X by Sue Grafton

Sue Grafton starts her 24th book in the Kinsey Millhone series in classic form. We have a character: Teddy Xanakis, whose Greek last name and gender-neutral first name already grant some distinction and interest. We have a problem: "would have to" means it's necessary, unavoidable – there is some reason that makes the next verb a requirement. And we have some attractive precision: steal the painting.

Many delicious heists aim at art. We value art – a single painting or sculpture or manuscript can weigh little and yet be worth millions of dollars. At the same time, taking a piece of art doesn't leave anyone at risk of starving – we can more easily forgive a theft that moves an object of beauty than one that takes food or medicine or even money. Art has glamour to go with its value. Art looks good on film, if the book is ever adapted. Yet, art can be awkward to value and resell, so the thief will need extra cleverness to profit from it.

A plan to steal a painting has excellent possibilities for plot. Within the mystery or thriller genre, we are already thinking of ways we've seen this happen, and ways we've seen it go wrong. If a reader liked those other stories, they might very well want to see what happens in this one.

This first sentence is definitely a hook.

In the 24th book in a series, Sue Grafton might have relaxed the tension of her first sentence. After all, she had an established audience, a world and characters that already drew many repeat visitors, and her reputation and history as a reliable storyteller and bestselling author to draw in her readers. She didn't. By placing a character and a taut problem in the first sentence, she promises that the book will be exciting and tense.

Maybe that's how she gathered the audience that supported her long series.

The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein

I read The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein the first time I was in college. I looked it up recently, to see if its first sentence appealed to me for analysis.

This one is a blunt instrument. It's a straight-forward statement, in the form that has started many autobiographies. There aren't many words to suggest extra meanings. I thought I'd give this one a pass.

Yet I kept thinking about it.

It's a simple sentence on its own. "I was born" – of course you were, or you wouldn't be writing. "In San Francisco, California" – that has a little more interest to it. Even by 1933, when Gertrude Stein published this book, San Francisco had a reputation. The Gold Rush and the earthquake and fire of 1906, and Mark Twain's writings had all spread news of San Francisco. It was a large city, already, and known for wild and wooly frontier behavior and more diverse than most American cities. Still, born in SF, CA is not as strong a setup for action as "saw San Francisco for the first time," as mentioned in my previous post. When born, we are not yet ready to take action, and don't yet know if we will conform or rebel to the place of our birth.

There is something a little old-fashioned and formal about writing out San Francisco, California, instead of abbreviating either one. So the sentence has established person (I), place (SF, CA), and a little tone. Without conflict, it is not a hook – it is beginning to open a window. Would this draw me on to read more? Probably not – unless I already knew more than this first sentence holds.

In college, I came to this book with a lot of context. The professor set the book in its time and set Gertrude Stein's place in the literary scene she anchored. We looked at the playfulness of claiming to write someone else's autobiography. We compared the voice here to Stein writing in her own voice. Stein is deliberately writing simply, directly, and factually, as a reflection – or affectionate ribbing – of her lover's voice. With such context, "I was born in San Francisco, California" changes from basic to nuanced, and a literature student might continue to read to see what a gifted writer will do with the conceit of writing as a plain speaker.

How much context would a writer want to assume their audience had for the writing? Gertrude Stein sold the first copies to friends and acquaintances. She could assume they knew a lot. A first time novelist might want to assume all their readers will know is the genre... or the language, English... or the great events of the novel's period....

Writers and readers collaborate. We need a shared language to reach each other. How much a shared language contains – only the 600 words of Basic English? acquaintance with Alice B. Toklas? – can vary widely for different books. If you have a first sentence that isn't grabbing interest, it's worth checking how much you expect your readers to already know.

(I apologize that I do not remember which of my literature teachers introduced this book to me. I hope, if they discover this, that they will enlighten me and take some comfort that I remember the book.)