I started a new book today and when I read the dedication page, I liked it immediately: “If you need this book, it is for you.” I was filled with massive need for the book. Did I ever need a book more? Had a mirror ever been tipped so precariously at my chin? And what of that pile of books I gathered in a North Fork used bookstore. Didn’t I need those, especially the one about egrets? If you need this book, it is for you. I felt both recognized and reprimanded, which is exactly how I like to feel. If you are lost, now you are found. If you are caught, now you are free. The book is Carmen Maria Machado’s In the Dream House. We’ll see about that, little lady. We’ll see if you’re the one for me.
The book you are reading, to whom is it dedicated? And does it tell you anything?
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Betsy Lerner 
I’m reading “Pulp” again. It’s Charles Bukowski’s final book.
The relevant page reads “Dedicated to bad writing”
This, in combination with the genius of the book itself, tells me most of what I need to know.
Also, howdy Fuckers, Friends and Flies not yet taken out of the game — I missed you all a tiny bit. Minuscule, mostly. Or did I just miss mass debating with you all, when Betsy slips into something uncomfortable and gives us a topic worth rubbing our selves up against?
Hey, harry, good to see you. We’re all hunkering down up here. Except for those of us who are washed in the blood of the lamb, which is reported to impart an almost magical immunity.
For my part, I am washed in soap and water and suffused only with fine odors and hope.
You know, I forgot to include a dedication in Franny & Toby.
The dedications page of Franny & Toby reads:
“For the staff and volunteers of Animal Humane New Mexico”
But more precious than any lovely dedication, is the joy it brought to some lady and her daughter after they read it, as described in the lady’s review:
“With haltingly believable dialogue that demands to be read aloud, Franny & Toby was a pleasure for me and my daughter to share. She’s a little under the recommended age range for this book, but whip-smart, and she just adored each of these unique and engaging characters. For weeks, she’d stop at the front doors of her school, turn and salute, and, doing her best impression of my Squawky Short-bill–my best impression of David Lynch’s FBI Regional Director Gordon Cole–shout “Dive low, soar high!” waiting for me to respond in Colonel Falcon baritone, “Dive low, soar high!” before flying off into the halls beaming. Totally worth the PTA moms’ stares. A great book”
There’s something about that review that thrilled me more than any review I’ve had on my own books — maybe that it was such a lovely shared moment between the mother and daughter.
Be proud, my friend — and wash your hands again, I guess…
jeeezuss, harry, i’m losing my mind.
indeed indeed, that’s exactly what the dedication page of F&T says. i have a copy right here.
and franny is lounging on the rug behind me.
thank you for your kind words.
life is just too much for me these days. just a little too much.
i’ve been feeling like i’ve got to get away. trapped in chicago. trapped in illinois. trapped in a loveless marriage. trapped in financial constraints. trapped in an aging man’s body. trapped in an aging man’s mind. trapped in the stories i tell over and over and nobody wants to hear — ‘old man, will you shut the eff up, please.’
no compass, no quadrant. stumbling about, marking time when there is no time left to mark.
where are my mountains? where are my forests? where are my deserts? where are my skies?
onward, through the fog.
Hi Tetman,
I’m seeing this a day and a dollar short, but I just wanted to recommend taking a drive. Get away from the city. Rent a car if you don’t have one, preferably a van to eat meals in/sleep. Drive south, southern Illinois where the towns have names like Cairo, pronounced Kay-Row. There’s a place called Garden of the Gods in the Shawnee (I think) National Forest. Go for a walk there. Breathe in air without fear. Stay for the sunset, but watch out for ticks.
I don’t know if it will help clear off any fog, but shit, it could be fun.
And keep writing, of course.
we’re sheltering in place.
there’s pandemic scourging the land.
the governor has ordered all people to stay home except for certain specific delineated needs.
My apologies — I was thinking 2-3 weeks ago instead of the here and now. Take solace in knowing mountains, deserts, forests and skies are experiencing a cleansing, at least for now. And take care.
You guys… you guys. It’s so weird to me that I might never ever get to see you in person. How, in some way, we are only words reaching out to each other — of course, the reaching out is much more, the words only the sound of our shrieking, not the heart-parts that drove us to shriek to each other in the first place. Or something like that — we are mere males, after all, but you know what I mean.
