One afternoon when Miss Ross was waiting for Mr. Shawn at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the twentieth floor, Goldie started barking. It was an absurd sound to hear in the halls of America’s premier literary magazine, and when the trio left, Lu came out of her office and stood in the hall. “Arf, arf!” she said, in imitation of Goldie. “Arf, arf, arf!”
Suddenly my remarks were over. I could not top Lu’s mischievous imitation of Goldie barking in the hall. Shirley Michaels had said that everyone was curious about the library’s mysterious benefactor, so I said that anyone who had a question about Lu should feel free to ask Alice or me. Just then, a little censor kicked in at the back of my brain. Was the “me” correct? Yes: it was the indirect object of “ask.” Lu would have cringed if I had committed the sin of overcorrectness and said to “ask Alice or I.” There was nothing vulgar about using the pronoun “me.” It was definitely “ask Alice or me.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The seeds of this book were broadcast by John Bennet, of The New Yorker, who encouraged me to write something—anything. Eleanor Martin and Sasha Weiss were more selective, and Michael Agger was ready to get his hands dirty. David Remnick’s approval was like sunshine. Vicky Raab introduced me to Andy Ross and Leigh Haber, and Emily Nunn recommended me to David Kuhn, who, with Becky Sweren, developed the proposal that attracted Matt Weiland, at W. W. Norton, who pruned my wild prose into something resembling a topiary garden.
I am grateful to James Salter for allowing me to quote from our correspondence on commas and to Nick Paumgarten for putting us in touch. And I am indebted to all the New Yorker writers whose prose I’ve had the pleasure of working on over the years, and especially to John McPhee, George Saunders, Ian Frazier, Mark Singer, Emily Nussbaum, Jon Lee Anderson, Lauren Collins, Kelefa Sanneh, Calvin Trillin, Karen Russell, and Ben McGrath, whose work I’ve taken the liberty of quoting, as well as to Charles McGrath, an editor and a gentleman, and to Alice Russell-Shapiro, one intrepid New Yorker reader.
A project like this necessarily draws on many co-conspirators, witting and un-. For support both personal and professional I am indebted to Ann Goldstein, Nancy Holyoke, and Elizabeth Pearson-Griffiths. For asking pesky questions and insisting that she valued my impatient answers, Carol Anderson. For not asking questions, Andrew Boynton. For classics, Charles Mercier. For lexicography, Peter Sokolowski. For hyphens, John M. Morse. For big words, Jeffrey Gustavson. For dirty words, Nick Trautwein. For Emily Dickinson scholarship, Sharon Cameron. For insights into Japanese, Lindsley Miyoshi and Susan Fischer. For Basque, Elizabeth Macklin. For dashes, Jeffrey Frank. For background on Eleanor Gould and Lu Burke, Susan Packard and Stephanie Seiter Blansett. For the “flower,” Janet Malcolm. For jousting with Lu Burke, Becky Sawyer. For popping up unexpectedly, Alice Quinn. For custody of the comma shaker, Julie Just. For determination, Shirley Michaels, of the Southbury Public Library. For generosity and good will, Sean Wilsey. For taking an interest for no good reason, Philip Hoare. For her stabs at who and whom, Little Annie Bandez. For her fidelity to the subjective case, Diane Englander. For fellowship among the apostrophes and the semicolons, Penelope Rowlands. For her artist’s eye, Toby Schust Allan. For solidarity in pencils and pencil sharpeners, Nancy Franklin, Blake Eskin, Michael Specter, and David Rees; in Ohio, Karen Raymore and Susie McKinnon; and Kristen-Lee Derstein at Dixon Ticonderoga. For peace and quiet, Gregory Maguire, in Vermont; J. Kathleen White, in the East Village; Mary J. Martin Schaefer, in Provincetown; and the Provincetown Public Library. And for sharing my good fortune with such zest and humor, Paula and Nathan Rothstein, Roni Gross, Peter Schell, Cynthia Cotts, Alice Truax, Yevgenia Margolis, Janet Abramowicz, Susan Miller, and Victoria Roberts. Also Bruce Diones, Rebecca Mead, Pat Keogh, Rhonda Sherman, Brenda Phipps, Henry Finder, and Daniel Zalewski. For late saves, Betsy Morais and Emily Greenhouse. For technical assistance, Sam MacLaughlin, at Norton; Pat Coll, who chased down the permissions; Otto Sonntag, who dared to copy-edit the copy editor; and Don Rifkin, who double-dared. For promotional efforts, Erin Lovett.
And I am indebted for sustenance to my faithful friends and fellow-writers Susan Grimm, Mary Grimm, Kristin Ohlson, Tricia Springstubb, Mary Louise Robison (R.I.P.), Charles Oberndorf, Susan Carpenter, Donna Jarrell, Jeff Gundy, Tom Bishop, and the Kelleys Island Regulars, as well as to the late Mary Beth Richlovsky. Clancey O’Connor and Denise Rodino have given me unconditional love. Richard H. Smith and Barrett J. Mandel were teachers of lasting influence, and Garret Keizer, a fellow student, has taught by example. I would not be who I am if it were not for my parents, Miles and Eileen Norris; my wonderful brother Miles and my fabulous sister Baby Dee; my grandmother Mary B. Norris; and my fairy godparents, Peter F. Fleischmann and Jeanne Cowles Wilson Fleischmann Bruce.