I know I have discussed certain aspects of this infamous story opening before, but I really want to dive into a couple of very specific points. There are many angles of attack to choose from, and there is even a reason to defend this generally poor first line, but this time I have a purpose other than to once again disturb the spirit of Edward Bulwer-Lytton. So if you will indulge me for a moment, maybe we can salvage some perspective from this otherwise forgettable bit of verse.
For those who do not know the full story here, Edward Bulwer-Lytton is responsible for opening his book, Paul Clifford, with the line, "It was a dark and stormy night..." which has become synonymous with wordy, ornate, sprawling and excessive description, or "purple prose" as the kids call it these days. This was back when authors often wrote very expansively (many were paid by the word), and went on about things that had little relevance to the story (sometimes because it padded the word count). However, that's not what I will be discussing.My point comes from something that came up in a writer discussion. Someone noted that as an opening book line, it does create an image, a mood. It does set the stage in a very visual way, offering the reader an immediate gaze upon the setting. Well, that's fine... for a screenplay to a movie. Think of how many movies that have opened on the stormy night in downtown wherever, traffic splashing through the shadowy streets while the title and opening credits appear. There's a lot of mood-setting there, mostly because the actors and director need their names up front. In that environment, let there be weather, wind, mood and music. It's a movie.
In writing, however, the reader needs to know why they are there. Mood is fine, but the reader isn't going to spend the first few pages settling in, setting up the popcorn, and waiting for the story to start. The story needs to claim the reader very quickly and place them into the mind and body of its character. Sure, mood is important, but it is more important that in writing, the lighting, weather, sounds and sights are things shown as character experiences, not just environmental variables or mood placers. The dark and stormy night can mean many different things depending on whether the character is running across the street, looking outside from their hotel room, or trying to stay warm and dry in an alley for the night. The storm only matters as it relates to the character.
If I spend my time writing about this dark and stormy night (and what night isn't dark?), it creates environment but I am still lacking the meat of the story, which is the character. Let's say I write a paragraph of the storm rolling through the streets. I then go to the character, who is sitting at a bar, listening to the storm and tending to his gin and tonic. The reader's interest goes to the character, and the storm feels incidental, even useless. However, let's instead start with the character, sipping their drink and listening to the storm outside. Now that storm makes a difference because our character can respond to it in some manner - happy to not be out in it, not looking forward to going outside, worried about other people getting drenched, etc. The storm and the character have intersected into an actual moment that informs us about the scene, surroundings, and character all at once.
So, with full respect to the Right Honorable Lord Lytton, your infamous sentence will serve as a great object lesson for generations of writers to come. But of the many phrases you coined in your years, this will not, however, be a great example of your wordsmithing. Just be happy people will still pick up your book hundreds of years later just to see those seven words.
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