You should read Ann Patchett.  Bel Canto is one of the best books I’ve read in many years.  The story of a hostage situation in an unnamed South American country, this novel is immersive and beautiful and completely original.  Another of Patchett’s novels, Run, is a less unique tale, focusing on a Boston family and a serendipitous accident.  But Run is also worth a read for it’s language and characterization, even if some of its more obvious twists of plot need to be forgiven.  But I don’t want to discuss the details of these books — I’ll leave those for you to discover yourself.  Instead, this is a good opportunity to discuss openings, and more specifically first sentences.

Flip to any page in a Patchett book and you’re going to find a perfect sentence.  In Bel Canto, the book starts like so:

When the lights went off the accompanist kissed her.

Doesn’t seem like much at first, but in just a few words, Patchett has set up the theme of the novel, which is the discovery of love in unlikely situations.  There will be two love stories during this hostage crisis.  Immediately, though we may not realize it, the reader is told that things are about to change.  The lights are going off.  Accompanists are not supposed to kiss those that they play with.  They are to be in the background.  Everything is about to be turned upside down.  And we are left wondering about “her.”  She turns out to be an opera singer who is the reason why the rest of the characters have gathered in one place.  It is because of her that they are all about to become hostages.  And she is a person worthy of illicit love, of a stolen kiss from a peripheral character in the dark.

Of course, to be able to read that much into a single sentence can only happen with the hindsight of having read the whole book.  But standing alone, there is conflict and character there, all in nine simple words.   Most importantly, it makes you want to read on.

Run also starts with a provocative sentence, though one that is more about the backstory than the story itself.

Bernadette had been dead two weeks when her sisters showed up in Doyle’s living room asking for the statue back.

This book could go in any direction from there and I immediately want to know which way Patchett is taking it.  As it turns out, while the conflict between Doyle and his dead wife’s family is important, it is not central to the novel.  But what this sentence does in stunning fashion is telegraph that loss is not only about the person that has died, but also about the ripples that affect the lives of those left behind in unexpected ways.  We quickly find out in the next few pages that the statue in question not only looks like the dead woman, but that it is in the room of the two boys she adopted and they pray to it as if it was her.  Her death has left a hole that cannot be filled by a statue as hard as it might try.

Again, conflict and character.  That is the key to an opening volley in my mind.  And looking at Patchett’s words make me, as a writer, wonder about my own openings, my own ability to jump off the blocks with the starter’s gun.  Any writer that makes me push myself to improve is worth the time to read.