The first sentence of every novel should be: Trust me, this will
The first sentence of every novel should be: Trust me, this will take time but there is order here, very faint, very human. Meander if you want to get to town.
Hear the words of the poet and storyteller, Michael Ondaatje, who declared with quiet wisdom: “The first sentence of every novel should be: Trust me, this will take time but there is order here, very faint, very human. Meander if you want to get to town.” This saying, though spoken of novels, is not about books alone. It is about the journey of life itself, for each existence is a story written slowly, filled with detours and uncertainties, yet bound together by a hidden order that only patience can reveal.
The cry of Trust me is the voice of the guide, the teacher, the elder who speaks to the restless soul eager for answers. It is the reminder that wisdom does not come swiftly, that truth unfolds as a scroll unrolled line by line. To say “this will take time” is to admit that the human heart learns not in a single stroke, but in the slow rhythm of experience. We must endure the pauses, the silences, the meandering paths that seem to wander nowhere—yet in truth, they are leading us toward the heart of meaning.
Consider the wanderings of Odysseus. Ten years he fought at Troy, and ten more he wandered the seas, meeting monsters, temptations, and storms. His path was never straight, but winding, filled with delays and strange encounters. Yet without these meanders, he would not have grown wise enough to return as king, husband, and father. His journey shows us what Ondaatje speaks: to arrive at the true town, at the final resting place of understanding, one must first walk through the twisting roads of life.
The phrase “there is order here, very faint, very human” reveals the heart of the teaching. Life is not ruled by perfect logic, nor by divine machinery that we can easily trace. Its order is fragile, elusive, yet deeply tied to our humanity. It is in our loves, our losses, our laughter and despair that the pattern emerges. The faint order is the thread connecting stories that seem unrelated, the harmony that appears when we step back and see not the single note, but the whole symphony.
And this faint order demands trust. For when we are in the middle of our own stories, the chapters may seem chaotic, the characters confusing, the purpose hidden. But just as the reader must trust the storyteller, so must we trust life itself—that its detours are not wasted, that its delays are not meaningless. In the fullness of time, when we look back, we may see that even the darkest paths led us toward light.
History, too, bears witness to this. Think of Abraham Lincoln, whose life was filled with failures—defeats in elections, struggles with depression, the agony of war. Yet through these winding trials, he grew into the leader who could speak of “malice toward none, charity for all,” and heal a torn nation. If his story had been written only in straight lines, it would lack the depth and wisdom that arose from his wandering struggles. He, too, had to meander to reach the town of greatness.
Therefore, children of tomorrow, let this teaching guide you: do not despise the winding path. When life seems slow, when meaning feels faint, remember Ondaatje’s words—Trust me. Trust that there is an order, fragile but real, woven into your journey. Let yourself wander, explore, pause, and learn. For in the meandering, the soul gathers strength, and in the faint threads of order, we discover what it truly means to be human.
Thus the saying becomes more than advice for novelists. It becomes a parable for living: life is not a race to the ending, but a story unfolding slowly, beautifully, with every twist of the road. Walk it with patience, trust its order, and embrace its meanders—for only then shall you truly arrive.
HDHung Duongdinh
I really like how Ondaatje invites readers to trust the process of reading and explore the story’s hidden structure. It’s a refreshing take compared to the immediate gratification of some modern literature. But it also makes me wonder—does this approach alienate readers who are looking for action and clearer direction from the very beginning? How can writers find the balance between depth and accessibility for a wider audience?
HNHuong Nguyen
Ondaatje’s advice about a novel’s first sentence offering trust and patience really speaks to the depth of storytelling. The idea that there's a 'faint, very human order' behind the narrative is so poetic. But how do you think readers today, especially in an era of fast-paced entertainment, would respond to this style of storytelling? Can this more reflective, slow-building approach still captivate modern audiences, or has the trend shifted toward faster, more immediate narratives?
KLTong khanh Linh
I love the idea that novels should have a subtle order, even if it's not immediately clear. Ondaatje's concept of meandering through a story reminds me of how we often navigate life—slowly discovering patterns and connections as we go. But what happens if the story's meandering becomes too slow or disorienting? How do authors balance the beauty of ambiguity with the need to keep readers engaged, especially those who want a clearer plot?
TLThiminh Luong
This quote from Ondaatje is so thought-provoking. It suggests that a novel’s first sentence should reassure readers that there’s an underlying structure, even if it’s not immediately apparent. I find it interesting how he encourages meandering, almost like inviting readers to lose themselves in the story before they find their way. Do you think this approach makes novels more engaging or does it risk losing readers who prefer a clear direction from the start?
TNTuyen Ngoc
Michael Ondaatje’s quote about the first sentence of a novel being an invitation to trust and take your time really resonates with me. I love how he suggests that the journey of reading a novel is about embracing meandering. It’s like he's asking readers to slow down and absorb the subtle order within the chaos of the story. But does this approach work for all types of novels, or is it better suited to literary fiction that’s more introspective?