This continues the reprisal of my series of page 1 critiques - you can read about the project HERE, and there's a list of all the critiques so far too.
So, I've critiqued page 1s that were sent to me, my own page 1, and three page 1s from fantasy books I loved.
This one's a bit different. More than 10 years ago but fewer than 20, I picked up Wizard's First Rule from our bookshelves. My best friend had recommended the series and either loaned us the books or my wife had bought some. Either way, we have three of them on the shelves, big fat 80s-looking fantasies, published to great acclaim in the mid 90s.
I read the first page, rolled my eyes at it, and said, 'no thanks'.
In the intervening years I discovered that Terry Goodkind was an unpopular figure in the fantasy forums I started to haunt post my own publication. He was massively successful in the early part of the century. He was the first or one of the first authors ever to become #1 New York Times bestseller with a fantasy book.
He has, however, said some things that are neither good nor kind about the genre, and by extension, his fellow writers:
"I don't write fantasy. I write stories that have important human themes. They have elements of romance, history, adventure, mystery and philosophy. Most fantasy is one-dimensional. It's either about magic or a world-building. I don't do either."
OK, Terry...
But, I knew nothing of this or of his Ayn Rand worship when I made my eye-roll and abandoned his book, never to return. So that was unbiased.
Mr Goodkind passed away a couple of years ago, so there are no egos to bruise here, and I feel safe addressing the work.
Note - echoing and emphasising the disclaimer (below) that I always include on these things. Goodkind was WILDLY successful. He sold way more books than I have or am ever going to, and to great acclaim, including from my best friend.
What this underscores, is that my judgements are purely subjective, I'm telling you what I like. There may be some correlation to "what sells" but it's not a strong correlation. And of course, we all tend to call "what I like" good. But 'good' is in the eye of the reader.
Enough - let's go for it. I've not read this page in 10+ years. Perhaps my opinions will have changed!
(My standard disclaimer which, by chance, mentions Terry Goodkind)
It's very hard to separate one's tastes from a technical critique. There are page 1s from popular books with which I would find multiple faults. I didn't, for example, like page 1 of Terry Goodkind's Wizard's First Rule (I didn't pursue the rest of the book). But that book has 150,000+ ratings on Goodreads, a great average score of 4.12 and Goodkind is a #1 NYT bestseller. His first page clearly did a great job for many people.
I'm not always right *hushed gasp*. You will likely be able to find a successful and highly respected author who will tell you the opposite to practically every bit of advice I give. Possibly not the same author in each case though.
The art of receiving criticism is to take what's useful to you and discard the rest. You need sufficient confidence in your own vision/voice such that whilst criticism may cause you to adjust course you're not about to do a U-turn for anyone. If you act on every bit of advice you'll get crit-burn, your story will be pulled in different directions by different people. It will stop being yours and turn into some Frankenstein's monster that nobody will ever want to read.
Additionally - don't get hurt or look for revenge. The person critiquing you is almost always trying to help you (it's true in some groups there will be the occasional person who is jealous/mean/misguided but that's the exception, not the rule). That person has put in effort on your behalf. If they don't like your prose it's not personal - they didn't just slap your baby.
I've flicked through some of the pages looking for one where I have something to say - something that hopefully is useful to the author and to anyone else reading the post.
I've posted the unadulterated page first then again with comments inset and at the end.
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It was an odd-looking vine. Dusky variegated leaves hunkered against a stem that wound in a stranglehold around the smooth trunk of a balsam fir. Sap drooled down the wounded bark, and dry limbs slumped, making it look as if the tree were trying to voice a moan into the cool, damp morning air. Pods stuck out from the vine here and there along its length, almost seeming to look warily about for witnesses.
It was the smell that had first caught his attention, a smell like the decomposition of something that had been wholly unsavory even in life. Richard combed his fingers through his thick hair as his mind lifted out of the fog of despair, coming into focus upon seeing the vine. He scanned for others, but saw none. Everything else looked normal. The maples of the upper Ven Forest were already tinged with crimson, proudly showing off their new mantle in the light breeze. With nights getting colder, it wouldn’t be long before their cousins down in the Hartland Woods joined them. The oaks, being the last to surrender to the season, still stoically wore their dark green coats.
Having spent most his life in the woods, Richard knew all the plants—if not by name, by sight. From when Richard was very small, his friend Zedd had taken him along, hunting for special herbs. He had shown Richard which ones to look for, where they grew and why, and put names to everything they saw. Many times they just talked, the old man always treating him as an equal, asking as much as he answered. Zedd had sparked Richard’s hunger to learn, to know.This vine, though, he had seen only once before, and it wasn’t in the woods. He had found a sprig of it at his father’s house, in the blue clay jar Richard had made when he was a boy. His father had been a trader and had traveled often, looking for the chance exotic or rare item. People of means had often sought him out, interested in what he might have turned up. It seemed to be the looking, more than the finding, that he had liked, as he had always been happy to part with his latest discovery so he could be off after the next.
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OK - so I still think this is terrible. It has the 80s stamped all over it. It's the sort of slow, wandering, distant start that lots of 80s fantasy favoured. The 'I'm going to occupy 1200 pages so I might as well start wasting space immediately' approach. Many 80s fantasy authors assumed (perhaps correctly at the time) that the reader had nothing better to do and, having already purchased the book, they would eat up what was served to them.
