury of longer and possibly slower stories when I choose to read them because I’m retired. Readers with jobs, young children and other distractions prefer books that start faster or have compelling characters don’t have a lot of free time. They want a story that starts with a bang, sometimes literally, and continues on a fast pace to a satisfactory conclusion. If a skillful author has crafted a skillful plot and memorable, compelling characters as well, they are likely to sell many copies of their current and future books. I should know, I’m sure I’ve bought many books by my favorite authors.
Carla, as a reader and as the person who does this critique, I don’t require a story to start with a “bang.” But I do want to see a story question that a character has to deal with and that has consequences that can trouble the character in a meaningful way. Understanding that all reading is subjective, this opening page raised nothing at all for me.
Should those who say, “it’s not my style” vote? I don’t vote on Fantasy or Science Fiction because it’s truly, “not my style” and I feel my vote would not be fair. Kate Morton IS my style, but this one is a NO for me.
I’m intrigued — esp after Ada’s comment that the premise is not what you might assume from the prologue. And I don’t think every book has to open with major tension; micro tension will do nicely. Plus I’m always willing to give some leeway to a prologue.
A no for me. As I had to read it three times to figure out about lunch on which lawn. Then I read it’s only the prologue. Yikes. I wouldn’t even read the first page let alone 90 put that book back on the shelf.
No from me. I like the idea of her doing small things to tick of her husband, how petty, might be fun. But couldn’t it be something more interesting than a place on the lawn? Anything more interesting than that! Hide his reading glasses or switch his bookmark to the wrong page or replace today’s newspaper with last week’s. I dunno. I just didn’t care what happened next and found myself skimming. I’m sure if I got into the book, it would be enjoyable. So many books that I’ve adored have started incredibly slow. And I hate that 21st century readers need action and drama immediately. I hate that *I* have become this impatient type of reader. But I have.
“The arrival of the thought, her own decisiveness, had been intoxicating.”
So, a woman decides to hold a New Year’s garden party–this is the Southern hemisphere–in a different area of the lawn, and this small, defiant, against-tradition decision is “intoxicating”. I get that in 1959, and in this family, the man of the house may rule. This might, in its way, be a momentous change. Almost a revolution, a feminist breakthrough.
I get it. So why does this “intoxicating” emotion feel forced? Why does it feel formulaic? Self-consciously written as opposed to emotionally real? The use of past perfect tense (“had been”) feels like a hedge, like the author is not owning the “intoxicating” adjective, but is holding it at arm’s length: Yes, I’m choosing that adjective but I don’t have confidence in it, you don’t have to buy into it if you don’t want to…but, hey, it does sound important and literary, doesn’t it? I mean, it does, right?
No, it doesn’t. The decision to hold the garden party in a different part of the lawn lacks, for me, the significance that the author is trying to force upon it. Kate Morton is a terrific storyteller, but I found that one sentence not significant but pretentious. For me, a different approach to the moment might have worked better.
I absolutely agree with your comments, Donald. I am a child of the 50’s (maybe 10-12 years younger than Isabel?) and I would enjoy a well-written story about this woman’s dilemmas. But oh wait, I’ve already read many good books on this topic. They were published in the 70’s, and some are still classics: e.g., “The Women’s Room” by Marilyn French, and Erica Jong’s famous “Fear of Flying,” but there were many other good stories reflecting this momentous change in women’s consciousness and in society. I don’t object to reading another — not at all! — but it has to be compelling as a story, and this opening is just too dull and flat. Also, and apparently this is my peculiarity, I dislike it when stories, or parts of stories, begin with a blunt setting of time and place (and often viewpoint). It seems cheap and easy, the mark of a hasty writer, although good writers use it all the time. Use some creativity — fold time- and place-setting into the first page or two of the story!
I read with great pleasure everything by Nevil Shute when I was a teenager, but now the words 1959 Australia, rightly or wrongly, give me the impression of dated sexism and racism, which may be historically accurate but I don’t want to wallow in it.
I liked the first few words.
Then I felt bombarded by names -Thomas, the Turners, Nora, Richard, Isabel, Mr Wentworth, in quick succession.
Are Thomas and Isabel the Turners? Or Richard and Nora? It wasn’t clear.
Then I wondered why I should care where they had lunch.
I voted No.
Then I read that this was a prologue. When I’m trying out a book I’d skip the prologue so I went to Amazon to try the first chapter. I gave that up after a few paragraphs.
