(The title makes sense, since the story turns on an actual notebook.)
by Nicholas Sparks
Chapter One: Miracles
Who am I? And how,I wonder, will this story end?
The sun has come up and I am sitting by a window that is foggy with the breath of a life gone by. (Melodramatic and clunky.) I’m a sight this morning: two shirts, heavy pants, a scarf wrapped twice around my neck and tucked into a thick sweater knitted by my daughter thirty birthdays ago. The thermostat in my room is set as high as it will go, and a smaller space heater sits directly behind me, clicking and groaning and spewing hot air like a fairytale dragon — and still my body shivers with a cold that will never go away, a cold that has been eighty years in the making. Eighty years. , I think sometimes, and dDespite my own acceptance of my age, it still amazes me that I haven’t been warm since George Bush was president. I wonder if this iIs this how it is for everyone my age?
My life? It isn’t easy to explain. It has Not been the rip-roaring spectacular I fancied it would be, but neither have I burrowed around with the gophers. I suppose it has most resembled a blue-chip stock:
(end of page 1)
Notes from the Red Pen of Doom
The biggest problem isn’t the line editing, though it’s clunky. While clearly first-person P.O.V., he keeps inserting needless attributions like “I wonder” and “I think.” Here’s the monster problem: 90 percent of page one is spent telling the reader — repeatedly — that the first-person narrator is (a) 80 years old and (b) seriously obsessed with talking about how cold it is.
Space on page one is precious. It’s for raising narrative questions that won’t be answered for 400 pages. Compelling questions.
Life or death. Together or alone. Freedom or slavery.
I can imagine a story where being 80 years old and cold is the problem. Maybe a doctor is headed to a remote Alaskan village when his snowmobile breaks down. He’s the only doctor within 200 miles, the only hope for a mother who’s in the middle of a labor gone wrong. Now you’ve got public stakes and private stakes. If he doesn’t strap on snowshoes and get past hungry wolves and polar bears, he’ll die, and the mom in labor might die, and her baby might die — and they’ll be no doctor out in the bush for a lot of people.
So: a cold old man becoming warm can matter a lot in a story.
Not in this story. On this page one, it’s boring.
Having an 80-year-old hero can make this hard. Go back to the first line: “And, I wonder, how will this story end?” Not a lot of suspense there. It’s hard having high stakes when the protag is already looking back on his life, as if it’s already over.
This is why most novels and movies feature younger protags. The more you have to lose, the higher the stakes.
It’s why you have movies like INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM, not INDIANA JONES AND THE CONTENTIOUS BINGO GAME.
You certainly can have great stories with older heroes. They just have to DO something.
Anthony Hopkins did a great job with Hannibal Lecter, an active and charming killer. Old, yes, but he didn’t act like Sparks’ old man. There is no book called HANNIBAL LECTER AND THE SPACE HEATER.
So, back to THE NOTEBOOK: the beginning should set up the ending. Does the climax hinge on whether our 80-year-old hero puts on another ugly Christmas sweater and finally stops kvetching about being cold? No.
It’s about whether or not he’s alone or together. Whether his wife remembers him or not.
So the first line is on track. Almost. Not “Who am I?” but “Who are you?” And that question should come out of the mouth of the wife.
Or, if Sparks wanted some misdirection, have that question come from somebody else. But since the end is about togetherness, about love and romance and faithfulness, the first chapter should be full of loneliness. Not cold. Not sweaters and scarves and space heaters.
Talk about how friends move, how coworkers get different jobs, kids grow up and stop calling. Spend the first page on loneliness, if you want the ending to be about togetherness.
Had I not read the back cover, and didn’t know the climax of this story, reading page one would not motivate me to read more.
If the narrator complains a lot, and doesn’t think his own life is exciting, why the hell would I keep reading about him? I will now praise the One Known as the Spork: the ending of this book, as a plot, isn’t bad. Page one doesn’t do it justice.
Verdict: Take out the Nine and shoot it full of holes, then burn whatever’s left and start over with a fresh sheet of paper.
16 thoughts on “The Red Pen of Doom guts THE NOTEBOOK”
Lord, I find Sparks trying. And cloying. And awful. A rare example of a movie being much better than the book. Or perhaps I was just overcome by the palpable chemistry between Rachel McAdams and my boyfri–I mean Ryan Gosling.
Wow, your comment on The Notebook is spot on. I forced myself to read The Notebook and other books by Nicholas Sparks are cheesier than velveeta. It boggles the mind how the author thinks he is better than Jane Austen and Shakespeare.
I read this book from start to finish in thirty minutes, it was that awful. Although clunky, like you say, its written on about a fourth grade reading level at best. Well done, Red Pen. However, I hope you’re kinder to my book if it ever gets published 😉
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You read the whole thing???
Yeah, like I said, its a thirty minute piece of crap! (I read fast, especially if the reading level is that low.)
I wonder if he wrote it in 30 minutes.
Its possible. 😉
If you sharpen the Red Pen of Doom, does it not bleed?
You know my opinion of the Spork. The RPoD is gentle and tender as compared to the flamethrower I recommend for all works by Spork. But. That is not the point. The point is you asked for nominations. I have a couple. Take your pick. The first is a sacred cow of romance which has a first page that makes for wailing and gnashing of teeth: Jane Eyre. The second is a modern classic, one of my favorite old-school romances, and has a pathetically awful first page: Kathleen Woodiwiss’s Shanna. Go on. Have fun.
Sorry, but I’ve been talking about Flogging Club all day. In public. On Twitter and my blog. At church. At the bar.
What happens if I break the rules of Flogging Club?
Also, BRILLIANT work, Red Pen of Doom. I laughed out loud over and over and over again…
Absolutely love this idea, I will be following closely. Thank you for your time and effort.
You’re welcome. Thanks for reading. And next time you visit, submit a first page.
The first rule of Flogging Club is,”You do not talk about Flogging Club.”
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