Yes, maybe that was an answer—or enough of an answer for now. Perhaps all Amanda could really hope for was that someday, years from this moment, there would be many, many rings, and when she looked back, she would be astounded at how sturdy she had grown.
Acknowledgments
Virginia Woolf was optimistic in supposing that a woman needs only a room of her own to produce a novel. Like all books, this one required the encouragement and support of many people before it was able to achieve life.
I am deeply indebted to Melanie Kirkpatrick of the Wall Street Journal, who had the audacity and perseverance necessary to launch a serialized novel for the first time ever in that great newspaper; to the spirited James Taranto, editor of Opinion-Journal, who agreed to the unorthodox experiment and posted chapters weekly on the Journal’s Web site throughout the summer of 2001; to editors Erich Eichman and Joanne Lipman, who gave Amanda a spectacular front-page kickoff in the Weekend section; and to illustrator Ned Crabb, the Lynton Lamb of our day, for his hilarious weekly sketches. Copy editor Brendan Miniter’s cheerfulness with midnight changes was also most appreciated. And I am exceedingly grateful to Ken Whyte and Hugo Gurdon of Canada’s National Post, who brought Amanda to their readers.
Amanda in book form owes chief thanks to my brilliant agent, Jennifer Rudolf Walsh, and to my truly terrific editor, Caryn Karmatz Rudy. Caryn’s wise suggestions and dedicated efforts resulted in Amanda getting the makeover she so badly needed.
A circle of dear friends cheered Amanda on from the start, and I relied very much upon their advice, criticisms, and enthusiasm: Betsy Hart, Amy Kroll, Kate O’Beirne, Mona Charen Parker, Melinda Sidak—and Meghan Gurdon, who must be singled out as the only woman I know capable of offering edits within twenty-four hours of giving birth. My obstetrician, Dr. Damien Alagia, a superb doctor, took Amanda’s medical condition seriously and helped me greatly with the technical details of toxemia.
My parents, Yvonne and Peter Worthington, generously kept my family housed, fed, and entertained during the final weeks of the serial. As always, I am left gasping at the thought of what I would do without their unstinting love and support. My children displayed much unrewarded patience throughout the writing of this book (darlings, why can’t you do that in movie lineups?): I thank Miranda for being an early, avid reader of the series and for all her excellent editorial advice; Nathaniel for his dear solicitude and eagerness for me to finish, which made me write faster; and Beatrice, who suffuses our lives with such joy.
I simply cannot imagine how this book could have been started, let alone finished, without my husband, David Frum. Not only has he ensured that I have always had a room to write in, but a room furnished with his love and boundless confidence. I dedicate this novel to him, as indeed I dedicate everything else.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DANIELLE CRITTENDEN is the author of What Our Mothers Didn’t Tell Us, a book that resulted in Vanity Fair declaring her one of the most important writers and thinkers about women. Her articles have appeared in the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, and the Washington Post, and she is a frequent commentator on national TV and radio. She lives with her husband, author David Frum, and their three children in Washington, D.C.
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