Guess the opening lines...

[kinkytoes]

Hi all, hope it's ok to start this here.

Thought it might be fun and stretch the old grey matter a bit.

I'll attach a shot of some opening lines and whoever guesses correctly post their own?

We could all just post pics but then we might lose track. I don't mind.

Let me know what you think (of the idea, and the opening lines here - hopefully started off with an easyish one but let me know if any clues are needed!)

If it's being done elsewhere please someone direct me 😊

Ditto!
Most of the ones I’ve got are children’s books, or opening lines that are well known even for those of us who haven’t read them.

Brother Francis Gerard is from A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M Miller. Classic sci-fi.

I love this game but I'm terrible at remembering opening lines. I've only gotten the Jame Austen ones and 100 Years of Solitude so far.

This is mine, a long-time favourite

I might be totally and utterly wrong here but is it The Handmaid’s Tale?

Yes!

Just been reading through this thread and, of course, everything has been answered now and it’s gone quiet.

All I wanted to add was that the bit where Eustace is turned into a dragon in Dawn Treader was so upsetting, both at the time and now.

Secondly, I’ve always loved The 39 Steps as my old dad read it to my sister and i on holiday in France one year( he read a novel to us most years), doing all the voices brilliantly. I found it utterly exciting. Now my dear old dad has dementia so it’s even more poignant for me.

I've just thought of one to post, but will have to read back through the thread to check I didn't post it before!

Here's one for anyone still following the thread. Character name will suffice, I don't expect anyone to know the the specific book.

It was [Redacted]'s practice to open her letters at the breakfast table. True to the maxims instilled into her when still extremely young, she was in the habit of giving duty the first place in her life. A call for her personal or professional assistance, whether by post or telephone, would therefore naturally precede any dalliance with the morning papers, of which she took two—one of that aloof and lofty character which made even the most world-shaking events seem to be taking place at an immense distance and to have very little bearing upon daily life; the other frankly given over to headlines, a lively presentment of politics, and such immediate and pressing matters as who had been married, murdered, or divorced.

A complete guess (never read them). Enola Holmes?

Miss Silver?

Gottit

The Silent Pool Patricia Wentworth

Yes it is Miss Silver and yes it is The Silent Pool.

I know some people here read Patricia Wentworth, so thought someone would get it.
Most of the books don't begin with Miss Silver but with the people involved in the murder mystery, so there wasn't much choice.

I went and sat beside the shelf and opened successive first pages and noticed that.

I love those books, that sense that Miss Silver will fix it, whatever it is.

Miss Silver is a very good comfort read.

I was going through them on Faded Page. I would have liked an opening paragraph describing the peacock blue carpet and all the rest, but there isn't one.

I did once own all the paperbacks, and many others by other favourite authors, but lack of space meant they had to go.

In the time of swords and periwigs and full-skirted coats with flowered lappets - when gentlemen wore ruffles, and gold-laced waistcoats of paduasoy and taffeta...

My favourite Christmas eve read.

no more twist

Yes!

Reviving it are we? Good - ok:

Simpkins, alderman, ex-mayor of this town, engineer by trade, longtime widower in public, longtime lover of a married woman in private. (Simpkins was discreet, never gossiped about this relationship, and people were better at live-and-let-live than they sometimes got credit for.)

"Because she was a princess she had a pegasus."

From one of my favourite authors......

The Tailor of Gloucester/Beatrix Potter

My godmother lived in a handsome house in the clean and ancient town of Bretton. Her husband’s family had been residents there for generations, and bore, indeed, the name of their birthplace—Bretton of Bretton: whether by coincidence, or because some remote ancestor had been a personage of sufficient importance to leave his name to his neighbourhood, I know not.

A man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern Alabama, looking down into the swift water twenty feet below. The man’s hands were behind his back, the wrists bound with a cord. A rope closely encircled his neck. It was attached to a stout cross-timber above his head and the slack fell to the level of his knees.

Is this Villette?

Yes!

Yes!