by Mal Peet
They danced.
When the sun touched the lodgepole pines on the valley’s western rim, three barbecues — steel barrels cut in half — were lit. Blue-gray smoke rose into the reddening sky.
Grace and Beck ate on foot, carrying their plates from group to group, family to family. Grace made introductions. Some of her people smiled at him; some did not. Some of the men shook his hand; others did not.
When the evening stars appeared, the musicians regathered at the center of the circle. Jim Calf Robe carried a guitar, Sonny a banjo, another man a fiddle. Halfway through their second tune, the moon ghosted into the sky and a chorus of bats flew across it.
Grace took Beck’s hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Home,” she said.
Did I offer to finish Mal’s last book or did he ask me? I can’t remember.
At the time, it seemed a simple thing to do — his death was unimaginable, so the promise would never be cashed in.
But he did die.
So I read the manuscript and went to work. It helped that I loved it, and loved hearing Mal’s voice in every page.
I knew from the start that I couldn’t write the way he did, but I could write alongside him, shape the narrative, develop characters he’d just sketched in. I knew exactly what to do, not because he’d told me (we never discussed it), but because the manuscript read like a guide to a landscape I intuitively understood.
It’s a strange process, finishing someone else’s book. If Mal had been alive, I’d have phoned him every ten minutes to ask if it was okay to change something here, edit something there, make a decision about plot or dialogue or character development. Instead, I was left to raise the baby as my own — with the invaluable help of Mal’s wife and creative partner, Elspeth Graham. We made decisions that we hoped he’d have countenanced, perhaps enjoyed. The best thing about working on the book was how present he still felt in my life. Writing together was a conversation we could still have.
By the time the book was finished, I couldn’t always remember which parts I’d written and which Mal had. The story and the characters and the most original and beautiful turns of phrase were obviously Mal’s. Could anyone else write a line (muttered by the young Beck, upon discovering one of the Christian Brothers in the bath) like “Jaysus, yer lookin’ at a priest in the nip!”?
Beck is Mal’s book. Like all his work, it is bold and compassionate, unsparing, moving, and joyously, mordantly funny. Each page is shot through with Mal’s sharp observations, his affection for human frailty, and his own gigantic passion for life.
I hope you like it.
I hope he likes it too.
Meg and Mal connected long before they met. They loved and admired each other’s writing. As Meg once said, if you like a book, you’ll generally like the person who wrote it. And like each other they did, or rather, love. Immediate friends, they had a lot in common. Extraordinary talent, love of a good book, and a good rant, great generosity and unending capacity for kindness.
They saw each other sometimes and talked on the phone often.
Mal was diagnosed with cancer in December 2014. He continued to work on Beck but soon realized he didn’t have enough time to finish it. Meg said she’d do it. She’d finish Beck for Mal.
Meg arranged to come and stay with us in Devon, to see Mal, talk about Beck, and say good-bye. Mal died before she could make the journey.
That conversation with Mal about Beck never happened. But death is not the end of the conversation. Meg completed Beck.
I love this book. It is the extraordinary work of two great writers who loved and respected each other so very much. Thank you, Meg.
Elspeth Graham-Peet
March 1, 2016
Following are some of the sources that were helpful to the authors:
“Blackfoot History.” Government of Alberta, Alberta Culture and Tourism. Last updated March 18, 2016.
http://history.alberta.ca/headsmashedin/history/blackfoothistory/blackfoothistory.aspx.
“Dancing.” Blackfoot Crossing Historical Park, Siksika, Alberta. http://www.blackfootcrossing.ca/dance.html.
“Indians of the Plains: Sun Dance Ceremony.” American Indian Film Gallery. 1954.
http://aifg.arizona.edu/film/indians-plains-sun-dance-ceremony.
“Native Languages of the Americas: Blackfoot.” Native Languages of the Americas. 1998–2016.
http://www.native-languages.org/blackfoot.htm.
Regional Learning Project, University of Montana–Missoula. “The Blackfeet.” Trail Tribes website.
http://www.trailtribes.org/greatfalls/home.htm.
“Siksika Submitted Names.” Behind the Name: The Etymology and History of First Names.
http://www.behindthename.com/submit/names/usage/siksika.
Steward, Julian H. The Blackfoot. Berkeley, CA: United States Department of the Interior, National Park Service, Field Division of Education, 1934.
http://www.nps.gov/parkhistory/online_books/berkeley/steward/index.htm.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imaginations or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2016 by Mal Peet
Manuscript completed by Meg Rosoff
Cover illustration copyright © 2017 by Telegramme Studio
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First U.S. electronic edition 2017
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number pending
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