This is a bit of cheat, as it is an entire first paragraph and then some. I haven’t read Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar in many years, but I was required to read the first chapter this week for an unrelated project. It was so striking and I forgot how Plath immediately sets up so many aspects of the novel, including Esther’s life in New York City along with foreshadowing what is to come. The writing of the first chapter grabs you immediately and Esther is so well-defined.
There were many marvelous lines in the first chapter alone, but I loved the simpleness of this line when Esther is out with her friend: “My dream was someday ordering a drink and finding out it tasted wonderful.”
“I returned from the City about three o’clock on that May afternoon pretty well disgusted with life. I had been three months in the Old Country, and was fed up with it. If anyone had told me a year ago that I would have been feeling like that I should have laughed at him; but there was the fact. The weather made me liverish, the talk of the ordinary Englishman made me sick. I couldn’t get enough exercise, and the amusements of London seemed as flat as soda-water that has been standing in the sun. ‘Richard Hannay,’ I kept telling myself, ‘you have got into the wrong ditch, my friend, and you had better climb out.'”
I know I’ve noted before that things have been a wee bit quiet around here as of late–this is due to busy, busy, busy. I’ve been running around here, there, and everywhere and it seems as if this will continue for the next several months over the spread of many countries. I’m dead-tired today and can’t help but think of John Buchan’s man on the run, Richard Hannay.
I love The Thirty-Nine Steps and have seen many adaptations (my favorite has to be the stage play which I’ve seen twice). I have so many books lined up for this summer, but I can’t help but imagine running through Scotland on an adventure (minus murder, spies, and anarchist plots).
Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do. Once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, “and what is the use of a book,” thought Alice, “without pictures or conversations?”
Is there a person among us who does not love Lewis Carroll’s 1865 novel, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland? We all tumble down with Alice as she falls through the rabbit hole. With logic games and nonsense rhymes, frightening threats of beheadings, lost wanderings in dark places, Wonderland is just one of those books that is imprinted on us all, no matter how old we get or how turned around and upside down we feel during our rambles through Wonderland.
You now have one choice. You…I’m hanging out of the window of my office, sneaking a cigarette and trying to read Margins in the dull winter light, when there’s a noise I haven’t heard before. All right, the noise–crash, bang, etc.–I probably have heard it before , but it’s coming from underneath me, which isn’t right.
I read The End of Mr. Y by Scarlett Thomas while on a train in Germany at the end of the summer of 2012. I was totally gripped by the novel and I still wish that I could have given it a better quality review. What I have up is short but to the point. Because my internet situation was wonky and my free time minimal, I only blurted out my love for it in a few brief paragraphs. Scarlett Thomas has written other books as well and I hope to get to them sometime in the near future.
What’s it going to be then, eh? There was me, that is Alex, and my three droogs, that is Pete, Georgie, and Dim, Dim being really dim, and we sat in the Korova Milkbar making up rassoodocks what to do with the evening, a flip dark chill winter bastard though dry.
There was a point in my life where I could recite the entire opening paragraph of Anthony Burgess’ stellar novel, A Clockwork Orange (1962). Although I might not be able to remember it verbatim in its entirety anymore, I still find myself repeating this line as a sort of a mantra when I try to focus with my own writing.
Neither of the Grimes sisters would have a happy life, and looking back it always seemed that the trouble began with their parents’ divorce.
The Easter Parade (1976) is an all-time favorite book of mine and this simple but complicated opening line sets up the entire book, which details the differing yet bleak lives of the Grimes sister. When I first read this book, I couldn’t put it down; I took it everywhere–the subway, waiting in tedious lines, to school.
**Inspired by New York magazine’s “Unexpected First Sentence of the Week.”