This GoodReads group proposes a weekly meme whose aim is to give a list of Top Five… anything, as long as they are book related.
This week the theme is: Favorite First Sentences, which is a problem because it’s not easy to narrow it down to only five. I started with three times that much and then proceeded to an agonizing pruning job. No, not easy at all….
These are all the kind of beginnings that grab my attention from the very start, and never let go, from page one to the end. What I found surprising, with some hindsight, is that they are all first volumes in series I’ve enjoyed more than most, so, if it’s true that beginnings are very delicate times (to quote from “Dune”, another all-time favorite), these beginning were strong enough to keep me reading on.
And now for the quotes…
I am not as I once Was. They have done this to me, broken me open and torn out my heart. I do not know who I am anymore. I must try to remember.
Our story opens where countless stories have ended in the last twenty-six years: with an idiot – in this case, my brother Shaun – deciding it would be a good idea to go out and poke a zombie with a stick to see what happens. As if we didn’t already know what happens when you mess with a zombie: The zombie turns around and bites you, and you become the thing you poked. This isn’t a surprise. It hasn’t been a surprise for more than twenty years, and if you want to get technical, it wasn’t a surprise then.
The Scopuli had been taken eight days ago, and Julie Mao was finally ready to be shot. It had taken all eight days trapped in a storage locker for her to get to that point. For the first two she’d remained motionless, sure that the armored men who’d put her there had been serious. For the first hours, the ship she’d been taken aboard wasn’t under thrust, so she floated in the locker, using gentle touches to keep herself from bumping into the walls or the atmosphere suit she shared the space with. When the ship began to move, thrust giving her weight, she’d stood silently until her legs cramped, then sat down slowly into a fetal position. She’d peed in her jumpsuit, not caring about the warm itchy wetness, or the smell, worrying only that she might slip and fall in the wet spot it left on the floor. She couldn’t make noise. They’d shoot her.
I fished out the rusty nail from under my pallet and scratched another mark on the wall. Tomorrow would be midsummer, not that a person could tell rain from shine in this cesspit. I’d been here a year. A whole year of filth and abuse and being shoved back down the moment I lifted myself so much as an inch. Tomorrow, at last, I’d get my chance to speak out. Tomorrow I would tell my story.
The rulers of the Republic lived atop the great flying city of Heaven’s Spire, their magnificent palaces soaring above the world. From their great manses in the sky came the laws and decrees that kept the country in motion, and the commoners on the ground could look up every morning and see their rulers overhead. The prisoners of the Republic lived beneath the great city of Heaven’s Spire, scouring the lapiscaela whose magic kept the city aloft. For their terrible crimes, each man and woman served a life sentence, clinging to the pipes with only a mile of empty air beneath them. There was no chance of release, no hope of escape. Today, however, Loch intended to change that.