This is the beginning of a prelude. It goes on - briefly, thank god - to explain subjectivity: one man's blue is not necessarily another man's blue, though navy blue is always navy blue and baby blue is always...
It ends:
Blue, she is like a woman.
Smurfette? Or in French La Schtroumpfette, as the title of this book is in French. Anyway, more words crawling out of the sludge of a primordal plot, destinied to be elimanted by the process of natrually short attention spans. Fortunately, this ode to blue is only a page, well worth skipping, if you have the time.
Chapter One
On the day he was to be murdered, Vincent Van Gogh encountered a Gypsy on the cobbles outside the inn where he'd just eaten lunch.
Wait a second, Van Gogh was murdered? I checked online, and learned there is some doubt in regards to his suicide. Nevertheless, this opening line works for a couple reasons: it warns of future nastiness, and conflict and introduces some characters, one of which we already know is nuts. It wastes no time.
The first thing said is the second paragraph.
"Big hat."
It's nice when characters start talking so soon in a book, because, let's face it, we're all nosy biddies (yes, you guys too; biddy is a neuter(ed) word now) and love to listen in on other people, and who doesn't want to listen in on Van Gogh the day he died?
The rest of the chapter also has dialogue galore.
Verdict: Cool (I want more)
Sincerely,
Theodore Moracht
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