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Favourite Opening Lines

Discussion in 'Book club' started by Bethannie, Sep 28, 2011.

  1. minnie me

    minnie me Star commenter

    Bobby - L' Etranger - great - read it at college and always stayed with me .Also The Go Between -( and off the point I know the casting in the film of the book was superb)
     
  2. Bethannie

    Bethannie New commenter


    "He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad."
    (Scaramouche - Sabatini)
    I've just put this on the Kindle to re-read, and had forgotten how great the first line is!
     
  3. I Capture the Castle. Utterly wonderful!
     
  4. "It was a dark and stormy night.
    In her attic bedroom, Margaret Murray, wrapped in an old patchwork quilt, sat on the foot of her bed and watched the trees tossing in the frenzied lashing of the wind. Behind the trees clouds scudded frantically across the sky.Every few minutes the moon ripped through them, creating wraith-like shadows that raced along the ground.
    The house shook.
    Wrapped in her quilt, Meg shook."
    A Wrinkle In Time - Madeleine L'Engle
    I love this book and love Love LOVE this opening!
    Yes the first sentence is pastiche/pinched/nicked/plagiurised (Magpied!) - but this is a wonderful story starter and I have often used to great success with year 4, 5 and 6 children for description, scene setting and how varying sentence lengths have impact.
    Love it!!

     
  5. We have 'A Wrinkle in Time' as a class reader in Year 7. It was always one of my favourite books.


    'This is snow,'
    Moomintroll whispered to himself.
    'I've heard about it from Mother,
    and it's called snow.'
    And off he plodded,
    making his first little tracks
    into this strange new world . . .

    Got to put a Tove Jansson on here :)
     
  6. lindenlea

    lindenlea Star commenter

    Not a line but a paragraph from Enduring Love by Ian McEwan. Hooked me totally.
    The beginning is simple to mark. We were in sunlight under a turkey oak, partly
    protected from a strong, gusty wind. I was kneeling on the grass with a
    corkscrew in my hand, and Clarissa was passing me the bottle--a 1987 Daumas
    Gassac. This was the moment, this was the pinprick on the time map: I was
    stretching out my hand, and as the cool neck and the black foil touched my palm,
    we heard a man's shout. We turned to look across the field and saw the danger.
    Next thing, I was running toward it. The transformation was absolute: I don't
    recall dropping the corkscrew, or getting to my feet, or making a decision, or
    hearing the caution Clarissa called after me. What idiocy, to be racing into
    this story and its labyrinths, sprinting away from our happiness among the fresh
    spring grasses by the oak. There was the shout again, and a child's cry,
    enfeebled by the wind that roared in the tall trees along the hedgerows. I ran
    faster. And there, suddenly, from different points around the field, four other
    men were converging on the scene, running like me.
     

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