Prologue or Chapter 1?

[Locksmith]

The science fiction and particularly the fantasy genre seem to use prologues more than mainstream fiction. I'm currently debating over whether the first part of a piece of work is per se a prologue, or whether it forms part or all of Chapter 1.

So far as I can tell, in fatasy books a prologue gives the reader a taste of action and, perhaps, an insight into the background of the story which is not directly related to, or flowing into, the rest of the story. Just to pick two examples, the Eye of the World and Game of Thrones. This allows the writer to grab the reader's attention and then to step back to some background.

My passage relates to a child, who witnesses the dumping of a murdered body. The child is not (at least initially) a central character, although the plot does to a certain degree revolve around the murder, once this is discovered a little bit into the story. I don't know whether the naming of something as Prologue or Chapter 1 makes any actual difference, the order is the same after all, but it'd be nice to get it right.

Does anyone have a view on this? Do people like Prologues, e.g. the ones above in WoT and ASOIAF, or see them as superfluous?

[Marky Lazer]

I normally opt for a chapter one instead of a prologue. A prologue for me is something that happened before the series of events that this story is about. For example, in the movie of FOTR, the whole history of the Ring is a very good prologue. This probably isn't the standard definition, but it is the way I see it.

[Green]

Originally Posted by Marky Lazer

I normally opt for a chapter one instead of a prologue. A prologue for me is something that happened before the series of events that this story is about. For example, in the movie of FOTR, the whole history of the Ring is a very good prologue. This probably isn't the standard definition, but it is the way I see it.

Well said. I do like prologues if they adhere to these kind of attributes. It adds another perspective to events or sometimes reminds readers that there are things other than what is happening in chapters 1/2/3 that have bearing on the story.

Prologues that perform no real function, and should really have been called chapter 1, kind of annoy me.

EDIT - as to Locksmith's chapter 1/prologue dilemma, then I'd say that you could just call it a prologue. If it's separate from the main sequence of the story/book and serves a real purpose as a separate piece, then prologue seems fine to me. It doesn't need to be set 10 years previously or anything

[chrispenycate]

I'm not going to ask what the "F" in "FotR" stands for.

I think F & SF novels more opten need prologues because the public don't nescessarily know the universe they're playing in. A romance novel? nothing novel. A historical romance? might need a quick run down of who's on which throne. An elvish romance - some background material on social and magical situations, so you don't need to fill the first chapter with explanations. SciFi? might be useful to know how many sexes they have (or not - could make things more interesting) A sequel? prevents you from having to incorporate all the essential information from earlier book(s), and gives your dedicated readers something they can skip over.

Many functions, but a prologue should not be part of the story.

[Marky Lazer]

Fellowship, mate. I didn't make a typo, I didn't mean to type "L"...

[chrispenycate]

Originally Posted by Marky Lazer

Fellowship, mate. I didn't make a typo, I didn't mean to type "L"...

Oh, how disappointing - and there was me… OK, sorry.

[I, Brian]

IMO chapter 1 vs prologue depends upon story construction.

I'd suggest that a prologue is intended to introduce a concept to the book, while chapter 1 is intended to introduce main character.

[Locksmith]

Thanks - useful comments all. I'm beginning to sway in favour of Chapter 1, since I think the events are sufficiently integral to the storyline going forward, rather than being background/recap/concepts.

[Marky Lazer]

Well, if you post your story in the critique section, we can always help you out

[I, Brian]

Quick question - is the section of writing your dealing with introducing a main character?

[Locksmith]

Brian, I'm not sure whether I'd describe him as a main character. Those who surround him; his mother and, for want of a better word, the hero, are the main characters in that aspect of the storyline. The murder itself is the main plot-driver; i.e. who was involved in it and why, and the jailing of the boy for turning up in a cloak looted from the scene of the murder (and his presumed involvement) is what drags the main protagonists into the court intrigue.

[Marky Lazer]

So, the story is mainly about what happens in court, and not really about the motives of the murder. In that case, a prologue could work rather well.

[I, Brian]

Agreed - sounds more like a prologue by the above discussion points.

[Áréwn'tháwr]

Do you think this is good for a prolouge?

Winds howled … Thunder rolled across the blackening sky piercingly as if summoned to witness the imminent storm. A pair of jagged flashes of lighting momentarily illuminated the rugged mountain on the horizon, but it was quickly engulfed again by the darkness.
The fall of rain … the amassing of heavy clouds … a blaze of fiery flashes framing a deathly chorus of tortured voices that left an edge as sharp as a blade on the night. Gales swept violently across the grasslands and across the restless surface of the lake, the unfolding tempest in the sky pushing them into unkindly waves of turmoil.
A woman stopped … glanced behind, clutching a bundle of seared cloth tighter to her convulsing chest and rushed into the long grass.
Screams of anguish and torment echoed in her ears, making her feel nauseous. She listened among the shrill cries and perceived the voice of her husband ordering an attack on the things that had attacked their village so savagely. Rooftops flared a scarlet brightness. She could still feel the heat of the inferno on her burnt and blistered skin. Smoke billowed out of every window in grey spiral crafted clouds, choking the phosphorescent aura that hung over the houses.
She dived into a group of rushes by the lakes edge, kept her head low, breath shallow, and then there was the sound of a colossal battle breaking out between men and the things – if you would dare call them such. In truth, they were a machine of war – a terrible iron fist in the darkness, casting shadows like that of malignant spirits.
They would never cease their relentless hunt – but that is why they would not lose tonight – why they would not stop until they had in their grasp what they had been sent out to destroy.
The bundle of sodden fabric wept softly to itself within the folds.
But they would not find it. She would die first.
Her head bled badly but she simply wiped away the claret flow that had stained her cheek, and, fighting back the black spots in her eyes, leaned down and left a warm kiss on the forehead of her only child.
They’d come so fast, she thought, and all at once, like a wave the shape of darkness itself. And it had overwhelmed the village in one go, devouring the light and life of everything near like one large mouthful.
She watched weakly as more images arose from the night. Figures that had climbed out of the shadows and taken shape right before her eyes. Concussion had already taken over her mind; the acid in her stomach, already unsettled, turned rancid, and she shuddered back the terror and tried to close her mind to the sickening whimpers of slow extermination.
Too soon, the uproar of war – survival, died away, falling into haunting notes in the wind that would continue to repeat the impending storm in the sudden gathering of darkness until the rain had completely washed the blood away.
Thrown into a sea of emotional agony, she looked down hopelessly at her child, who seemed almost innocent in the absence of light. The hunt had begun again. Quickly, and without time to think, she lifted an object from around her neck and wrapped it in the folds encasing the little one.
‘Be brave now, my dear one,’ she whispered. ‘Be brave and be silent; you will one day again remember this place – this night. Never, must you forget who you are. My beloved one, you are Hope, not the shadow it leaves behind.’
Pulling down the reeds feverishly, she concealed it … crying.
‘I will see you again, my love,’ she wept. ‘I will see you again … when you are grown. To you, pledge it, do I.’
Then she clambered to her feet, swaying a little over loss of blood, and began to run … to run fast.
The child sobbed softly in the gales, alone, but the object touching its skin felt warm and homely.
The air vibrated as a flaming bolt sliced through the night with an iridescent glow.
I will see you again …
There was a short shallow scream of a woman … and then silence.
Real silence … Not just the absence of sound, but the sound of oblivion.
The baby listened. Then, yawning, it closed its eyes and fell fast asleep.

Aréwn'tháwr awoke to the sounds of the forest.