As the editor of a book review blog, I read and review many, many books—really, the blog is only a couple of months old, I’ve been reading advance galleys and once the books are actually released, I WILL be publishing my reviews. But that’s not what I want to talk about today, anyway. Rather, I want to discuss the relative importance of the beginnings and endings of books. And, let me begin by saying that, contrary to most industry pros, I don’t find the beginning to be anywhere near as important.
I remember being in the office of my agent—I had one once—when he handed me a book and told me to read the first two pages. I did as I was told and handed it back to him.
“See,” he said. “With such a powerful beginning, who wouldn’t read that book?”
I think he was telling me that my book, the one he had been so keen to represent, the one he had failed to sell, lacked such a muscular start. He was right. It did. Instead of the pyrotechnics of a world at peril, I had chosen to begin with two people waiting for a bus in a cold, misting Seattle rain.
“But what about my ending,” I protested before he could denigrate my beginning. “What about denouement?”
“No one gives a rat’s ass about denouement if they never get that far,” he said. “You have to grab them right away, or you’ll lose them forever.”
I’d heard it before; my penchant for carefully wading in rather than risking a headfirst dive, had been a criticism of others who had read my work. I’d been told there were contests, prizes given, for best first lines. No one gave out a prize for endings. But I disagreed.
In fact, now that I read to review, I find many books with great first chapters. In fact, I find many books where it’s absolutely obvious the writer spent much more time rewriting and crafting the first chapter than the rest of the book. Writer’s conferences spend hours discussing “the hook” that MUST be contained in the first five pages. And I agree—agents, and even publishers, insist that it be there. But my question has to do with relative importance.
I have a rule that in the coming months and years, you’ll hear me referring to quite often. It’s simply that once I begin a book, I finish it. I believe that if the writer took the time to complete the book, so should I. But I tell you that because I’ve found books lately falling into one of four categories: the great ones begin and end perfectly; the poorest, sadly, have neither a good beginning nor end; then there are those that begin well but end poorly; and, finally, those that begin poorly but end fantastically.
It’s that fourth category that I find myself drawn to, though. I love it when the writer sets a beginning pace not everyone will enjoy, then commences to draw you in, and finally blows your socks off at the end. It’s like rushing down hill while hoping you’ll never reach the bottom. And I’m finding that I enjoy a leisurely beginning, one where I’m allowed to become comfortable with place, time and characters prior to commencing the adventure.
The hook, in my opinion, has become de rigeur because of a misplaced lack of confidence in the reader’s attention span. I love books. I’m willing to give the writer time. I’ll take the chance that I might get burned when there’s also a chance that I might discover a jewel. I don’t need to be dazzled by the speed of the hare when the alternative is a better pace with the tortoise and a gold medal at the end.
