When I was in my teens and first attempting to write fiction, my grandfather Malcolm Cowley gave me a piece of advice that I have carried with me: the only thing you need to know, he said, is that every good story must have a beginning, a middle, and an end, with the end foreshadowed in the beginning.
It took me a lifetime to get there, but I have followed his advice to a T.
There are so many people I am grateful to for pushing, shoving, supporting, and propping me up on this journey—most especially my extraordinary mother, Blair Resika, who taught me how to set a table and raised us in uncompromising beauty. My beloved sisters, Lizzie and Sonia—you are my rocks and my soul.
My father, Robert Cowley, editor and historian extraordinaire, told me when I was eleven years old that the best writing is always the shortest distance between two points. I thank him for that, but even more so for giving me the dazzling whirlwinds that are my younger sisters, Olivia and Savannah.
Thank you to my grandfather, Jack Phillips, for giving us the landscape. My wonderful stepfather, Paul Resika, for immortalizing it. My godmother, Florence Phillips, for a magical can of corn that changed the course of a little girl’s life.
Boundless thanks to my brilliant, thought-provoking editor, Sarah McGrath, whose keen eye never misses. Huge thanks, too, to the entire Riverhead team, and to the Valkyries of Viking, Venetia Butterfield and Mary Mount.
Thank you, Anna Stein, my gorgeous, kick-ass agent, for making my dreams come true, and for choosing me. I am beyond lucky to have Will Watkins at ICM, Susan Armstrong at C&W, Claire Nozieres at Curtis Brown, and Jason Hendler at HJTH on my team.
Mark Sarvas. Mentor and friend for life. You held me steady every step of the way. Words will never be enough, but I won’t stop trying. Thank you, Adam Cushman, for believing in this book before I even knew it was a book. Jack Grapes, for teaching me that fiction is poetry. Thank you to all the writers in the Novel Writers Group who workshopped The Paper Palace with me. Among them, Andrea Custer, Samuel Stackhouse, Ondrea Harr, Victoria Pynchon, Catherine Ellsworth, and Joel Villaseñor, wordsmith extraordinaire, who caught the Metrecal. My compadres at PEN America. My fellow board members at the Fine Arts Work Center.
Stepha, for anything and everything. Faran, for the trees. Estelle, for her wisdom and heart. Jimmy, for bringing the light. Tanya, for keeping it lit. Nick, for the joy you brought me from Day One. Christina and Olivia, for keeping my world spinning on its axis. Lily and Nell, for making sure it can still spin out of control. August, whose fine, strong drumbeat we all hope to follow. Lasher, Calder, and Sebastian— tiny scrumptious beings. And Georgia, oh Georgia, my woodland sprite, for inspiring the dreaminess.
I was raised in a world of strong women with strong voices and constant hearts. I thank each and every one of you for your remarkable friendship. It has been the greatest blessing. Thank you, Margot, Angela, Laura, Nonny, Tory, Busby—my Girls for life; Charlotte, who read it first and said “yes”; Nina, who sat beside me day after day, both of us typing away; Kate, for your boundless optimism; Nicky and Louise for your sweet support; Laura B., Evgenia, and Elizabeth—whip-smart friends and early readers; Libby, who made me get off my bum and finish the damn thing; Zoe and Lucy, for your sisterhood; the magnificent women in my family—Antonia, Susannah, Hayden, Saskia, Cosima, Rachel, Nicky, Frankie, Lula, Lotte, Grace, Louisa, Millie. Each of you shapes the path.
My sons, Lukas and Felix—I love you to the moon. But you know that.
Lastly, and above all, thank you, Bruno, for the roads we walked together, and for the amazing journey.