There are a number of people who have conspired with me, some unwittingly, on this novel. I am indebted to Wallace Stevens, whose poetry moved me to write this particular book, and to my grandfather, whose lovely memoir served as a starting point.
My editors: Kate Harvey at Picador, who has my eternal gratitude and troth of friendship for her immensely sensitive and ingenious editing; and the brilliant Judy Clain at Little, Brown, whose vision and commitment continue to blow me away. I owe them a lifetime of perfectly chilled martinis.
My publishers—Michael Pietsch at Little, Brown, and Paul Baggaley at Picador—and the whole band of talented people at both imprints are to be thanked profusely.
Caroline Wood, my agent at Felicity Bryan, is—in a word—incredible. She has also taught me that, sometimes, there can be too many dinner parties.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Andrew Motion, who tutored me in the way of avocado pears, among countless other things.
In terms of longevity and loyalty, my biggest thanks go to the following writers: Emma Chapman, Tom Feltham, Liz Gifford, Carolina Gonzalez-Carvajal, Kat Gordon, and Rebecca Lloyd James.
Finally, I owe a debt I cannot repay to my crazy, amazing family, who, frankly, have put up with a lot: my mother and father, Betsy Chapin and Eric Klaussmann; my brother, Eric Klaussmann; and my other dad, John Grummon.