A FEW YEARS AGO, I REVIEWED A novel by a debut author which, aside from its other fine qualities, had one which made it stand out like a red rose in a flax field: it carried no dedication, and no acknowledgements. A modern miracle, I noted: he did it all by himself! That was unusual at the time but now might be a
That was unusual at the time but now might be a museum piece, a rarity akin to the hotel guest of whom Basil Fawlty said: “A satisfied customer! We should have him stuffed!”
Contra Ezra Pound, who declared that “all dedications are dowdy”, the humble book dedication can be a thing of beauty. It stands alone on the page, prominent and high-value, and it is the first thing the reader sees after the title.
A dedication was once an obligation to a patron; now it is more personal, but just as likely to be used to send
