How the Light Gets In by Louise Penny

Audrey Villeneuve knew what she imagined could not possibly be happening.

Preamble in the guise of foreshadowing wastes time. The paragraph ends with:

...she could see it. Hear it. Feel it happening.

This reminds me of an elementary school exercise I did in foreshadowing - the most obvious kind. Basically, this opening tells us that there is something happening, as there should be in all novels, yet refuses to tell us, so as to make us keep reading. That type of opening doesn't hook me; it bugs me. Does this effectively create suspense or just waste time by beating around the bush? You decide. I've chosen the second. This is preamble, telling us that there is awesome conflict instead of showing us what it is.

Fortunately by paragraph 2 we learn what could not possibly be happening, which could have been the first paragraph and would have made for a more powerful beginning instead of watering it down with preamble and introduction. Unfortunately, what could not possibly be happening is happening in a car.

First thing said:

"It's all right."

This is a character talking to herself and doesn't reveal anything about the character that makes me want to care.

Verdict: Fail

Sincerely,
Theodore Moracht

Standing in Another Man's Grave by Ian Rankin

He’d made sure he wasn't standing too near the open grave.

A pronoun and some setting. No sign of any conflict here, unless Mr. Pronoun is going to be put into the grave. But the next sentence and paragraph answer that possibility:

Closed ranks of the other mourners between him and it.

A sentence fragment hidden in a book and taken with other sentences around it is barely noticeable and fairly tolerable, but when we separate it and let it stand on its lonesome, it's easy to see it for what it is: poor syntax. Yet there is a question: who died? Whoever it was, was he or she murdered?

This is the forth sentence in the book:

Rain wasn't quite falling yet, but it had scheduled an appointment.

Weather - and rain to boot, which adds a new layer of cliché, considering they're at a funeral and all. I feel like I'm reading every other book that does this - and there are lots with such standard exposition. This prologue is broken up into three parts.Part 1 ends with:

As if rain wasn't bad enough . . .

What do you suppose the ellipsis is for? Tension to come? Am I supposed to be like: "Wow, this punctuation is really suspenseful!" Please see M. R. James on ellipses and how they fail. He ridicules this artless cliché much better than I ever could.

Chapter 1:

He was the only person in the office when the phone rang. 

More pronounology coupled with the phone call opening cliché.

Cowan and Bliss had gone to the canteen, and Robison had a doctor’s appointment. Rebus picked up the receiver. It was the front desk.

First thing said:

"John."

Which says nothing about character and conflict and is only slightly better than: "Hey," and slightly worse than, "John A. McDonald," or "john?"

Verdict: Fail

Sincerely,
Theodore Moracht

Sandrine's Case by Thomas H. Cook

Opening Argument:
The Prosecution

Lost hope conceals a rapier in its gown, Sandrine wrote in the margins of her copy of Julius Caesar.

At first glance this feels like what a first sentence should be: big, lofty, all embracing,  - just plain old epic. It reveals character and hints at conflict; yet, there is a hint of pretentious. The rest of the paragraph is in the same annoying didactic lofty voice.

Things like:

Life should fill our ears with warning...
...she'd penned this little piece...but it falls silent at our infant cry.

Whatever the hell that means. This opening reeks of artsy-fartsy melodramatic sentimentality.

It's hard at first to figure out what's going on. The narrator (secret literary-device Agent Pronoun) is on trial, so in this beginning the only mystery the reader cares about is who Sandrine is - that, and in general what the hell is going on. We're dropped right into the theoretical center of the middle of an elusive plot/life story without much information to construct our imaginations with. Unfortunately, the only thing that can save this is back story and after a slightly satisfying BS dump, by page 2 the plot starts to flex its muscles after breaking away from the sentimental artsy-fartsy sentence lining.

The focus in this beginning is words and general philosophical ideas you can have delivered to your e-mail box by signing up for any number of lofty newsletters. Ultimately, it feels overwritten. I need more than titillating vocabulary and philosophy to pull me into a mystery novel.

Nevertheless, the opening clause grows on one. The emotions of regret manage to make themselves known. Mercifully, by page 2 the writer comes down off his verbose high and tells the story as it should be told, in simple terms - things happening to people.

First thing said:

"You're the proverbial ham sandwich any pubic prosecutor can indict, Sam."

What proverbial ham sandwich would that be? A sam-ham?

Verdict: Pass (barely)

Sincerely,
Theodore Moracht

Fireproof by Alex Kava

Washington D.C.

Cornell Stamaoran slid his chipped thumbnail through the crisp seal of Jack Daniel's.

Another opening in a bottle. This type of cliché works better in TV and film than in books, perhaps because it's visually more pleasing than intellectually so. Of course, with this cliché, the reason for drinking must soon become clear. In this case, it's a lifestyle as the person is homeless; hence, the stereotyping that homeless people drink. Stereotype plus cliché is not creative.

Chapter 1 feels more like a prologue as there are prologies, characters dying right off the bat. Chapter 2 has entirely different characters. So everyone dying in chapter 1 might hook some people, but as there is no protagonist, I could hardly care who is dying. People and characters die everyday - except in the Hardy Boys.

