The Cement Garden
By Ian McEwan
Published in 1978
“I did not kill my father, but I sometimes felt I had helped him on his way. And but for the fact that it coincided with a landmark in my own physical growth, his death seemed insignificant compared to what followed. My sisters and I talked about him the week after he died, and Sue certainly cried when the ambulance men tucked him up in a bright red blanket and carried him away. He was a frail, irascible, obsessive man with yellowish hands and face. I am only including the little story of his death to explain how my sister and I came to have such a large quantity of cement at our disposal.”
Suggested by Rev. Scott W. Barron, Mt. Prospect
Wouldn’t Take Nothing for My Journey Now
By Maya Angelou
Published in 1993
“In my young years I took pride in the fact that luck was called a lady. In fact, there were so few public acknowledgments of the female presence that I felt personally honored whenever nature and large ships were referred to as feminine. But as I matured, I began to resent being considered a sister to a changeling as fickle as luck, as aloof as an ocean, and as frivolous as nature.”
Suggested by Donna Brouillard, Grayslake
———-
If you have suggestions for “Opening Lines,” mail a photocopy of the book cover, copyright page and opening paragraph to Assistant editor Terri Colby, Attention: Opening Lines, Books section, Chicago Tribune, 435 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, IL 60611.
