First Lines is a series of blog articles posted on around the first of the month. Inspired by a friend’s suggestion that I write a post on how to write the first line of your story, I started this series. My idea was to inspire my writing with these examples. I also hoped to inspire other writers and point readers to books they might enjoy.
This month, let’s have fun and celebrate women’s history month by exploring first lines by some women who broke barriers by authoring science fiction when males dominated the field. Keep in mind that the first lines of some of these titles, written long ago, may vary depending upon which editions are the source.
Even though she wasn’t the first, let’s start with the author, often called “the mother of science fiction.”
Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft
1797-1851
To Mrs. Saville, England.
Saint Petersburgh, December 11, 17.
You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil for foreboding. I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to assure my dear sister of my welfare and increasing confidence in the success of my undertaking.
I am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets of Petersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which brace is my nerves and fills me with delight. Do you understand this feeling? This breeze, which has traveled from the regions towards which I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes.“
Frankenstein, or, The modern Prometheus. London,
Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor, & Jones, 1818
Ives, Cora Semmes
1834-1916
It was after the dreadful struggle between north and south that a poor confederate soldier wandered into a wood near the ruins of his splendid home.
He had been indulging his grief at the graves of his fond parents, recalling the proud day when he had buckled on his sword in defense of his native land, his mother’s last embrace, his aged father’s blessing, and his own promise to return and brighten their declining years with the laurels of victory and liberty.
But alas! How different from his sanguine anticipation was the reality! And now as he thought of his bitter disappointment, and gazed upon the blackened ruins of his once beautiful home, deep anguish filled his heart. Raising his tearful eyes, Heavenward, the moon’s pensive rays fell upon his face with unusual brilliancy, causing him to exclaim, “Ah! Had I wings, how gladly I would seek shelter on your distant, peaceful shores, sweet moon.” Instantly a shadowy mist surrounded him, and through this cloud, he beheld a female of exquisite beauty.”
The Princess of the Moon: A Confederate Fairy Story Written by a Lady of Warrentown, VA.
Warrenton, Va.: [s.n.], 1869.
Alcott, Louisa May
1832-1888
On the first day of June, 184—, a large wagon, drawn by a small horse and containing a Mötley load, with lumbering over certain new England Hills, with the pleasing accompaniments of wind, rain, and hail. A serene man, with a serene child upon his knee was driving, or rather being driven, for this more small horse had all its own way. A brown boy, with a William Penn style of countenance sat beside him, firmly embracing a blast of a bust of Socrates. Behind them was an energetic, looking woman, with a benevolent brow, satirical mouth, and eyes brim, full of hope, courage. A baby proposed upon her lap, a mirror leaned against her knee, and a basket of provisions danced about at her feet, as she struggled with a large unruly umbrella. Two blue eyed little girls, with hands full of childish treasures, sat under one old Shaw, chatting happily together.
In front of this lively party stocked a tall, sharp, featured man, and a long blue cloak; and a fourth small girl trudged alone beside him through the mud as if she rather enjoyed it.
The wind whistled over the bleak kills; the rain fell in despondent drizzle, and twilight began to fall. But the calm man grays gazed as tranquil into the fog, as if he be held a radiant bow of promise spam spanning the gray guy. The cherry woman tried to cover everyone but herself with the big umbrella…..”
The Independent, Vol. 25, No. 1307, 18 December 1873.
Harris, Clare Winger
1891-1964
I met Lee Clayton in Rome. The attraction was a mutual one, before we discovered that we had much in common; both students of history, fond of travel, and possessing an insatiable thirst for the uncovering of forgotten, and apparently insignificant historical data that might throw light upon questions of dispute.
At the end of three weeks, we had covered the city of the Sevenhills from the Flaminian to the Appian Way, reveling, especially in those relics that gave us any knowledge of the dead past. Dead? Can the past ever really die? I believed, and I think my friend Clayton agreed with me, that the past lives today. It is immortal, but in its changed form it is manifest in influence and posterity. These two in a stream of continuity rendered the antiquity of Rome, a vital fact in the 20th century A. D.
One warm evening, Clayton and I returned to the hotel veranda after an interesting day among the ruins of the Roman forum. To our ears came, the characteristic sounds of Italian life, a snatch of song and melodious tenor, a sharp exculpation, the rumble of cab wheels over cobblestones, and the occasional bleeding of goats whose milk supplied the native quarter. To our right, the yellow thread of the Tiber was fairly visible faintly visible.“
The Miracle of the Lilly: Three Novelette’s by Clare Winger Harris
“A Certain Soldier: A story of reincarnation and Ancient Rome”
Weird Tales, November 1927
MacLean, Katherine
1925-2019
It was like an Earth forest in the fall, but it was not fall. The forest leaves were green and copper and purple and fiery red, and a wind sent patches of bright greenish sunlight dancing among the leaf shadows.
The hunt party of the Explorer filed along the narrow trail, guns ready, walking carefully, listening to the distant, half familiar cries of strange birds.
A faint crackle of static in their earphones indicated that a gun had been fired.
“Got anything?” Asked June Walton. The helmet intercom carried her voice to the ears of the others without breaking the stillness of the forest.
“Took a shot at something,” explained George Barton’s cheerful voice in her earphones. She rounded a bend of the trail and came upon Barton standing peeing up into the trees, his gun still raised. “It looked like a duck.”
“This isn’t Central Park,” said Hal, Barton, his brother, coming into sight. His green space suit struck an incongruous note against the bronze and red forest. “They won’t all look like ducks,” he said soberly.“
Galaxy Science Fiction, October 1950
Russ, Joanna
1937-2011
I was born on a farm on Whileaway. When I was five I was sent to a school on South Continent (like everybody else) and when I turned 12, I rejoined my family. My mother’s name was Eva, my other mother’s name, Alicia; I am Janet Evason. When I was thirteen I stalked and killed a wolf, alone, on North Continent above the 48th parallel, using only a rifle. I made a travois for the head and paws, then abandoned the head and finally got home with one paw, proof enough (I thought). I’ve worked in the mines, on the radio network, on a milk farm, a vegetable farm, and for six weeks as a librarian after I broke my leg. At thirty I bore Yuiko Janetson; when she was taken away to a school five years later (and I never saw a child protest so much) I decided to take time off and see if I could find my family’s old home—for they had moved away after I had married and relocated near Mine City in South Continent.“
Bantam Books Inc., 1975
Clarification
There are no affiliate links in this post. I don’t make a cent off of the books listed on this page. Usually I pull these titles at random. They are from Amazon, my personal library, my area public library, or other online booksellers.
Do You Want to Read More?
Do these first lines hook you? Do you want to read more? They are here for your enjoyment. And to entice you to buy more books.
Please let me know if any of these surprised or interested you or share a first line you love.
Check out previous First Lines posts.
A special thank you to the University of Pennsylvania for their excellent celebration of women writers in their digital library.