First thing said:

"Hey, you, get the hell out of here."

Verdict: Fail

Sincerely,
Theodore Moracht

Don't Go by Lisa Scottoline

Chloe woke up on the floor, her thoughts foggy.

The advantage of reviewing single lines of books is that it allows me to stop and ponder language and meaning and all it implies - one word and one meaning at a time. This line makes me wonder: How is a thought foggy? I understand how the mind is foggy and thoughts are like people inhabiting the fog, but a foggy thought?

Taking it slowly, real slowly, I ponder the next line; it makes me wonder too:

She must have fallen and knocked herself out when she hit the hardwood.

Does this mean that she wanted to knock herself out and that falling was intentional? There are better ways to knock oneself out. And hardwood is an adjective so hardwood what? To infer or not to infer, that is the exercise. The door? Oh, right, the floor.

A better alternative would be something like changing the verb knock out from active - something she is doing to herself, to passive - something that is being done to her:

She must have fallen and got knocked out when she hit the hardwood floor.

This only goes to show how much writers take for granted when it comes to a reader's understanding. Many assume the reader will understand what is meant even though the text is not written exactly as the meaning implied. It's a verification that readers can figure things out despite the writing. Translate these lines literally into another language and they make about as much sense as they actually mean in English.

Anyway, despite the ever so slightly ambiguous sentences, there is a scene here with tension and mystery that raises some questions; so overall, the first couple pages are effective in hooking readers. However, some back story is copied and pasted awkwardly into places, and is totally unnecessary so early in the story. I mean, a woman has been knocked out and the reader is burning to know how and why, but the writer inserts what knocked-out character's favorite color is so to mention what the character used to do - teach art in middle school? That's a fail. At this point I couldn't care less whether the lady is a dirty T-shirt inspector or a vacuum repairwoman. All I care about are the above two questions the scene raises, so I find myself skipping ahead.

First thing said:

"Help!"

That's the second exclamation mark on page 1, so two down and one to go, according to Mr. Leonard.

Verdict: Pass

Because despite the insertions of back story there is a scene with conflict unfolding.

Sincerely,
Theodore Moracht

Slingshot by Matthew Dunn

Berlin, 1995

Each step through the abandoned Soviet military barracks took the Russian intelligence officer closer to the room where men were planning genocide.

It seems we're doing a lot of thrillers that involve the word Soviet lately. Perhaps the publishing industry is subconsciously or consciously trying to tap into the Olympic Games' market - you know, read a thriller about evil Soviets while watching the Games in the ex-Soviet Union. Entertainment tie-ins like this are worth millions.

This opening line is effective; it possesses some setting, a character that is more than just a name or a pronoun  - and a problem, as genocide creates the opportunity for lots of conflict last time I checked. This opening line is also the entire first paragraph. The next line and full paragraph being:

Nikolai Dmitriev hated being here.

Short sentences and short paragraphs speed up the pace, which is useful at the beginning of a story, as it pulls readers in before they can think about resisting to stop reading. Before they know it, they're at the end of chapter 1 and at the check-out line waiting to buy the book.

And the next line and paragraph:

And he loathed what he was about to do.

This line has an element of foreshadowing but also an element of preamble, but it's better than most preambling out there as it does reveal something about the character on an emotional level.

Then there's a short descriptive paragraph before the forward narrative continues onto page 2, where we start getting the standard abbreviations and acronyms that come with this type of thriller: U.S. Delta, SEALs, CIA, SOG, SVR and of course KGB.

First thing said:

"Always late for the party, Nikolai."

Verdict: Pass

Despite the fact that this novel quickly regresses into the genre's clichés, the first sentence does attract attention and pull the reader in, especially so for people who like this genre. Those of you who are fanatical Thomas Hardy or Thomas Pynchon fans, perhaps not.

Sincerely,
Rudy Globird

The Burn Palace by Stephen Dobyns

Nurse Spandex was late, and as she broke into a run her rubber-soled clogs went squeak-squeak on the floor of the hallway leading to labor and delivery.

Character, setting, conflict and foreshadowing all in one sentence. Somebody involved with this book is doing something right. Could it be that a published author actually knows what he is doing and doesn't actually need to depend on PR and marketing to succeed?

Snide remarks aside, the rest of the paragraph and first page moves quickly as a scene unfolds, with expertly inserted back story that is sparse and relevant to the plot, like why Nurse Spandex is late and what could happen if the head nurse a.k.a. antagonist in this situation should find out. Just to fill you in, Nurse Spandex was doing the chicken bone wish pose with a guy in a hospital room where a poor colored woman had died that afternoon. So not only do we have some conflict but some weirdness which establishes tone and mood that manages to reveal character.

It's rare for a writer today to begin a simple story just by focusing on character and conflict and yet manage to establish other things like setting, mood, tone etc., that keeps critics and professors happy.

By page 2 the forward narrative starts to settle into a little more back story than I like so early on, but it's still entertaining and reveals character, so I can manage to endure it.

Verdict: Pass

Sincerely,
Rudy Globird