(no subject)
The ability to write a memorable opening sentence is a real art form, and the mark of a brilliant writer, a fact in no way negated by the lacklustre example you are currently reading. I think it was García Márquez who said he spends months working on his opening line, writing and rewriting it, playing with the punctuation and so on - after which, when he is satisfied, the rets of the novel flows out quickly and easily. Of course I don't believe him for a moment, but his point, that the first line of a book should sum it all up as well as grab your attention, is well taken, and after all he wrote some blinders himself. I have always been a bit fascinated by opening lines, in books as well as in songs, where I think they are very important, and in fact in a song a good first line can carry you through a lot of subsequent rubbish. For me, anyway.
Anyway, all that is just an excuse to record some of my favourite examples - some of these are well-known examples of the art and others less so - all of them made me very excited or intrigued about the book in front of me. The last few are from songs. Much kudos to anyone who can identify more than a couple...
Hale knew, before he had been in Brighton three hours, that they meant to murder him.
Aujourd'hui, maman est morte.
It was the afternoon of my eighty-first birthday, and I was in bed with my catamite when Ali announced that the archbishop had come to see me.
The last night I spent in London, I took some girl or other to the movies and, through her mediation, I paid you a little tribute of spermatozoa, Tristessa.
A disquieting feature of this annual exhibition - to which the patients themselves were not invited - was the marked preoccupation of the paintings with the theme of world cataclysm, as if these long-incarcerated patients had sensed some seismic upheaval within the minds of their doctors and nurses.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
On my naming day when I come 12 I gone front spear and kilt a wyld boar he parbly ben the las wyld pig on the Bundel Downs any how there hadnt ben none for a long time befor him nor I aint looking to see none agen.
riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.
I have lost count of the days that have passed since I fled the horrors of Vasco Miranda's mad fortress in the Andalusian mountain-village of Benengeli; ran from death under cover of darkness and left a message nailed to the door.
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain / by the false azure of the window-pane
Lyra and her dæmon moved through the darkening Hall, taking care to keep to one side, out of sight of the kitchen.
Snow-Balls have flown their Arcs, starr'd the Sides of Outbuildings, as of Cousins, carried Hats away into the brisk Wind off Delaware,-
Muchos años después, frente al pelotón de fusilamiento, el coronel Aureliano Buendía habría de recordar aquella tarde remota en que su padre lo llevó a conocer el hielo.
I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.
Also my favourite song openers recently (that come to mind right now):
I heard there was a secret chord
that David played to please the Lord
but you don't really care for music, do ya?
I spent all my money in a Mexican whorehouse
across the street from a Catholic church
and I whipped out my revolver
and buttoned up my burgundy shirt.
She will kiss you till her lips bleed
but she will not take her dress off
It was Christmas Eve, babe, in the drunk tank
an old man said to me, "won't see another one"
Aargh that's enough, this could go on forever
Anyway, all that is just an excuse to record some of my favourite examples - some of these are well-known examples of the art and others less so - all of them made me very excited or intrigued about the book in front of me. The last few are from songs. Much kudos to anyone who can identify more than a couple...
Hale knew, before he had been in Brighton three hours, that they meant to murder him.
Aujourd'hui, maman est morte.
It was the afternoon of my eighty-first birthday, and I was in bed with my catamite when Ali announced that the archbishop had come to see me.
The last night I spent in London, I took some girl or other to the movies and, through her mediation, I paid you a little tribute of spermatozoa, Tristessa.
A disquieting feature of this annual exhibition - to which the patients themselves were not invited - was the marked preoccupation of the paintings with the theme of world cataclysm, as if these long-incarcerated patients had sensed some seismic upheaval within the minds of their doctors and nurses.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
On my naming day when I come 12 I gone front spear and kilt a wyld boar he parbly ben the las wyld pig on the Bundel Downs any how there hadnt ben none for a long time befor him nor I aint looking to see none agen.
riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.
I have lost count of the days that have passed since I fled the horrors of Vasco Miranda's mad fortress in the Andalusian mountain-village of Benengeli; ran from death under cover of darkness and left a message nailed to the door.
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain / by the false azure of the window-pane
Lyra and her dæmon moved through the darkening Hall, taking care to keep to one side, out of sight of the kitchen.
Snow-Balls have flown their Arcs, starr'd the Sides of Outbuildings, as of Cousins, carried Hats away into the brisk Wind off Delaware,-
Muchos años después, frente al pelotón de fusilamiento, el coronel Aureliano Buendía habría de recordar aquella tarde remota en que su padre lo llevó a conocer el hielo.
I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.
Also my favourite song openers recently (that come to mind right now):
I heard there was a secret chord
that David played to please the Lord
but you don't really care for music, do ya?
I spent all my money in a Mexican whorehouse
across the street from a Catholic church
and I whipped out my revolver
and buttoned up my burgundy shirt.
She will kiss you till her lips bleed
but she will not take her dress off
It was Christmas Eve, babe, in the drunk tank
an old man said to me, "won't see another one"
Aargh that's enough, this could go on forever