Because They Skipped the Prologue.

My story begins before Chapter One.

When my heroine was four, someone cursed her. Henceforth her life took on a sinister turn, and eventually, the curse came true.

So I thought I'd write a prologue. I'm all about tight prose, so I even came up with some reasons to justify it.

1. I'm not writing David Copperfield. The tale doesn't pick up again for over a decade, isolating the scene from the following ones.
2. What else could it be? It's way too short to comprise a chapter.
3. It feels good. The story has four "Parts." With a prologue, that's five times I've pressed the Align Center button. After typing 300 words, I feel like I've completed twenty percent of the manuscript.

It was an easy decision.

Whenever something I'm writing comes easily, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

The wind goes still and the animals start running in circles.

A tall skinny nun hurries up the spiral staircase with a lantern, calling, Something is not right! Something is quite wrong! Something is not right! And so! I sing this song!

That scene always gave me the heebies.

Can you think of a Great Book that has a prologue? I can't. (Let me know if you can.) Even Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, which begins when Harry's an infant and then skips a decade, starts at One.

Obviously, this complicates things. But flip through your favorite reads—the ones on your keeper shelf. How many use prologues? Now pick up that stack of guilty pleasures from the library.

See what I mean?

I thought about this for a while. The best reason why this is that I can come up with is that if it’s part of your story, it goes in your story. If it isn’t, it just…goes.

On The Office, Michael meets with his ex-boss and describes his "laid-back" leadership style. The older man sighs wearily and says, "Why can't your boss be your boss, your friends be your friends, and your family be your family?"

Why can't your beginning be your beginning?

After all, Harry grew up without a prologue. Look how he turned out.

More than Just a Pretty Character: Part II

Reason Three: Respect

Suspense is overrated. When writers tug the threads of a scene too hard, its fabric begins to feel thin, and readers see through it. Being strung along by a book is no different than being strung along by someone of the opposite sex: a little is tantalizing, but eventually, you just feel manipulated. The reader will roll her eyes and skip to the next chapter. If you're lucky.

"I shall walk that ridgepole, Diana, or perish in the attempt. If I am killed you are to have my pearl bead ring."

....she swayed, lost her balance, stumbled, staggered, and fell, sliding down over the sun-baked roof and crashing off it through the tangle of Virginia creeper beneath...

If Anne had tumbled off the roof on the side up which she had ascended Diana would probably have fallen heir to the pearl bead ring then and there. Fortunately she fell on the other side..."

Isn't this an opportunity to make us chew our puffed sleeves in anticipation? Why does Montgomery mock the possibility of Anne's death? Because she respects her readers. We're halfway through the book. Anne hasn't slept in a spare room or forgiven Gilbert. We know she's not going to die.

Depending on suspense to keep your reader is like designing a roller coaster with steel wool seats. It has its thrills, but what's the point? You can't get comfortable.

Your narrators don't have to be reliable. You don't have to pull a rabbit out of a hat every chapter. You don't have to be funny. But it's essential to respect the reader.

***

So, what have we learned from AGG? Here I've compliled

Lucy Maud's List of Writerly Manners

1. Make the Introductions. Allow readers to meet your best characters. Do it through omniscience, another point of view, even another character's facial expression. If you give your characters too much control, they'll hide their flaws and flatten their quirks. Readers can "become" the protagonist later. At the beginning, your prote should conflict with her world. Allow readers to see what is ridiculous about her--and then teach them to love her for it.

2. Don't Wander Off. What is this book about? You should be able to tell me in one word. That's the theme. Does your prote want a cup of coffee and some time to reflect? Do not give it to him. Kick him in the shins till he does something. Anne daydreams all the time, but Montgomery doesn't describe it because she's telling a tale of belonging, not isolation.

3. Make Your Guests Feel Welcome. Have you ever hung out with two people who share a long history together? They say things like "And remember that time--with the cymbals!" "Oh, yes! And then the whale showed up!" It's rude. You feel left out. In the same way, stay away from past perfect. (As in, "She had bored me.") Anne's history is probably interesting, but it's not now. Using "had" is like taking the interest dial and setting it at "2." You won't be able to entirely avoid it, but realize what you're doing.

4. Respect Their Intelligence. Kind of like "show, don't tell." Except some things don't need to be shown or told. Some things, such as the word "syphilis," are better left unsaid. Oops.

5. Learn the Art of Conversation. If you can't have a good time with your friend unless you take her to the circus followed by lasertag, why bother? Get your reader comfortable, and she'll look forward to the quiet evenings she spends with you. Because we trust Montgomery's vision, we expect that (not wonder if) Anne is going to forgive Gilbert. This is especially important in romance. We know what happens. What we're interested in is how.