Clearly they/we did. Would we do so now? I don't think so - but I've been wrong before.
It was an odd-looking vine.
Not a great opening prose-wise. It does pose a question at least. What was odd about it? Did it have eyes? Was blood oozing from its thorns?
Dusky variegated leaves hunkered against a stem that wound in a stranglehold around the smooth trunk of a balsam fir. Sap drooled down the wounded bark, and dry limbs slumped,
Wow ... he just spent 10% of page 1 telling us about a vine. A pretty ordinary-looking vine if I'm honest.
Many 80s fantasy writers were trying to clone Tolkien and the main thing they picked up on was lots of description. But they tended to try to outdo JRRT on quantity rather than quality.
making it look as if the tree were trying to voice a moan into the cool, damp morning air. Pods stuck out from the vine here and there along its length, almost seeming to look warily about for witnesses.
This really is wordy - trying to voice a moan into the cool damp morning air...
And he slaps "making it look as if" and "almost seeming to" - this is verbiage that adds nothing and in fact subtracts.
It was the smell that had first caught his attention, a smell like the decomposition of something that had been wholly unsavory even in life.
I mean, points for using another sense, but ... do I care, and then so many words to describe the smell. Did it matter? Do we return to it? I'm not saying never add colour - but here, now, on page 1? HOOK ME!
Remember - I literally did walk away from this book, and not to make a point, just because the 1st page let me.
Richard combed his fingers through his thick hair
A deep (read good) PoV thinks like a person. They don't consider themselves tall or long-fingered etc. Similarly, he's unlikely to consider his own hair thick, or at least to remark on it to himself. This is distancing - it puts us outside Richard, not in him.
as his mind lifted out of the fog of despair, coming into focus upon seeing the vine. He scanned for others, but saw none. Everything else looked normal.
Well, he's in despair, I guess that's a possible interesting thing among all these vines and trees and leaves...
"scanned" is weird way to put it. Is he a T1000?
++ full confession - I've since seen that I use 'scanned' in the same way - my nitpicking got out of hand! ++
Everything else looked normal ... a bit of a nothing line.
The maples of the upper Ven Forest were already tinged with crimson, proudly showing off their new mantle in the light breeze. With nights getting colder, it wouldn’t be long before their cousins down in the Hartland Woods joined them. The oaks, being the last to surrender to the season, still stoically wore their dark green coats.
Dear god... We've moved on from describing an allegedly unusual vine to describing normal trees.
If this was excellent prose then I'd give it a pass as I have with other page 1s as the author displaying their writing chops. Read on, you'll get more of these word-wonders. But this isn't great prose. It's ok. It passes the bar, but past that, it's standard, generic. If it were a new writer just starting out, I'd say "well done", but here it's just sufficient.
Having spent most his life in the woods, Richard knew all the plants—if not by name, by sight.
Uh huh... Is there a story? Is there a problem? Some action? A unique selling point?
From when Richard was very small, his friend Zedd had taken him along, hunting for special herbs. He had shown Richard which ones to look for, where they grew and why, and put names to everything they saw. Many times they just talked, the old man always treating him as an equal, asking as much as he answered. Zedd had sparked Richard’s hunger to learn, to know.
So ... this is on page 1 ... telling us about something pretty boring in the character's past. It's not doing it for me. At all.
This vine,
Hooray ... we're back to the vine...
though, he had seen only once before, and it wasn’t in the woods. He had found a sprig of it at his father’s house, in the blue clay jar Richard had made when he was a boy. His father had been a trader and had traveled often, looking for the chance exotic or rare item.
And now we're being told more stuff about the past. Rather generic, boring stuff to boot.
I'm not one for scattering adjectives - remember the "cool damp morning air"? but I'll give a point for the "blue". It is, as I've said, good to add *some* (not lots) pinpoint detail. And here, the unnecessary qualification that it was a blue jar actually makes the memory seem a bit more real.
However, a 2nd memory on page 1? Nah. Come on, let's have some immediacy. Put us there. Have something happen.
People of means had often sought him out, interested in what he might have turned up. It seemed to be the looking, more than the finding, that he had liked, as he had always been happy to part with his latest discovery so he could be off after the next.
And I'm done! Distant and wordy to the last. An unexciting memory filled with stray words. I had no incentive to continue, so I didn't. I plucked a different book from the shelf and left the 773 following pages unread.
I do not think this book would get published today. If it did ... I do not think it would sell. But I have been wrong before!
The book failed to do on page 1 any of the things I would advise a new writer to do. But unlike some of the other page 1s I've critiqued, it didn't do anything clever/unique instead.
It presented a character without an interesting voice. It gave us a dull situation without threat or tension.
It jumped into some dull memories. Everything felt generic and distant. I was left with only two minor questions: why is he in despair? & what's up with this vine? Neither of which felt compelling and neither of which I ever want answered.
Was Goodkind's self aggrandisement whilst shitting on fantasy writers in general a justified flex? Well, I know half of it was bollocks because fantasy does all the things he claimed to do. Did he do them too? Don't know, and based on this page 1, don't care.
But I return to the start. He sold millions, made millions. What you gonna do, eh?
