Although it carries only my name, The Fishermen was produced through the efforts of many:
Unsal Ozunlu, great teacher and early reader — my Turkish father; Behbud Mohammadzadeh, my best friend, inestimable brother; Stavroula, who saw me through most parts of this; Nicholas Delbanco, helper, the shepherd, teacher of good habits; Eileen Pollack, eagle-eyed reader, who scraped the edges of the pages with a red pen; Christina, whose feedback turned the tide; Andrea Beauchamp, the kind helper; Lorna Goodison, the supplier of peace and love…
Jessica Craig, first-rate agent, tour guide, and friend in whose hands I feel at ease; Elena Lappin, the acquirer and editor, the invisible hand behind every page, the great believer; Judy Clain, bringer of joy, editor; Adam Freudenheim, publisher extraordinaire, who, even when bowled over, would not let go; Helen Zell, supplier of abundance and gift to writers…
Bill Clegg, early cheerer, a harbinger of good things; Peter Steinberg, who first sent word out; Amanda Brower, the swift one; Linda Shaughnessy, agent who flung the book far and wide; Peter Ho Davies, the deft trumpeter; Emeka Okafor; Berna Sari; Agnes Krup, DW Gibson and the wonderful people of Ledig House (Amanda Curtin, Francisco Haghenbeck, Marc Pastor, Saskya Jain, Eva Bonne and all); my wonderful fiction cohort and the great writers and faculty of the Helen Zell Writers’ program at the University of Michigan who go blue with their pens…
Daddy, the father of many; Nnem, the mother of a crowd; Aunty, the historian; Sisters — Maria, Joy, Kelechi, Peace; my brothers — Mike, Chinaza, Chuwkwuma, Charles, Psalm, Lucky, Chidiebere, this one is for you, a tribute…
To all whom I couldn’t, due to space constraints, mention, you know your hands were here, and I thank you as much as those listed here. And to my readers, a hundred times more.