The Sun Also Rises is a radical book because it is a war story without combat and a love story lacking a single love scene. The novel also risks reader dissatisfaction with regard to structure. Think about it: Jake Barnes wants a satisfying love relationship with Brett, Lady Ashley. And yet, as soon as we figure out Jake's postwar anatomical condition (he was castrated in a place crash), we know that he will never be satisfied. The ending of The Sun Also Rises is foreordained (Jake will not "get" Brett). Therefore, according to the conventions of storytelling — not to mention common sense — there's no real reason to read on. And yet we do read on. Why?
Typically, a contemporary novel begins with a scene, dropping readers directly into the action of the story and thereby piquing our interest. Who are these people? we wonder as we navigate the first few paragraphs of a book we've picked up. What are their relationships to one another, and to their time and place? We read on, at least at first, to find out the answers to such fundamental questions. By the time we've comprehended a story's fundamental situation, we're inside its special world.
Alternately, a book-length work of fiction might start with background, answering those questions before we've had the chance to ask them. Sometimes called exposition, background is information we need in order to fully understand the action of the story. Without it, readers may be unsure of the significance of the scenes they read. They may even lose their way altogether. An example of a novel that begins with background is Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility, the first line of which reads "The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex" — after which Austen describes the circumstances (most of them financial) leading up to the book's first actual scene. This is perhaps a more logical way to begin a story than the first approach described. It is also less dynamic and engaging, however. After all, sheer information is never as compelling as action.
