by Libba Bray
Mrs. Goldberg looked into her husband’s eyes. “Max?” she said, worried.
Out on the street, the motorcade drove by at last, below balconies draped in red, white, and blue. The hero lifted his arm in acknowledgment of the crowd. The citizens screamed, and the cheer became a roar.
Author’s Note
This is a work of fiction, and as such, certain liberties have been taken in order to “make it work” (thank you, Tim Gunn), starting with the fact that, as far as I know, there are no supernatural entities roaming the streets of New York. Well, other than the subway rats. But that’s another story. Timelines have been conflated here and there. For example, Charles Lindbergh’s New York City ticker tape parade happened in June of 1927, but Hitler’s Nuremberg rally—arguably the beginning of the rise of the Nazi Party—happened in August of 1927. But while this is a work of fiction, it incorporates aspects of our very real history: the KKK, the American eugenics movement, Fitter Families tents, Jim Crow laws, xenophobia, the racial injustice and government-sanctioned abuse enacted upon African Americans caught up in the tragedy of the Great Mississippi Flood—abuses of power that victimized them twice. All of that is true. It continues to haunt us today.
It has taken me nearly ten years to write this series. When I started, all I knew was that I wanted to tell an American ghost story. I had no idea where that story would take me, or that the writing of it would coincide with such a tumultuous and divisive period in America, one containing within it the echoes of our unresolved, often unacknowledged past. I believe that with every book we write, we are changed, but nothing I’ve written has so fundamentally challenged and changed me as the Diviners has. The necessary research involved in the writing of this series forced me into an unavoidable, often uncomfortable dialogue with my identity as a white American. It forced me to understand how hundreds of years of white supremacy in this country have created a distorted lens on race and actively suppressed narratives from the marginalized whenever those stories proved inconvenient for this hegemonic viewpoint. It forced me to understand how every time there was a push toward greater equality for all Americans, especially Americans of color, there was a power play by white America not only to impede that progress but to reassert dominance and reestablish oppression through everything from perception-shaping to laws—and the criminal justice system entrusted to enforce those laws—to acts of inhuman violence. It has forced me to grapple with how easy it is to be complicit if we don’t interrogate ourselves about our false inheritance.
It has made me think about the mythmaking we do, both as a country and as individuals going about our daily lives. The way the narratives we create can be used to obfuscate facts, to manipulate a populace, or to allow ourselves deniability of wrongs; the way narrative—especially the stories of those who have lived these injustices firsthand—can be used to bring truth into the open. Story is powerful. I believe we can write a better one together going forward. But only if we are willing to truly see and reckon with our ghosts. And we are surrounded by them. They are there on the prairies where the buffalo once roamed, where the subdivisions and chain stores now spread out against the frayed horizon. They are there in the ports where the auction blocks stood and on the hills where the “witches” were hanged. They are there on the Trail of Tears and on the edges of the reservations. They are there in the shadows, trying to move into the light. They are with us always. They are talking to us.
It’s up to us to listen.
Acknowledgments
Let me just issue a blanket statement: Thank you.
Did we share oxygen at any point during the writing of this book—or any of the books in this series? Cool. Thanks for that. Baristas who kept the coffee coming? You are doing the Lord’s work. That patient Apple support person who assured me that I hadn’t sent my Scrivener file into some sort of technological purgatory, never to return? Glitter. Unicorn. To everyone who took a phone call from me that started with an innocuous, “Heyyy, do you have a minute…?” and ended two hours later with you chewing off your own arm to get away? I’m sorry. And thank you. And you probably don’t have to worry about that one missing glove now.
The truth is, it takes a village to make a book happen and get that book out into the world, and often the good people doing that hard work are unsung. I am enormously grateful to and for everyone who has “contributed their verse” to The King of Crows and to the Diviners series.
I’d like to offer my heartfelt gratitude to the following:
—Rock star editor Alvina Ling, whose keen eye, deep insights, and exacting pen have shaped these sprawling books into… less sprawling books. Truly, she is the Spanx of editors, holding it all together. It’s been a great ride, Alvina. See you at karaoke.
—The tireless and talented Bethany Strout, Nikki Garcia, Kacen Callender, and Ruqayyah Daud, who have all been an invaluable part of this nearly decade-long process.
—Copyeditors/proofreaders JoAnna Kremer and Christine Ma, whose skills border on superpowers. I am forever in their debt.
—All of the fine, creative, hardworking folks, both past and present, in LBYR’s marketing, publicity, promotion, social media, school & library, sales, art, managing editorial, and production departments. And a special shout-out to Karina Granda for yet another knockout cover design.
—Totally boss literary agent Jo Volpe at New Leaf Literary, who is fierce, passionate, brilliant, and heroic. Yes, I am making the heart shape with my hands, Jo. But not while typing.
—Abigail Donoghue, Jordan Hill, and Devin Ross at New Leaf for keeping me on track, a task akin to trying to corral feral cats.
—Wizard-level research guru Lisa Gold, finder of obscure primary sources for and resources on topics as wide-ranging as the Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 to circus-train packing inventories to atomic theory and everything in between. If she can’t find it, it can’t be found.
—The fantastic team at Listening Library and the absolute best audiobook narrator one could ever be lucky enough to have: the incredible January LaVoy.
—Barry Goldblatt, who believed in this series from the start and who encouraged me every step of the way.
—My son, Josh Goldblatt, who inspires me daily.
—Musician extraordinaire Bill Zeffiro, for the line, “But I’m very sentimental about the money.”
—The coolest girl in school, Natalie Standiford, and new friend Maude Meisel for help with the Russian translation.
—My dear friends/readers of disjointed pages/correctors of plots-gone-off-the-rails/takers of weird phone calls at odd hours/suppliers of chocolate and bonhomie/coworkers in the trenches and cheerleaders during the daily slog: Pam Carden, Brenda Cowan, Emily Jenkins, Tricia Ready, Susanna Schrobsdorff, Nova Ren Suma, and Justin Weinberger. And special thanks for the great creative energy generated by the ladies of the Fantastical Writing Retreat: Organizer Goddess Maria Dahvana Headley, Holly Black, Bo Bolander, Amal El-Mohtar, Annalee Flower Horne, Kat Howard, Kelly Link, Sarah McCarry, Caitlyn Paxson, Cat Valente, and Ysabeau Wilce. And huge thanks, Holly and Kelly, for helping me shape the ending that was right.
—Special “I would bury a body for you” love/gratitude/awe and honor go out to my “sisters” Gayle Forman and Kim Liggett. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you beautiful humans, and I don’t intend to ever find out.
—All of the wonderful librarians, teachers, booksellers, and book advocates. Thank you for what you do.
—Last but not least, my deepest gratitude to the readers who have stuck with this series for the long haul. I know the books took a lot longer to write than any of us wanted. I hope it has been a good ride and worth the wait.
And, as always, if I’ve forgotten anyone, my apologies and my thanks, and I owe you dinner.
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