More Than Just a Pretty Character: Anne

As a child, I resisted the pull of Anne.  I refused to watch the movies. My grandmother read me the first few chapters in hopes that I would relent. I would not be moved.  

Secret Garden? I'd come in anytime. 

Little Women? Quadruple the pleasure. 

Pollyanna? Be glad to. 

Anne of Green Gables? Shirley not. 

Why, you ask?  Well now, I dunno.  In any case I was nineteen, not nine, when I cracked it open.  

That's right. I read Lord of the Flies before I read Anne of Green Gables. Do you know what that does to the human mind? Nothing healthy, that's what.  

Why does everyone, including us latecomers, adore it so? Let me tell you--I'm rereading it now--it sure ain't the plot. Dead mice and drunken twelve-year-olds are fun, but they do not a bestseller make.

Reason One:  The Writer is Gracious

By all rights, of course, Reason One should be, well, Anne herself.  But other, far smarter people have expounded on Anne's personality. Let us trudge onward.  

Guess what page the word "Anne" first appears on? In my edition, it's 21. That's the third chapter.  

We don't meet Anne until Matthew does. (He forgets to ask her name.) Once we're formally introduced, the story is told through Marilla's point of view for the next several pages.  When she sends Anne upstairs to bed, the narration follows her:

"And upstairs, in the east gable, a lonely, heart-hungry, friendless child cried herself to sleep."

Notice whose red head we're not inside.  

Anne is one of fiction's most unique characters. Way more interesting than crusty old spinster Marilla or the ordinary schoolkids. That's the point. They're boring, Anne isn't. If we saw things through Anne's eyes, not only would AGG be pages of daydreams and descriptions, but the book itself would be silly. When we meet her through other people, only Anne is silly. A silly world isn't funny, but a silly person in a serious world is hilarious. And touching. And wistful.   Montgomery is gracious enough to introduce us to Anne.  We don't become her, we experience her. 

Edwardian writer that she is, Montgomery headhops. I mean, she doesn't really headhop because she's ominiscient--she knows Anne forgets to turn down the bedclothes before Marilla does--but you know what I mean. She trips from one character's view to another in a single scene.  

Today this is no longer allowed. We're not even supposed to narrate. It's deep third this, deep third that.  (Mr. Spock, I fear we're in great danger.  Set our course to deep third.*) We're supposed to make our readers forget they're reading. You'd think the book in their hands would be kind of a giveaway. 

 

I'm not bashing deep third. If you can't write in it nowadays, you're toast.  The point is, Montgomery zooms in on their thoughts and then out to tell what they don't know.  Yet, until I was rude enough to point it out, you probably didn't notice she was doing it.  So why does it work?

1. Montgomery assumes that the reader will sympathize with her characters without becoming them.  Do you only sympathize with yourself?  I hope not.  
2. Montgomery has places to go and people to see.  She wants to get on with the story.  And so do you.

Reason Two:  The Writer Knows What We Want

Cool orphans abound in fiction. Why does Anne rise above Oliver, Pollyanna, and Arthur Fonzerelli?  It's more than Anne herself--we don't just enjoy her company, we want to enter her world.

  

"Just as soon as I saw it I felt it was home. Oh, it seems as if I must be in a dream. Do you know, my arm must be black and blue from the elbow up, for I've pinched myself so many times today. Every little while a horrible sickening feeling would come over me and I'd be so afraid it was all a dream....But it is real and we're nearly home."

For eleven years Anne has a life of colicky babies and yellow wincey, and then, suddenly, she's taken to P.E.I.. And her real life begins. It's beautiful there. She hasn't earned it--she wins it through a fluke--but once she comes, she begins a journey from isolation into community. She must un-learn some things, but it's clear that the real Anne--the Anne borne of her parents--was made to live there. 

Have you ever noticed that we don't flash back to Anne's old life? We get hints--it's personified by Mrs. Blewett--and Marilla suspects it's worse than Anne's leading her to believe, but we never go there.** Surely there's something interesting about such a "tragical" life, to use our heroine's*** word. But Anne doesn't dwell, and neither do we. The Island is where the dimension lies.  

There are cultures that would find a talkative, stubborn girl unsympathetic, but everyone feels lost. Everyone wants to board a train and get off at their real home. To be of.   

Anne--even Anne!--was not enough. Montgomery plucked at a simple human desire--to come home. This is why romance novels often have houses on their covers. And why they don't suffer for readers.     

***

I know, I know. There ought to be three.  Well, there will be. Tomorrow. And like I said, it sure ain't plot.

*I have no idea who was the navigator on the Enterprise. In case you couldn't tell.

**Unless you're Kevin Sullivan. He did go there. By accusing Anne of lying  Literal defamation of character.  

***Yes, I know it's a stimulant, not a female protagonist. No, I don't care. Hero will always mean "boy" to me.