Many years ago I read the opening page of Sarah J. Maas’s Throne of Glass. It’s since remained in my memory as a vivid example of the surprising indifference of YA editors.

Drawing a parallel with mines, I thought we could compare the opening paragraphs of Throne of Glass (very unfairly) to a passage from The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Endovier

After a year of slavery in the Salt Mines of Endovier, Celaena Sardothien was accustomed to being escorted everywhere in shackles and at sword-point. Most of the thousands of slaves in Endovier received similar treatment — though an extra half-dozen guards always walked Celaena to and from the mines. That was expected by Adarlan’s most notorious assassin. What she did not usually expect, however, was a hooded man in black at her side—as there was now.
He gripped her arm as he led her through the shining building in which most of Endovier’s officials and overseers were housed. They strode down corridors, up flights of stairs, and around and around until she hadn’t the slightest chance of finding her way out again.
At least, that was her escort’s intention, because she hadn’t failed to notice when they went up and down the same staircase within a matter of minutes. Nor had she missed when they zigzagged between levels, even though the building was a standard grid of hallways and stairwells. As if she’d lose her bearings that easily. She might have been insulted if he wasn’t trying so hard.
They entered a particularly long hallway, silent save for their footsteps. Though the man grasping her arm was tall and fit, she could see nothing of the features concealed beneath his hood. Another tactic meant to confuse and intimidate her. The black clothes were probably a part of it, too. His head shifted in her direction, and Celaena flashed him a grin. He looked forward again, his iron grip tightening.

REVISION
Almost every sentence in these opening paragraphs seems to revise or retract the previous sentence:

1. “Celaena Sardothien was accustomed to being escorted everywhere in shackles and at sword-point”…
2. But it seems like that’s nothing special since, “most of the thousands of slaves in Endovier received similar treatment”…
3. Except that Celaena is special because, “an extra half-dozen guards always walked Celaena to and from the mines”…
4. But it’s nothing special since she expected it…
5. But she didn’t expect a hooded man…
6. And contrary to expectations, there’s a hooded man next to her.
7. He leads her around “until she hadn’t the slightest chance of finding her way out again.”
8. Except she hasn’t lost her sense of direction at all…

I feel like this technique could be effective if it was done with intention, allowing the momentum to develop in the direction of what’s expected, before erasing the image and replacing it with the surprising break in routine.

Instead, the constant oscillation fails to build tension (though one might argue that it succeeds in getting the reader lost — unlike Celaena).

What makes the passage even more difficult to follow is the confusion of conjunctions. In the following sentence, “because” implies that the second clause is the cause of the first:

“At least, that was her escort’s intention, because she hadn’t failed to notice when they went up and down the same staircase within a matter of minutes.”

1. The guard intends to mislead her.
2. She defies his intentions.

Actually, the relationship between the clauses is contrastive rather than causative. Hence, we might substitute “but” for “because”:

“At least, that was her escort’s intention, but she hadn’t failed to notice when they went up and down the same staircase within a matter of minutes.”

The sentence could also use some temporal adjustment. If we change “was” to “had been”, it will make it clearer that her escort’s intention has already failed. Swapping “and” with “then” might also emphasise the passage of time, and make it sound less like The Grand Old Duke of York:

“At least, that had been her escort’s intention, but she hadn’t failed to notice when they went up then down the same staircase within a matter of minutes.”

Next, let’s look at this sentence:

“Though the man grasping her arm was tall and fit, she could see nothing of the features concealed beneath his hood.”

Again, there’s no cause-effect relationship between the two clauses. In fact, there’s no logical connection at all.

1. The man was tall and fit.
2. She couldn’t see his face.

Someone being tall and fit doesn’t make their face more visible, which is what the use of the conjunction, “though” suggests. If we really want to mention the attributes of this man in one sentence — tall, fit, wearing a hood, — then we need to find some common ground for comparison between the two clauses. We might say:

“Though she could see that the man grasping her arm was tall and fit, she could see nothing of the features concealed beneath his hood.”

or, to avoid repeating, “could see”:

“Though she could see that the man grasping her arm was tall and fit, his features were concealed beneath his hood.”

VIEWPOINTS
It’s only natural for an author to pay particular attention to leading the reader into the story world in the opening paragraphs. Just as a painting uses composition to direct the viewer’s gaze, and a filmmaker uses camera shots to direct focus, a writer can use narrative cues to draw the mind’s eye across the imaginary scene.

☞ If you’re interested in studying these subjects in depth, refer to the ‘Narrator’ section of How to Be the Heroine of Your Own Story, and the chapter on descriptive writing in How to Lose Yourself in a World of Your Own Invention.

In the passage from Maas, the close-up and the “wide angle” are often conflated in a way that makes it difficult for the reader to picture the scene. Take for example, the sentence:

“He gripped her arm as he led her through the shining building in which most of Endovier’s officials and overseers were housed.”

We’re given the intimate image of the man’s grip of Celaena’s arm, but it’s instantly replaced by an overview of a “shining building” housing a number of people. For me, the second image is a vague, white façade, though the author was probably referring to the building interior.

☞ For an example of (imaginary) visual distance, see How to Frame a Scene.

“They strode down corridors, up flights of stairs, and around and around until she hadn’t the slightest chance of finding her way out again.”
…
“they zigzagged between levels, even though the building was a standard grid of hallways and stairwells”

These two sentences create a “zoomed out” view of the building, but what the reader can glean from the descriptions of the characters’ movements is as imprecise as the image of the setting itself. What does it mean to “[zigzag] between levels”? How does one go “around and around” a “standard grid”?

Whether or not readers of Throne of Glass notice these logical and stylistic dissonances, as the comparison with Tolkien will make plain, even when characters are lost, the reader need not be.

TBC…