On epigraphs

How to start a book off right

Epigraphs: What they are, what they’re there for, how to do them better (plus reader examples!)

The Oxford Dictionary defines “epigraph” as: a short quotation or saying at the beginning of a book or chapter, intended to suggest its theme.

In published books, epigraphs usually fall in the middle of the administrative beginning:

Title page

Dedication

Epigraph

Author’s note (usually appears with nonfiction and memoir only)

Prologue or Chapter 1

For readers, epigraphs set tonal expectations for the book to come. They’re sensual cues; a spritz of fragrance in a large room. They are apéritifs. When you go to a friend’s house for dinner: the smell of the meal cooking is the epigraph, the meal itself is the book’s content.

With nonfiction and memoir, epigraphs often support the theme or takeaway message that the book explores. Regardless of genre, epigraphs set up expectations for what’s to come.

If you have read (or watched) BIG LITTLE LIES by Liane Moriarty, you’ll understand why this is an A+ epigraph. (The story is about helicopter parenting; mothers on the verge of losing their shit; and domestic violence.)

But what do epigraphs do for authors?

For me—especially when I’m in the drafting stage—epigraphs serve like a checkpoint to help me do three things:

1. Take what I’m writing seriously.

2. Stay on track in terms of what I’m writing about and why.

3. Inspire me by adding magic and energy to what I’m doing and the space I’m working in.

Once the book is published, I think of the epigraph as a protector for the manuscript, like a literary godparent for its trajectory. If it isn’t published? Well, maybe one day I can go back and make the writing live up to the promise of the epigraph I chose.

Epigraphs: do’s and don’ts

There aren’t hard and fast rules as to what your epigraph can (and can’t) be: nor how many epigraphs you can use. I’ve seen movie dialog used, poetry, quotes from family members, barks from dogs—I’ve read books without an epigraph and ones that use as many as four.

I’m a purist. I have a concrete personal rule that I must find one perfect epigraph for each of my books. A few examples:

Epigraphs from The Year of the Horses and Costalegre

The first epigraph is from a poem by Kate Baer and I used it for “The Year of the Horses.” The second from “Costalegre” translates to The woods are white or black, one will never sleep, and using it in the vernacular was a risk—most of my readers aren’t going to speak French. So why would I use such a snobby epigraph? First of all, “Costalegre” is about surrealists, and thus, feeling drawn to something without understanding it completely felt on-brand, surrealist-wise. Secondly, Breton is a major character in the book and was considered one of the fathers of surrealism—so I wanted his patriarchal, overbearing, and frightening energy at the top of the novel, because it’s something that my young fifteen year-old heroine, Lara, fights against.

In terms of attribution, André Breton is not alive, Kate Baer is. Which leads us to the question of permission: with epigraphs, do you need it?

In my experience, editorial teams don’t help much with attribution issues in general. Unless you’re already a best-selling author with a legal review team dedicated to your nonfiction (think someone like Barack Obama) or you’re a best-selling author with a ton of clout, generally, permission-seeking falls onto the author. If you want to use a song lyric in your writing, for example, you’re going to be the one marching into the seventh circle of hell that is lyric permissions. (And you’ll usually march back out without that permission, FYI.)

Most writers I know don’t seek permission for the epigraph they want to use. While it’s true that music rights companies can be super litigious when it comes to using lyrics in the middle of a book (where the lyric is doing heavy lifting for the narrative) they might be less likely to sue when the lyric is an epigraph, because it’s taken out of context and generally standing alone (and thus isn’t supporting an argument you might be making that the musician or rights-holder doesn’t agree with). So while you might get to year one of publication without a cease + desist letter from a music rights holding company if you use a lyric as an epigraph, you might not. So!

My best tips for using an epigraph are:

• Try not to fall in love with a song lyric. If you insist on using one for your epigraph, keep it as short as possible.

• If the writer of the line you’re excerpting is alive, it’s good practice to ask for permission (and to send a finished book along).

