Halsey Street

 

Naima Coster's first sentence is pure description: "The bar was two stories below street level, its wooden walls curved to resemble the bow of a ship." No person appears. There's no immediate conflict. Instead, we see specific, fresh details. This places the sentence directly in the literary tradition. 

Literary works often include beautiful writing and close attention to the details of the world. Here we have a bit of alliteration: repeated "st" in "stories below street" and repeated "w" in "wooden walls." The rhythm is uneven, with no pattern repeating enough to draw attention to itself. 

Many stories start in bars. I have never seen a bar just like this one. At two stories below street level, it is hard to find. It might be the kind of bar that mainly fills with regulars, as people walking by would have a hard time spotting it. The curved wooden walls are unusual and distinct. I imagine them as sheltering as they enclose the bar's customers. 

The sentence ends by comparing the bar's walls to the bow of a ship. The bow is the leading portion of a ship. A ship already connects to travel and journeys, and by mentioning the bow particularly, the author strengthens that reference. Coster could have written "the hull of a ship" – after all, the entire ship curves. "Bow" struck me as the strangest word in this sentence. It's a deliberate choice – and it gives extra weight to the idea of a journey – and the way both "bar" and "bow" start with "b" adds another link between them. 

A bar and a ship are both places where many stories begin. In bars, we mix with people who may bring new possibilities. Ships can take us to new lands. Those associations intrigue me. The sentence also promises observation and good language, to make the coming journey vivid and enjoyable. I want to see where we go next. 

Graphic elements by Ken Silbert

Hat tip to Doug Weathers, my in-house proofreader, who caught the third alliteration between "bar" and "bow." I'm very lucky.