A Desolation Called Peace

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Second books are, proverbially, far more difficult than firsts. A Desolation Called Peace, despite my bravado and determined assurances to various persons—including, but certainly not limited to, my agent, my editor, a slew of fellow writers I’m honored to call friends, and my wife—was no exception. Bravado and determination will only get one so far in the face of one hundred fifty thousand words, a deadline, and the weight of knowing that, while you might have managed the trick once, each novel requires you to again learn how to write a novel.

I am still learning how to write a novel.

I will never, so long as I am privileged to write, be done with learning how to write a novel. I say this without resignation but instead with an acquired and giddy satisfaction: I hope I look back on this acknowledgments note in fifteen years and laugh at how little I knew, and how much more skillful a writer I have become. I hope all of you reading do the same. My first thanks is to you: everyone who picked up A Memory Called Empire, loved it, and made it a success. Without you I would not have any reason to pick up Mahit’s story again and spin it a little farther on. I am profoundly grateful.

Eternal thanks go as well to that list of persons I inflicted bravado and assurances upon.

Thank you to my dear friends: Elizabeth Bear, who makes me want to be a better writer than I am, and a better student of ethics and character work as well, and whose friendship is a steady point I am honored by; Devin Singer, who told me I’d gotten it right when I needed to hear it; Marissa Lingen, who texted me “my DUDE Swarm” and thus entirely proved I’d written a book with the emotional valence I meant to convey; Max Gladstone, who once talked through Buddhist ethics with me long enough that for a brief moment I understood the why of it, and then wrote a book (Empress of Forever, which I entirely recommend, O readers who have followed me deep into the acknowledgments) that made me believe it for the space of a climactic space battle; and all the rest of the ’zoo and my agentsibs, too many to list here for fear of leaving out someone important. Thank you all; you are the community I have always wanted to find.

(A quick shout-out also goes to Scott and Anita at The Read-Along podcast, who accidentally saved me from an embarrassing continuity error; to David Bowles, for talk and teaching about Nahuatl; and to Rebecca Roanhorse, who has been an absolute cheerleader for this book, even before reading it.)

And thank you to DongWon Song, my fantastic agent, who trusted me to find my way through this book, and made sure I was all right through launching the first one at the same time; to Devi Pillai, editor par excellence, who insisted that I get the pacing right, and who is frustratingly, amazingly, always correct about what I need to do to a book (only 15k underwritten this time, Devi, I’m learning); to my brilliant cover artist, Jaime Jones, who apparently can see into my head; and to the entire marketing and publicity team at Tor Books, who have taken such good care of me.

Most importantly: I could not do this—write, this book, any book, anything—without my glorious wife Vivian Shaw: spaceship consultant, world-translator, first and best reader. You are the center of every star chart; these things are ceaseless, my darling.

April 2020

Santa Fe, NM