A prologue is an introductory section that comes before a story’s first chapter, providing context the reader needs before the main narrative begins. It is part of the story itself — not a note from the author, not a summary, but a scene or passage that earns its place by doing something Chapter 1 cannot.
What Is a Prologue?
The word comes from the Greek prologos, meaning “before the word.” In fiction, a prologue is a short opening section — usually a scene, sometimes a passage — set apart from the main narrative by time, perspective, or both.
A prologue might take place years before the story begins. It might follow a character who never appears again. It might show an event that only makes sense after you have read the rest of the book. What it should never do is repeat information that Chapter 1 is about to deliver anyway.
The best prologues create a question in the reader’s mind that pulls them into the story. They offer a promise: this detail matters, and you will understand why later.
Prologue vs Preface vs Foreword
These terms get confused constantly, but they describe very different things.
| Prologue | Preface | Foreword | |
|---|---|---|---|
| Written by | The narrator or a character | The author | Someone other than the author |
| Part of the story? | Yes | No | No |
| Voice | Narrative | Author’s own voice | Third party’s voice |
| Common in | Fiction | Nonfiction | Nonfiction |
| Purpose | Sets up the story | Explains why the book was written | Endorses or contextualizes the book |
A prologue is fiction. A preface is the author stepping out from behind the curtain. A foreword is someone else vouching for the work. Only one of them belongs inside a novel.
Types of Prologues
Not all prologues serve the same purpose. The type you choose depends on what your story needs the reader to know — or feel — before Chapter 1 begins.
The backstory prologue. This one shows an event from the past that shaped the world of the story. A war that ended a generation ago. A crime that went unsolved. A choice someone made that set everything in motion. The reader enters Chapter 1 with context the characters may not even have themselves.
The flash-forward prologue. This drops the reader into a moment from later in the story — often a moment of crisis — then pulls back to the beginning. It is a promise of where things are headed. Thrillers use this constantly because it generates immediate tension.
The different-perspective prologue. The main story follows one character. The prologue follows someone else entirely — a victim, a villain, a witness. The reader sees an event through eyes that will not narrate the rest of the book, creating dramatic irony that carries through the chapters that follow.
The worldbuilding prologue. Fantasy and science fiction use prologues to establish rules. Magic systems, political histories, mythologies — details that would slow the first chapter to a crawl but that the reader needs before they can orient themselves in the story.
Famous Prologue Examples
The most effective way to understand prologues is to study the ones that work.
A Game of Thrones — George R.R. Martin
Martin opens with three men of the Night’s Watch riding beyond the Wall. Two die. The reader meets characters who will never appear again, in a location that feels disconnected from the rest of the book. But the prologue introduces the White Walkers — the supernatural threat that drives the entire series. Without it, the first several hundred pages read like pure political intrigue. The prologue tells you: there is something else coming.
Romeo and Juliet — William Shakespeare
Shakespeare wrote a fourteen-line sonnet that tells the audience exactly what will happen: two lovers from warring families will die. It is one of the most famous prologues in literature, and it works precisely because it removes suspense rather than creating it. The tragedy is not about whether they die. It is about watching it happen despite knowing the outcome.
The Name of the Wind — Patrick Rothfuss
Rothfuss opens with a frame narrative — an older Kvothe sitting in his inn, a man whose legend has outgrown him. The prologue is quiet and melancholy, a sharp contrast to the adventurous story he is about to tell. It reframes everything that follows. The reader knows, before the first chapter begins, that this story does not end in triumph.
Gone Girl — Gillian Flynn
Flynn’s prologue is just a few paragraphs. Nick describes looking at his wife’s head and wondering what is going on inside it. The tone is intimate, unsettling, and ambiguous. It sets up the central question of the entire novel — who is this person you think you know? — in under a page.
When to Write a Prologue
A prologue earns its place when it does something the first chapter genuinely cannot.
The timeline does not fit. Your story starts on a Tuesday, but the reader needs to see what happened ten years ago. Cramming that into Chapter 1 through flashback or dialogue would feel forced. A prologue lets you show it cleanly, as a scene in its own right.
The reader needs context to understand the stakes. In story structures where the world is unfamiliar — epic fantasy, distant future sci-fi, alternate history — a prologue can orient the reader without burdening the opening chapters with exposition.
