Anxious People

AUTHOR’S THANKS

J. Very few people have had the effect on my life that you have. The kindest, strangest, funniest, messiest, most complicated friend I’ve ever had. Almost twenty years have passed now, and I still think about you almost every day. I’m so sorry you couldn’t bear it any longer. I hate myself for not being able to save you.

Neda. Twelve years together, ten years married, two children, and a million rows about wet towels on the floor and feelings we’re still trying to find words for. I don’t know how you’ve managed to juggle two careers, yours and mine, but without you I wouldn’t be standing here now. I know I drive you crazy, but I’m crazy about you. Ducks fly together.

The monkey and the frog. I’m trying to be a good dad. I really am. But when you jumped in the car and asked, “What’s that smell? Are you eating candy?” I lied. Sorry.

Niklas Natt och Dag. I don’t know how many years we’ve been sharing an office. Eight? Nine? I can honestly say I’ve never known a genius, but you are the closest I’ve come. I’ve never had a brother, either.

Riad Haddouche, Junes Jaddid, and Erik Edlund. I don’t say it as often as I should. But I hope you know.

Mum and Dad, my sister, and Paul. Houshang, Parham, and Meri.

Vanja Vinter. Stubborn as hell since 2013, and the only person who’s worked with me throughout almost all my career. Editor, proofreader, extra pair of eyes, a whirlwind, and a really good friend for all of my stories. Thank you for always giving one hundred percent.

The Salomonsson Agency. Most of all, of course, my agent Tor Jonasson, who doesn’t always understand what the hell I’m playing at but always defends me just as doggedly. Marie Gyllenhammar, who has been like an extra member of the family when the machinery and circus spin too fast and I’m trying to find myself. Cecilia Imberg, who acted as an extra proofreader and linguistic adviser toward the end of this project. (In those instances where we disagreed about grammar, obviously you were right, but sometimes I make mistakes just for the hell of it.)

Bokförlaget Forum, my publishers in Sweden. In particular John Häggblom, Maria Burlin, Adam Dahlin, and Sara Lindegren.

Alex Schulman, who, when I was trying to make this book work, reminded me how it can feel when a text completely floors you. Christoffer Carlsson, who read and corrected and laughed. I owe you a beer. Maybe two. Marcus Leifby, my absolute first choice when I need to drink coffee and talk about Division 2 ice hockey and Vietnam War documentaries for six hours on a Tuesday.

All the publishers in other countries who publish my books, from Scandinavia to South Korea. In particular, I’d like to thank Peter Borland, Libby McGuire, Kevin Hanson, Ariele Fredman, Rita Silva, and everyone else who has stubbornly continued to have faith in me over at Atria Books/Simon & Schuster in the USA and Canada, and Judith Curr, who helped me to get there. You’ve become my second-home market.

Everyone who has translated my books, in particular Neil Smith. My cover designer, Nils Olsson. My favorite bookseller, Johan Zillén.

The psychologists and therapists who have worked with me in recent years. In particular, Bengt, who helped me get to grips with my panic attacks.

You. For reading this. Thank you for your time.

Finally: the authors Estelle refers to at various points in this story. In order of appearance, they are: Astrid Lindgren (page 248), J. M. Barrie (page 248), Charles Dickens (page 258), Joyce Carol Oates (page 258), Kahlil Gibran (page 259), William Shakespeare (page 281), Leo Tolstoy (page 304), and Bodil Malmsten (pages 305 and 313). If any of them has been misquoted, the fault is mine alone, or possibly my translator’s, but certainly not Estelle’s.