Doctor Mike’s prescription is perfect, of course — but as it may be some weeks or months before it can be filled, Doctor Harry (snake oil salesman extraordinaire) has a little something for you. Bliss, by Peter Carey. What you both said reminded me of it — because Harry Joy was stuck in hell too, but he got out, you see, and Bliss is that story. And if Harry Joy can get out, there’s hope for us all.
(to read it, we’ll have to give something of course — “a sapphire, or blue bread made from cedar ash.” But as is always the case with good stories, it will be worth it. And it’ll get us out of hell, at least for awhile, so there’s that.)
Thanks, harry, and thanks, MikeD. I was having a tricky day. It is behind me now.
Thanks for giving me an enlightening task! Our local chapter of the Dickens Fellowship is reading “The Old Curiosity Shop”. I hadn’t noticed the dedication in my dogged pursuit to concentrate on the novel itself. Yes, mea culpa, it is one of the few I have not yet read.
Dickens’ dedication to Samuel Rogers, Esquire (a poet and wealthy banker known for “famous literary breakfasts”) alludes to both the man’s accomplishments and his “active sympathies” for the poor and, I guess, those sorts of downtrodden citizens portrayed in the book.
Now, wishing for an invite to a literary breakfast – with adult beverages – once this stay-at-home mandate is cancelled.
i’m reading TRANSCRIPTION by Kate Atkinson, the 3rd Atkinson book in as many weeks. she’s dedicated this book to Doubleday’s publishing director, a Marianne Velmans.
this tells me that Kate is on a first name basis with the big shots, that she’s in the know, sits at their head table whenever possible and gets the biggest piece of chicken.
Ms. Velmans is retiring.
rea
The book I am reading — Thomas Jefferson, “Writings” — has no dedication, but contains the following epigraph: “Thomas Jefferson, Writings, is kept in print by the contribution of MARTIN E. SEGAL to the Guardians of American Letters Fund, established by The Library of America to ensure that every volume in the series will be permanently available.”
This tells me that there is a community whose members believe in the value of making this book and others like it available for as long as possible (“permanently,” they say, but that is a length of time specifically unmeasurable). It also tells me that either MARTIN is important in or to this community, or that it is the common practice in such epigraphs in this series to display the names of contributors in all caps.
A brilliant friend (not said lightly) recommended this book because she knew I’d ingest its lyrical, magical beauty. The book is dedicated to the author’s loved ones, in memory of a niece and in honor of her youngest. Not unusual, but the characters have such deep intimacy, and the reader feels the story viscerally, and what stronger bond than the familial?
A Tall History of Sugar by Curdella Forbes.
I, Toto; The Autobiography of Terry, The Dog Who Was Toto.
“…to my faithful companions -past and present- along the yellow brick road:
Star, Toto, Solitaire, Haagen, Claire, Molly, Barty, Hatty, Romy, and Tom (who by the way, is not a dog, but who knows a thing-or-two about unconditional love)
Published in 2001
Stewart, Tabori, & Chang
115 West 18th Street
New York, NY
A treasure from Friends Forever, used bookstore Auburn, CA
I’m still reading Witch Hairs, Mirth, Miracles, Mayhem & Music, by Dixie Gamble. The dedication says “to budding witches, Lila and Ella Gamble.”
Since this is memoir, I’m suspecting they’re granddaughters, and yes, I think it tells me a lot. I’m pretty sure Dixie Gamble will instill a lot of her cosmic wisdom in them – or at least share her stories so they’ll be curious about what their grandmother experienced.
(The book is sort of blowing my mind)
Dedication in The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead is To Julie, his wife. It tells me he is grateful.
(Looking at some of his other books, I see there is one called Zone One. It’s about a global pandemic. Fuck.)
FOR KARL (1955-2016), WITH ALL MY LOVE, it says. 2016, the same year as the copyright on the book itself. A blessing and a tragedy— first one, then the other, or perhaps both at the same time. How much did that inform the work? How much did the work save her? I imagine a lot. I imagine as much as it’s saving me now, its discourse on the genius of birds serving as a beacon of beauty, of hope, of something other than the misery of humans, of something bigger than ourselves, so much bigger. I wonder what she’s working on now, I think. I wonder what’s saving her now.
The book? The author? So lovely.
I think you’re asking me? It’s The Genius of Birds by Jennifer Ackerman
I loved that book and i remember wondering about Kart who died too young. Thank you for mentioning it here.
Yes, it’s a wonderful book. You’re welcome 🙂