Then I read the blurb.
The blurb is the best bit! Sounds like a great book.
I really enjoy this Flog a Pro series. but when the vote is No I always end up wondering – who is wrong? Is it the author who writes an uninteresting first page, or the publisher for letting them, or is it us for expecting it to be gripping within 17 lines? If I judged the first page of A Town Like Alice, my favourite Nevil Shute novel, I’d certainly vote NO.
I’ve head the advice – to judge a book, turn to page 42 (or 39 depending who’s giving the advice) and read that. That seems to give a better impression of what the book will be like than the first page, which may be overwritten. Unfortunately Amazon samples don’t go that far.
Good thoughts, Hilary. Keep in mind that the challenge here is whether or not the first page–that which an agent will see in a submission–has to power to propel a turn of the page. There’s no blurb, but a cover letter. Still, it’s story good agents are after. Agent after agent has said that they can and do make a go/no go decision on the first page, primarily because they have to deal with a huge volume of submissions. A browser in a bookstore or Amazon can hold an author to less rigorous standards, but I say why not create a compelling narrative from the start? And it doesn’t have to be a big bang, just a situation that creates a problem for the character that they must tackle. IMO.
The opening of A Town Like Alice involves a London solicitor, who explains about a nearly forgotten client who dies, the man’s will, and the thin trail of heirs that leads to the novel’s heroine, Jean Paget, who is working as a secretary at a handbag company. Talk about your slow burns! But everything in that opening is to a purpose. The will and it’s unexpected bequest shows the operation of fate. A young woman is plucked from obscurity, or so it looks, but that sets up the surprise of what she wants to do with the bequest: Provide a water well for a village in Malaya. Why? The rest of the novel explains it. Even her job in the handbag factory circles around to become important later in the story. Shute knew exactly what he was doing. Everything he plants in that “slow” opening is doing narrative work, albeit unseen at first. What really makes it work though, ask me, is the awe and admiration the solicitor–the narrator of the story–has for this unsung wartime heroine. It’s the narrator’s care in slowly preparing us for the tale to follow that is the opening’s secret tension. He takes his time to lay the groundwork but we know from the beginning that it matters. I didn’t feel that in Kate Morton’s opening, which to me reads more manufactured than organic. Shute was a master. Mortan is very, very good too but she didn’t quite get it right in that opening presented today.
I learned this as “page 69 test” — nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Oh, well. Whatever. Pick a page at random, not too far into the book, and see if it intrigues you. But only if you are undecided after the blurb, the first page or two, etc.
From the sample, my first reaction as a reader, is that the author is dealing with a subject that does not arouse my curiosity or otherwise engage me, and is doing so in a voice and POV that I don’t find appealing enough to want more of. It hints at a conflict, an interesting relationship, a dramatic setting, and a lot of backstory, but the hints aren’t strong enough to draw me to page two. That said, it may be literary, a landmark work, even a great story, but I’d have to have some additional incentive to turn that page rather than replace the book on the shelf. My tastes are clearly different from those of the readers who carried it to number two on the list. Congratulations to the author on finding her audience.
Totally subjective. I can agree with all the naysayers, but because I grew up in a “Father Knows Best” world, I want to see Isabel find her power. Oddly, I didn’t have the same response to Lessons in Chemistry. I liked this distant narration better. Subjective.
I liked the cover.
That was the only thing I liked. I’m not averse to reading a story with a leisurely, small-stakes (and at least apparently small stakes) opening. But something has to grab me. The piece of story introduced on page one was not intriguing to me in any sense: not the setting nor the voice nor the character nor the tiny hint of conflict introduced. I voted no.
I wish we had an editing time window on posts. The above was supposed to read: (or at least, apparently small stakes)
I voted no but it was a soft no. If I was flipping through books at the bookstore and that was all I had to go by, it wouldn’t go home with me. However, if it was in a pile of books that had somehow arrived on the kitchen table and I was looking for something to read, I might pick it up and hope for the best. I’m fine with a slow start and I don’t think first pages aren’t necessarily representative of rest of a book.
I seized on the same phrase that Donald Maass did. “The arrival of the thought, her own decisiveness, had been intoxicating.” It changed the unbearable boredom of the character’s life (and the story) into something *maybe* worth turning the page. I pretended I was a first reader and voted yes, but only to see what might be on page 2.