A different viewpoint creates tension. If showing an event through someone else’s eyes — a victim, an observer, an antagonist — gives the reader information that transforms how they read Chapter 1, a prologue is the right vehicle.
The tone needs to be set. Some stories open on a note that is very different from where they are going. A prologue can establish the emotional register — dark, reflective, ominous — before the main narrative shifts into its own rhythm.
When NOT to Write One
More prologues are written than needed. If any of these sound familiar, you probably do not need one.
The information belongs in Chapter 1. If the backstory can be woven into the first few chapters through dialogue, memory, or action, it should be. A prologue that exists because the author did not want to do the harder work of integrating context into the narrative is a structural shortcut, not a storytelling choice.
It is an info dump. A prologue that reads like a history textbook — dates, names, political structures, no characters acting in a scene — is not a prologue. It is a lecture. Readers skip lectures.
It is there to create a false hook. Opening with an action scene that has nothing to do with the next five chapters does not hook the reader. It frustrates them. If the story’s actual beginning is not compelling enough to open the book, the problem is not the lack of a prologue. The problem is the beginning.
Agents and editors told you not to. This one is practical. In publishing, prologues have a mixed reputation. Many literary agents have said publicly that they are skeptical of prologues because so many are unnecessary. If you are querying, a prologue needs to be airtight to survive the submission process.
How to Write a Strong Prologue
If you have decided your story needs a prologue, here is how to make it work.
Make it a scene, not a summary. A prologue should have characters acting in a specific moment. Setting, tension, sensory detail — everything you would put in a chapter. If you could replace the prologue with a paragraph of exposition and lose nothing, the prologue is not pulling its weight.
Keep it short. Most effective prologues run between one and five pages. The reader has not yet committed to your story. They are deciding whether to. A twenty-page prologue is asking for an investment before you have earned it.
Create a question the reader needs answered. The best prologues plant something — an image, a mystery, a contradiction — that makes the reader turn to Chapter 1 not out of obligation but out of curiosity. Foreshadowing is the prologue’s sharpest tool.
Make it distinct from the first chapter. A prologue that reads identically to Chapter 1 — same character, same setting, same timeline — is just Chapter 1 with a different label. The whole point of a prologue is that it exists outside the main narrative. Give it a different time period, a different voice, a different texture.
Connect it to the climax, not just the beginning. The best prologues pay off late in the story, not early. A detail from the prologue that suddenly matters in the final act is far more satisfying than one that gets explained in Chapter 3. The longer the fuse, the bigger the impact.
End on a hook. The last line of your prologue is a bridge to Chapter 1. Make it a line that creates momentum — a revelation, a question, an image that lingers. The reader should feel a pull, not a pause.
Prologue vs Epilogue
These two bookend a story, but they face in opposite directions.
| Prologue | Epilogue | |
|---|---|---|
| Position | Before the story begins | After the story ends |
| Time | Usually set before the main events | Usually set after the main events |
| Purpose | Establishes context, raises questions | Provides closure, answers questions |
| Tension | Creates it | Releases it |
| Risk | Front-loading information the reader does not care about yet | Over-explaining an ending that already worked |
A prologue says “before all this happened.” An epilogue says “and after it was over.” Both are optional. Both work best when they do something the main narrative cannot handle on its own.
Using both in the same book is not wrong, but it does frame the story twice. Make sure the narrative between them is strong enough to stand without leaning on either side.
Common Prologue Mistakes
Starting with weather or landscape. A prologue that opens with three paragraphs describing a storm or a mountain range before introducing any character or conflict will lose readers before they reach Chapter 1.
Introducing too many characters. The reader has no anchor yet. Throwing five names at them in the prologue guarantees that none of those names will stick. One or two characters, maximum. Let the reader attach to someone before expanding the cast.
Making it secretly Chapter 1. If the prologue continues directly into the story with the same character in the same timeline, it is not a prologue. Label it Chapter 1 and move on.
Withholding the interesting part. Some prologues dance around the key revelation, teasing it for pages. The reader can feel this. If you are going to show something, show it. If you are going to hide it, write it as a mystery within the first chapter instead.
Using it as a crutch for a weak opening. If your first chapter does not work without the prologue, the prologue is not the solution. Rewrite the first chapter. The prologue should enhance a strong opening, not rescue a weak one.
