I wrote in Great Opening Lines – and Why! (Part 3 – Some Great Opening Lines) that I’d share more great opening lines as I found them.
My last entry in this category was November 2024’s Great Opening Lines – and Why! (Nov 2024’s Great Opening Lines) which covered
- Edgar Rice Burroughs‘ Tarzan of the Apes
- Anne Cleves‘ White Nights
- Adilyn Andrews‘ The Shadows Prelude
This entry in the Great Opening Lines – And Why! posts is Kafkaish. I read The Complete Stories and Parables, and what I’d read about his work is true; either you accept his first line – which sometimes is amazing – or you don’t. If you don’t, read something else. If you do, you’re in. Here are some examples:
I was stiff and cold, I was a bridge, I lay over a ravine. from Franz Kafka‘s Kafka – The Complete Stories and Parables: The Bridge.
Fourteen words stating as fact something so improbable the reader either accepts – probably nonconsciously – or rejects – probably consciously – and continues to read or not. I’m not sure if Kafka was writing magic realism years before anybody else or not, and he sums up this bridge’s existence succinctly and simply and the reader either closes the book or follows along (no pun intended). Brilliant.
This opening line is reinforced by the complete first paragraph:
I was stiff and cold, I was a bridge, I lay over a ravine. My toes on one side, my fingers clutching the other, I had clamped myself fast into the crumbling clay. The rails of my coat fluttered at my sides. Far below brawled the icy trout stream. No tourist stayed to this impassable height, the bridge was not yet traced on any map. So I lay and waited; I could only wait. Without falling, no bridge, once spanned, can cease to be a bridge.
Bridge as relatable character. I felt for the bridge. I cared.
Great writing, that.
Also from Kafka – The Complete Stories and Parables: The Bucket Rider we get Coal all spent; the bucket empty; the shovel useless; the stove breathing out cold; the room freezing; the trees outside the window rigid, covered with rime; the sky a silver shield against anyone who looks for help from it. Thirty-eight words which left me cold. Literally!
And finally A vulture was hacking at my feet. from “The Vulture.” Seven words which produce an image, a tactile response, and a sense of disgust (in me, anyway). Brilliant.
Not all of Kafka’s work is so impressive, and when he’s on fire stand back and be warmed. When he’s not, scratch your head, furrow your brow, and go “Ugh?”
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