My Favourite: Epigraphs in Literature
On the beginning of books that just hit...
It’s always a delight when the epigraph of a book perfectly encapsulates what’s about to unfold. It feels like a quiet dialogue between past and present—a reminder that literature is, at its core, a conversation. The author reaches back, drawing from another voice, another time, to frame the story ahead.
Sometimes, it offers a direct thematic key; other times, it’s a subtle echo that only becomes clear in retrospect. Either way, it sets the stage, inviting the reader into a world shaped not just by the writer’s words but by the lineage of ideas that came before.
Maybe you tend to skip over those little quotes at the beginning, flipping straight to the first chapter. But for me, they hold a particular kind of joy—like a whispered prelude, hinting at deeper layers waiting to be uncovered.
So next time you come across one, pause for a moment. Let it settle. See if, by the time you reach the final page, it has transformed into something even more meaningful.
An epigraph is a short quotation, phrase, or poem placed at the beginning of a book, chapter, or section. It serves as a prelude to the text, offering insight into its themes, tone, or underlying questions. Writers carefully select epigraphs from various sources—literary works, religious texts, philosophy, historical figures, or even song lyrics—using them to create an intertextual bridge between their work and the broader world of ideas.
This is a fantastic selection of epigraphs, each one adding an extra layer of meaning to its respective novel. Let's explore them in detail, considering their thematic significance and how they frame the narratives.
The Accidental – Ali Smith
‘Between the experience of living a normal life at this moment on the planet and the public narrative being offered to give a sense to that life, the empty space, the gap, is enormous.’
Ali Smith's novels thrive in the space between reality and narrative, between the ordinary and the surreal. The Accidental is a novel about disruption—when a mysterious stranger, Amber, enters the lives of the Smart family and warps their individual perspectives. It captures Smith’s interest in perception and truth, the difference between what happens and how it is interpreted, remembered, or retold. Smith frequently plays with form and voice, often leaving the reader as disoriented as her characters. The "gap" mentioned in the epigraph mirrors the novel’s own refusal to offer a single, stable version of events, instead presenting multiple, sometimes conflicting perspectives.
The God of Small Things – Arundhati Roy
‘Never again will a single story be told as though it’s the only one.’ — John Berger
John Berger’s words resonate deeply with the fragmented, nonlinear storytelling in The God of Small Things. Roy’s novel is a multi-perspective narrative that resists singularity—both in form and content. It tells the tragic story of fraternal twins Rahel and Estha in postcolonial India, exposing the intersection of caste, gender, and forbidden love. The novel refuses to adhere to a single truth, instead layering voices, time periods, and experiences to construct a complex, emotionally charged tapestry. The epigraph challenges traditional, singular storytelling, just as Roy’s narrative disrupts linearity, blending past and present in a way that reinforces the impossibility of a singular perspective.
(As for who John Berger is—he was an art critic, novelist, and theorist, best known for Ways of Seeing, which revolutionised how we interpret visual and textual narratives.)
Pachinko – Min Jin Lee
‘Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit answered to, in strongest conjuration.’ — Charles Dickens
At its heart, Pachinko is a story about displacement, identity, and survival. This quote from Dickens encapsulates the novel’s central theme: what does home mean when you are constantly denied it? Spanning generations, from Japanese-occupied Korea to Japan itself, Pachinko follows a Korean family navigating prejudice, assimilation, and resilience. The idea that "home" is more than just a place—that it is an idea, a force, a memory—aligns with the struggles of Min Jin Lee’s characters, who find themselves outsiders wherever they go. The Dickensian resonance also aligns with the novel’s sweeping, intergenerational structure, mirroring Pachinko's grand, almost Victorian storytelling scope.
Boy Parts – Eliza Clark
‘Images which idealise are no less aggressive than work which makes a virtue of plainness. There is an aggression in every use of the camera.’ — Susan Sontag
Susan Sontag’s commentary on photography and power is the perfect opening for Boy Parts, a novel that interrogates violence, objectification, and the gaze. The protagonist, Irina, is a photographer who inverts traditional power dynamics by subjecting men to the kind of voyeurism women often experience. The epigraph forces the reader to question whether photography—or art more broadly—can ever be neutral. Clark’s novel is saturated with tension, capturing the inherent violence in looking, being looked at, and manipulating the subject. This epigraph frames Irina’s artistic choices not just as acts of rebellion but as aggressive, transgressive responses to the world around her.
Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit – Jeanette Winterson
‘Oranges are not the only fruit.’ — Nell Gwyn
This epigraph is deceptively simple, yet it holds profound significance. Nell Gwyn, a 17th-century actress and mistress to Charles II, was known for her wit and defiance of social norms—qualities that mirror Winterson’s semi-autobiographical protagonist, Jeanette. The phrase itself suggests multiplicity, alternatives, and the rejection of a singular truth, which aligns perfectly with the novel’s themes of sexuality, religion, and self-definition. Jeanette grows up in a strict evangelical household where deviation is condemned, but the epigraph suggests there is more to life than the rigid structures imposed on her. It’s a sly, understated rebellion—just like Winterson’s prose.
Nutshell – Ian McEwan
‘Oh God, I could be bound in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space—were it not that I have bad dreams.’ — Hamlet
McEwan’s Nutshell is a modern retelling of Hamlet, but with a twist: the narrator is an unborn foetus, trapped in the womb, overhearing a plot to murder his father. This epigraph is perfect because it encapsulates the protagonist’s paradoxical existence—both confined (inside his mother) and yet filled with boundless imagination and perception. The line from Hamlet speaks to the existential horror of being trapped in a small space while possessing vast knowledge—something McEwan plays with throughout the novel. The "bad dreams" take on a new significance when applied to an unborn child witnessing a murder scheme unfold before he even takes his first breath.
Home Fire – Kamila Shamsie
‘The ones we love … are enemies of the state.’ — Antigone
As a modern retelling of Antigone, Home Fire explores themes of loyalty, sacrifice, and state power. In Sophocles’ tragedy, Antigone defies the law to honor her brother, who has been deemed a traitor. Shamsie transposes this conflict into a contemporary context, centring on a British-Pakistani family and the fallout of one brother’s decision to join ISIS. This epigraph cuts straight to the heart of the novel—what happens when love and duty collide? When family loyalty is pitted against national allegiance? The quote is devastating in its simplicity, foreshadowing the moral dilemmas and tragic consequences that drive the novel’s plot.
The Robber Bride – Margaret Atwood
‘A rattlesnake that doesn’t bite teaches you nothing.’ — Jessamyn West
Of the three epigraphs in The Robber Bride, this one is the most striking. The novel is centred around Zenia, a woman who manipulates and betrays three other women in deeply personal ways. But Atwood doesn’t present Zenia as a one-dimensional villain—rather, she is a force of reckoning, a figure who disrupts the lives of others in ways that ultimately force them to confront their weaknesses and desires. This epigraph suggests that danger and betrayal are not just destructive forces but also sources of transformation. It challenges the reader to consider whether Zenia is truly a villain—or whether, by "biting," she teaches her victims something crucial about themselves.
Epigraphs don’t just introduce the novels—they deepen them. They offer a lens through which to interpret the story, a seed that grows as the narrative unfolds. The best epigraphs aren’t just decorative; they become part of the book, resonating long after the final page is turned. Don’t skip it next time!
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