Grass, by Sheri Tepper

Grass!

Millions of square miles of it; numberless wind-whipped tsunamis of grass, a thousand sun-lulled caribbeans of grass, a hundred rippling oceans, every ripple a gleam of scarlet or amber, emerald or turquoise, mulitcolored as rainbows, the colors shivering over the prairies in stripes and blotches, the grasses - some high, some low, some feathered, some straight - making their own geography as they grow. There are grass hills where the great plumes tower in masses the height of ten tall men; grass valleys where the turf is like moss, soft under the feet, where maidens pillow their heads thinking of their lovers, where husbands lie down and think of their mistresses; grass groves where old men and women sit quiet at the end of the day, dreaming of things that might have been, perhaps once were. Commoners all, of course. No aristocrat would sit in the wild grass to dream. Aristocrats have gardens for that, if they dream at all.

I don't think many writers could get away with that kind of beginning.

The word "tsunami" put me off - it seems trite since it's been in the news so much lately. And "tsunamis of grass"? I have to wonder if the writer understands the meaning of the word. Then about the "hills of grass" sixty feet high - technically that's right, since bamboo is a grass, but that threw me out of the imagery too.

Since I wasn't in sympathy with the writing, I got bored before I finished, so I wasn't hooked by the tension at the end.

Well, you asked what I thought. I'd like to see some other examples of this device, if someone knows of any or runs across them in your reading. I think some other descriptive lead-ins might be more sucessful.

I ask, because discussions of these types of openings makes me think of Arundhati Roy's, "The God of Small Things." It's a far more extreme example (I've posted its opening as a complimentary thread to yours), but having read it many times, I see it as not only essential, but perfect.