• If your book is poised to be a mega bestseller, definitely seek permission. It’s one thing for George Saunders to find out 7 years after publication that a line of his was used in a book put out by a micro press that had a limited run of 600 copies. It’s another thing to learn, maybe even by buying the book himself, that a line of his has been used by say, Malcolm Gladwell. When in doubt, give the author of the epigraph a heads up regarding what your book is about, when it is publishing, and how much their work means to you (and how much the epigraph does, too).

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Now for reader examples!

I put out a call for the epigraphs you’re using for your works-in-progress, and so many of you delivered! These were so fun to read: I’m grateful that you shared them.

Here are a few of the ones that struck me, for reasons I’ll get in to:

Example 1: Make the epigraph work for you and what you’re writing / Take only what you need

Epigraphs should generally include material that is accessible to people even if they haven’t read either the writer in question or the book/material that's being quoted.¹ Accordingly, the excerpt shouldn't allude to characters or plot points we don't have access to. Knowing this, I would suggest to Mary—who was kind enough to send the above in—that she start from "How is it possible" and leave out what comes before because we don't know who the "he" is, and thus the description of how this person's heart feels is both hyper personal and somewhat irrelevant, whereas what follows is quite relevant, especially in light of the fact that Mary is writing historical fiction.

Example 2: Use the epigraph to suggest that your book has plot and tension

What’s great about this second example is how it sets us up to have expectations about the novel to come. “Many believe”— well, that means that not everybody believes it (tension! strife!). Some think the force is shaped like a woman, some think it’s shaped like a man (disagreement! more tension, more strife). And the woman laughing at the sky? She could be laughing from mirth or glee, or from desperation. Writer Kerri has made it so we want to read on to find out.

Example 3: If you’re too on the nose, it can pinch

When you have a paragraph that is not only spot on about the topic you are covering, but also inspires or inspired the name of your book, I generally think that excerpt is more appropriate for an introduction than an epigraph. The above quote is great— and it makes this reader want to learn everything I can about the no-mans land of our twenties. But personally, I’d consider using only the first two questions as an epigraph (or finding another epigraph) and front loading my book’s introduction with this great quote from Katy Walman. On top of it being a bit too on the nose, this epigraph is lengthy, and will look even longer when it’s centered on the epigraph page of Tracy’s book.

Example 4: Who said it better?

This great submission is from Jesse. I have two thoughts. The first is how powerful these quotes would be if the book were autobiographical fiction or memoir. The second, is that Jesse should choose between Twain or Dickinson, because the two quotes are basically saying the same thing. Personally, given the title of the book (which alludes to its content), I think that Dickinson would be the more provocative choice. Thank you, Jesse, for sending in!

Example 5: Work toward what you’ve written, not away from it

Our last submission is from Gary. You’ll notice that this, too, is a little long for an epigraph, especially were it to appear in normal-sized font, centered in a book.

But what I find so interesting about this epigraph is that it communicates what it is like to be watched. (And it does that very well.) But the title of the book (and the content of the book, I imagine, given its genre) is about a tribe called “The Yahi” that went into hiding from white colonizers for 40 years after white men massacred much of their tribe. (I know this from a footnote that Gary added to his submission, but my conclusion about this epigraph would be the same without that extra note.) If the novel is mostly going to be about hiding and concealment, the epigraph should speak to the same topic. Instead, the epigraph speaks to the act/sensation of being watched by something or someone. To me, that creates a disconnect, even though the Powers’ excerpt has the right energy to set-up a suspenseful thriller like the one Gary is writing.

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Thank you all so much for sending epigraphs in! I don’t have any open calls for Friday Office Hours going on right now, but if you have a question about writing or publishing that you’d like answered publicly in this space, paid subscribers can write me at thequerydoula@gmail.com with the subject line “Substack questions.” I’ll respond only if I plan to use your question in an upcoming edition.

Friday Office Hours participation is only for paid subscribers. If you’d like to upgrade, we would love to have you!

Until next time—stay calm, get a lot of sleep, and carry on to the best of your abilities. December is nuts!

xoxo

Courtney

1. Unless you’re a Comparative Literature snobbity snob like myself and keep your epigraphs in the vernacular, accordingly making them accessible to very few people.