The Devil and the Dark Water

AN APOLOGY TO HISTORY. AND BOATS.

Hello, friend.

Sorry for barging into your evening uninvited. I wanted to turn up after the plot dust had settled and have a word.

You see, I believe a book is whatever you decide it is. The sights, the smells, the characters – everything you believe about them, you’re right! That’s why I love books. No two readers are the same, which means no two readings are the same. Your version of Arent isn’t my version of Arent, as demonstrated by the amount of people who think Arent’s hot. Sexy bodyguard really wasn’t my intention, but who cares. If you want sexy Arent, sexy Arent you shall have.

Equally, I don’t like pinning a genre to my stories. Seven Deaths – my prior book – was variously described as a golden age mystery, a metaphysical sci-fi novel, a modern fantasy, and a horror. In every instance, they were right. It was their book, so it could be whatever they damn well pleased.

I suspect as many genres will be pinned to Devil, and that’s fine. Except … I’m a bit worried some people might describe this as a ‘boat book’, or a piece of historical fiction.

At a glance, they are. Devil’s set in 1634, so it’s definitely historical. And it’s definitely fiction. And it’s definitely set on a boat. My concern is that people looking for Hilary Mantel and Patrick O’Brien are going to come looking for detail I wilfully ignored. Not from arrogance, but simply because it got in the way of the story I was trying to tell.

An Indiaman would have had dozens of officers, all vital to the running of the ship. I had three, because I didn’t want to bog the story down with that many characters, or subplots. The history that snuck into my book often happened differently, much later, or not at all. The technology is far more advanced than it should be, as are some of the attitudes – and the speech. Definitely the speech. This is all intentional. I did my research, then I threw away the bits that hindered my story. See what I mean? This is historical fiction where the history is the fiction. Hopefully, you don’t mind that. But I know lots of people will, because lots of people want chocolate, not coffee. They want the details I tossed overboard.

This is quite a long winded way of saying please don’t send me critical letters about proper rigging techniques on galleons, or women’s fashion in the 1600s. Unless they’re super interesting facts you’d like to share.

I love a good fact.

Right, I’ve kept you long enough. I truly hope you enjoyed Devil, as I’ve enjoyed our chat. Have a lovely evening. Let’s talk again in two years when my next book’s out. It’s going to be really fun, I promise.

Bye,

Stu

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Buckle in kids, I’m going full Gwyneth. On Seven Deaths, I thanked half the people I should have. This time I’m thanking absolutely everybody. Writing Devil was hard work, as was having a new-born baby while I was doing it. I moaned a fair bit about both. Sorry everybody. I’m happier now. Come find me, I owe you a pint.

Poor Resa. Aside from all the listening and tea, my wife took care of Ada all alone on many more weekends than was fair. She was also the one who pointed out that my original ending was rubbish. If you have a partner like Resa, 90% of your life is perfect. Thanks, hottie. (Using this nickname in public will definitely get me killed.)

Let’s talk a little bit about my editors, Alison Hennessey, Shana Drehs, and Grace Menary-Winefield. Devil had to be dug out, word by word. It kicked, and spat, and bit. They had to read so much dross and were nothing but kind and positive. Devil wouldn’t exist without them.

My agent Harry Illingworth is … tall, so there’s that. In all seriousness, he’s my mate who knows a lot about publishing. This is marvellously helpful. He’s also brilliant at not crying when I tell him I’m going to miss ANOTHER deadline, and he has to break the news to Alison. These skills can’t be taught.

Big Phil’s abandoned us, so she’s dead to me. I was going to say how brilliant her campaign for Seven Deaths was, and how ace the campaign for Devil was shaping up to be. I was going to say she’s a pal, but she selfishly got pregnant and went on maternity leave, so I’m not going to say any of those things. They’re all equally true of Amy, so I’ll say them to Amy alone. Amy, you’re a miracle worker. Thank you. And Phil, of course. I can’t really be mean, because you’ve got a newborn. That’s punishment enough.

Glen brings me brownies whenever I sign books. For that and letting me talk his ear off as we crisscross London bookstores, I thank you. David Mann designs wonderful covers. The two for Seven Deaths were his. The Devil cover was his. I love them all. Ta, mate. Emily Faccini drew the map you’ve been ogling. She’s supremely talented. She did the Seven Deaths one, as well, which is why that’s also wonderful.

Caitlin, Valerie, and Genevieve have managed to shove my books in front of so many faces I’m surprised people aren’t tripping over them when they leave the house. Thanks guys. And let’s not forget Sara Helen, making the production process look effortless, even in the midst of a pandemic. Nice work. Ta!

And, finally, mum, dad, and spud. How do you thank the earth you stand on and the ozone layer for protecting you from incineration? I’ve been trying to be an author for a long time. They never stopped believing I would be. That still matters.

Queue the music. Queue the tears. I’m out of here.