"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen..."
This is how George Orwell's novel "1984" begins its first sentence. The next sentence reads:
"Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions. Though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.
The hallway smelled of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a colored poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted a huge face, more than a meter wide: a handsome man of about forty-five, with a heavy black mustache. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working..."
Image of Big Brother from George Orwell's '1984'
The first sentence of a novel serves two purposes. First, it should hint at the theme and atmosphere of the work. Second, it must spark the reader’s curiosity and compel them to read on. Only then will readers, like fish caught on a hook, find themselves unable to escape the novel until they reach the last page.
The number thirteen is considered ominous in Christian civilization. It is the sum of Jesus and his twelve apostles at the Last Supper. Thirteen also follows twelve, which is regarded as a perfect number. Just as we avoid the number four, the Christian world shuns the number thirteen.
And what about April? Of the twelve months, it is the most unstable time of year. April is known as a season of transition. Nature reflects this as well. Observe the forest in April: as it sheds the gloom of winter and dons the freshness of spring, it is chaotic and unsettled. From its very first two sentences, "1984" lays the groundwork for unease and foreboding, foreshadowing the strange events that will unfold in the world of Big Brother.
The first sentence of a novel can be compared to the "five-minute rule" in film. It is a golden rule in cinema that if a movie fails to captivate its audience within the first five minutes, it is unlikely to succeed. In my case, if the opening is dull, I eventually give up on the film.
Steven Spielberg's "Saving Private Ryan" is a prime example of a film that delivers a powerful impact in its first five minutes. The opening scenes depict the Allied D-Day landings at Normandy, with bullets from German guns raining down as the operation unfolds. Allied soldiers fall mercilessly, like stalks of corn being cut down.
The film "Amadeus" runs for 180 minutes, yet it never feels tedious. The tension and intrigue that dominate "Amadeus" are thanks to the music in its opening five minutes. Symphony No. 25, also known as the Salzburg Symphony, heightens the dramatic tension and draws viewers in until the very end.
"The train came out of the long tunnel into the snow country. The earth lay white under the night sky. The train stopped at a signal station..."
This is the first sentence of "Snow Country," the novel by Yasunari Kawabata that won him the Nobel Prize in Literature.
The setting of "Snow Country" is Niigata Prefecture. Kawabata wrote the novel at the Takahan Ryokan in Yuzawa, Niigata. In Japanese, "kuni" means both country and region, so "border" here refers to the boundary of a region.
Kim Hoon's novel "The Song of the Sword" opens as follows:
"On every abandoned island, flowers bloomed..."
Kim Hoon reportedly agonized over whether to use "flowers bloomed" or "the flowers bloomed," as the nuance differs subtly. The phrase "on every abandoned island" suggests an inescapable, fateful situation. Yet, amidst this, flowers bloom-symbols of life and hope.
Albert Camus's novel "The Stranger," which earned him the Nobel Prize in Literature, begins with this sentence:
"Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don't know..."
Is it possible that someone would not know exactly when their own mother died? Critics have called this opening line "a declaration of the birth of a new type of human, cut off from the world."
Shin Kyung-sook's "Please Look After Mom" is similar to "The Stranger." Its first sentence also succeeds in arousing intense curiosity through its use of time as the tense of the incident.
"It's been a week since Mom went missing."
The moment readers encounter this sentence, their curiosity about the previous six days rises like a cobra. The author then unravels the events that took place from the first to the sixth day after the mother with dementia left home and disappeared.
Whether in fiction or nonfiction, writing the first sentence is the hardest part. It is the process of untangling the jumble of thoughts in one’s mind into a single thread. If the first sentence comes easily, the second, third, and fourth sentences are likely to flow just as smoothly. There is even a poem dedicated to the agony every writer faces before the first sentence. Poet Shim Boseon wrote a poem titled "The First Line."
"I am waiting for the first line. If it is well written, it will be as joyful as the first snow. The first line of a love letter, the first line of a declaration, as joyful as a first child."
Composer Kim Changhoon of Sanulrim has been setting this poem to music for three years now, and has already composed over 524 songs. He set "The First Line" to music, so now the poem dances to a melody, swirling like the first snow.
Fyodor Dostoevsky's "Crime and Punishment" begins as follows:
"On an exceptionally hot evening early in July, a young man left the closet-like room he rented in S Alley and walked slowly, as if hesitating, toward K Bridge. Fortunately, he managed to avoid running into his landlady on the stairs..."
The time is an oppressively hot evening in early July; the places are a small room and K Bridge. On a stifling day in early July, a young man, as if having made a decision, leaves his tiny attic room, avoids his landlady, and heads toward his destination.
Captivated by this opening sentence, Dostoevsky scholars have sought out S Alley, where the attic boarding house was located, and crossed K Bridge on foot. S Alley refers to Stolyarni Alley, and K Bridge is Kokushkin Bridge. As a Dostoevsky researcher myself, I walked from S Alley toward K Bridge at dusk in Saint Petersburg, retracing the young man's steps across K Bridge and along the canal path to the pawnbroker's house.
Stolyarni Alley and apartment depicted as Raskolnikov's attic boarding house in Crime and Punishment. Photo by Seongkwan Cho
Among novels published since the 2000s, I believe the opening sentence of Min Jin Lee's "Pachinko" is the most masterful. As is well known, Min Jin Lee, a Korean-American author, wrote "Pachinko" in English, and it was later translated into Korean.
"History has failed us, but no matter."
In the first edition, "has failed us" was translated as "abandoned us," but in the revised edition, it was changed to "has failed us."
"Pachinko" is a novel depicting the turbulent lives of four generations of Zainichi Koreans, set against the backdrop of the Japanese colonial era through the 1980s. At the press conference for the release of the revised edition, Min Jin Lee displayed this opening sentence as the backdrop.
"History has failed us, but no matter."
Writer Minjin Lee holding a press conference for the release of the revised edition of "Pachinko." [Photo by Yonhap News]
Almost every Korean born after the late Joseon Dynasty was swept into the gears of an unfortunate fate. Because of ancestors who failed to achieve national prosperity and military strength, the wheels of history ground down the lives and freedom of Koreans with a harsh roar. Colonial rule, separation, chaos, war, and devastation.
Zainichi refers to those born to parents who moved to Japan during the colonial era in search of a livelihood. "Pachinko" is the survival story of those who struggled against all forms of discrimination and contempt in Japan. People like the baseball player Jang Hoon are Zainichi. The hardships faced by four generations of Zainichi, which unfold in the novel, are encapsulated in the sentence, "History has failed us, but no matter."
In the phrase "but no matter," we are reminded of Nietzsche's "Amor Fati." Fate is fate, but there is a sense of resolve not to yield meekly before it. It is a cool and dignified defiance, a refusal to be swept away by the waves of destiny.
If the first sentence is well written, the rest will flow just as smoothly.
Seongkwan Cho, writer and genius researcher
Operator of 'Genius Table,' former editor-in-chief of Weekly Chosun
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