Book Synthesis: All Books Should Begin with a Prologue

July’s Book Synthesis is brought to you by The Paper Rats.  Authors Kristen Tsetsi (author of Homefront and Carol’s Aquarium) and R.J. Keller (author of Waiting For Spring) like to make videos when they should be writing. Their show is called “Inside The Writers’ Studio.” They are Paper Rats.  This month they discuss why all books should begin with a prologue.

Kel says: Well, maybe not every book. Only the awesome books, like ours.

Kris says: And why are they awesome? Because of the prologues.

Kel says: Exactly. The prologue of my book, Waiting For Spring, introduces its protagonist, Tess, at the age of seven as she learns a lesson in Sunday School that colors the way she views the world and herself throughout the rest of the novel.

Kris says: And mine, in my novel Homefront, allows readers a private glimpse into a relationship that’s about to be catapulted into a pretty significant upheaval (which is the thrust of the story).

Kel says: WFS’s prologue (which is presented almost as a parable) also sets the tone for the rest of the novel. Since it is character-driven, rather than plot-driven, I wanted readers to be pulled immediately into Tess’s head and to introduce the people who had the biggest influence on her life before the main action begins.

Kris says: Oh, yeah? Well…well, HF’s prologue (which is presented entirely as a prologue) also sets the character-driven tone. In fact, my book is completely filled with characters. And they drive it. They drive it right from the prologue into the first chapter. And the second and third, and so on.

Kel says: Which is why it’s so awesome.

Kris says: I agree – the prologue as a device is a truly awesome thing. We could probably talk for weeks about The Awesome Prologue, but do you think we should talk a little bit about first chapters, and whatnot?

Kel says: Right. Because many books, even awesome ones, skip the prologue and go right to the first chapter. And when they do, I like it when the author grabs me, whether it’s emotionally or intellectually. A lot has been said about “hooking” your reader, to the point where the term has become cliche. In fact, I’m personally sick of it and hope nobody uses the term again. But it does illustrate the main purpose of a first chapter, namely drawing the reader into the story.

Kris says: I’m opposed to hooking, as well. But I do like trying to grab a reader in the first chapter, and there are many ways to do this. The most important of which, I think, is by not boring your reader. Which is to say, even if there’s no page-one murder, sweaty-palmed cliff-hanger, or other variation of hyphenated-action excitement, as long as there’s something that appeals to reader curiosity and compels them to want to turn the page, the job has been done. (Being compelled to turn the page to answer, “This has to get better, right?” doesn’t count.)

Kel says: Neither does, “Did this guy actually decide to keep writing?” But going forward to things that do count, and something I love, is foreshadowing. I dig it. Especially Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief, which is chuckerblock full of foreshadowing. I also dig when the author leaves me with a question that (presumably) will be answered during the course of the book.

Kris says: I also really enjoy straight-up questions found in the first chapter–and better yet, on the first page. Particularly when the question is one that’s been pondered for ages, such as the one asked by the narrator in Pack Up the Moon by Anna McPartlin: “Men, I thought. How hard is it to aim for the loo?”

Kel says: How hard, indeed. And we can’t forget the importance of the first line. For example, Alicia Erian’s novel, Towelhead, begins, “My mother’s boyfriend got a crush on me, so she sent me to live with Daddy.” It’s not only punch-you-in-the-gut compelling, it lets you know exactly what kind of book you’re in for.

Kris says: Oh, it does. Another thing I like about a first chapter is something unexpected, something a little bit “off.” For example, on the first page of Chuck Palahniuk’s Lullaby, the first thing that screams at you are the centered, bold-face, all-caps words, GET OUT. This, of course, begs you to read the sentence before and after to find out what’s going on, but that the curiosity is quickly satisfied doesn’t diminish the interest in the book all because this writer is clearly having fun with the writing and isn’t concerned with sticking to convention. Much like (and this is done to a far greater degree, here) Kurt Vonnegut’s doodles in Breakfast of Champions.

Kel says: Agreed. Vonnegut rocks. So, in conclusion, I would say that although there is no particular formula for creating The Perfect First Chapter, drawing in your reader and setting the proper tone are important. Also, prologues can be awesome.

Kris says: They can. As can dialogue. I have to admit, I’m a very big fan of dialogue and think it may even be better than the best prologue. In all, though, I would have to agree in our conclusion that a first chapter should have some hooking, a killer first line that hits you in the face, maybe a drawing of a Vonnegut sphincter, and preceding all of it, a prologue.

Kel says: I thought we agreed to eliminate “hooking” from our literary vocabulary.

Kris says: I think we’re having a homonym issue.