Any novel worth a hill of beans needs a punchy opening sentence, to draw the reader in immediately, and let them know that it's time to buckle their safety harness, because a hell of a ride awaits them. So far, I am torn between the following openers:
The sky above the port was the color of a teased panther, pent in an inadequate cage.
It was the most fascist of times, it was the most socialist of times.
Call me Cleon.
When in April the tax man comes
To carry off ungodly sums.
Freedom died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don’t know.
Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, the usurper was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover Marx.