A mostly smooth introduction to an omniscient voice (page critique)

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Now then. Time for the Page Critique. First I’ll present the page without comment, then I’ll offer my thoughts and a redline. If you choose to offer your own thoughts, please be polite. We aim to be positive and helpful.

Random numbers were generated, and thanks to Kevin Kwasa, whose page is below:

Working TItle: The Book of Kaya

Genre: Fantasy/African Modern Folklore

A resident’s biggest joy is to name the local kiosk. Huma estate deep in Nairobi West is no different. And at the corner of Twiga Lane and Gadaffi Street dwelt quite an extraordinary kiosk.

If you grew up on Twiga you would know its name. If you moved in at any age you would come to know it eventually. It was not just a structure of wood and nails. No, it was much more. Everyone on Twiga and Gadaffi would come to know this.

And everyone on Twiga and Gadaffi knew the shopkeeper.

He kept the shop well. He had been there for so long no one could really tell his age anymore. He was there early in the morning till late at night, lurking in the thick darkness of this mysterious hollow. Talking to occasional visitors from within the dark recess of the kiosk. His face was barely visible, seemingly only drizzled with light. Definitely male, and always vaguely familiar. His face would triger transient connections to memories in your mind and an impression of a familiarity as intangible as smoke.

He did not sell anything special. A packet of milk, some margarine. A few shifty boxes of condoms and an array of pastry-like snacks of all shapes and sizes, hard and soft, shapeless, abstract and untested, like Maasai’s presence.

There WAS a rumour that made Twiga and Gaddaffi alive to this strange being living amongst them. It did not spread as far as it should have, as happens to all absurd and abnormal ideas.

This page represents a smooth introduction to a unique, authoritative omniscient voice. I like that the POV guides us around the neighborhood and introduces us to an opening mystery with the Kiosk at Twiga and Gadaffi. There’s a strong sense of place and some good details.

I only have a few nitpicks. It felt like there were a few more chances to be a bit more precise with the physical description in order to help us visualize the kiosk, which could have heightened the mystery.

But more importantly, a few of these sentences feel like they got away from the author, including pastries that are both “all shapes and sizes” and “shapeless.” Sharpen the writing and the best ideas will pop.

Here’s my redline:

Working TItle: The Book of Kaya

Genre: Fantasy/African Modern Folklore

A resident’s [More precise word than “resident” here?] biggest joy is to name the local kiosk. Huma estate deep in Nairobi West is no different. And at the corner of Twiga Lane and Gadaffi Street dwelt quite an extraordinary kiosk.

If you grew up on Twiga you would know its name. If you moved in at any age you would come to know it eventually. It was not just a structure [Describe it a tad more precisely here?] of wood and nails. No, it was much more. Everyone on Twiga and Gadaffi would come to know this.

And everyone on Twiga and Gadaffi knew the shopkeeper.

He kept the shop well. He had been there for so long no one could really tell his age anymore. He was there early in the morning till late at night, lurking in the thick darkness of this mysterious hollow [Not sure we have enough information to understand what makes it “mysterious?”]. Talking to occasional visitors from within the dark recess of the kiosk. His face was barely visible, seemingly only drizzled with light. Definitely male, and always vaguely familiar. His face would trigger transient connections to memories in your mind and an impression of a familiarity as intangible as smoke. [Good ideas directionally but too convoluted. Sharpen this]

He did not sell anything special. A packet of milk, some margarine. A few shifty boxes of condoms and an array of pastry-like snacks of all shapes and sizes, hard and soft, shapeless [“All shapes and sizes” and “shapeless?”], abstract and untested, like Maasai’s presence.

There WAS [Capitalizing feels heavy-handed] a rumour that made Twiga and Gaddaffi alive to this strange being living amongst them. It did not spread as far as it should have, as happens to all absurd and abnormal ideas.

Thanks again to Kevin Kwasa!

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Art: by Mt. Kenya by Akseli Gallen-Kallela