Chels

It’s the beginning of February, and as always, I’m feeling inspired by the theme of literary love. This week’s topic came about during a conversation with a friend to think about dedications in literature. To me, a book dedication is such a powerful symbol of love, be it romantic or otherwise – here is a story that I have poured everything into writing, and it’s for you. It’s such a tender gesture – easily missed by those who aren’t looking, but so meaningful to those who notice.

A Short History

Book dedications have been around for thousands of years, though not necessarily in the way we use them now. They’ve been identified in literature as early as the Classical era, but they really gained popularity in the 18th century. They weren’t dedications of love, though.

Dedications became frequent among Patron writers. At the time, there were essentially two classes of writer – those who were rich enough to fund the publication of their own work (or those with parents or spouses that were), and those who weren’t. Those who couldn’t afford to have their work published often sought patronage by wealthy locals, or even from institutions – a bit like sponsorships today. In return for ‘sponsorship’, writers often wrote works for their patrons, and dedicated books to them. Dedications were less of a declaration of affection, and more of a plea for payment, or thanks for a payment already made.

Dedications have also been less than loving, and instead, been political or divisive in nature. Particularly in political or controversial novels, dedications are made not to celebrate, but to condemn. That’s much rarer, though, and I would argue, still comes from a place of great love – for those who are lost, and for those whose stories must be told.

Some favourites

These days, most modern books have dedications, often just a simple line, a story dedicated to a parent or child, a friend or lover. Some books, though, have a bit more. The dedications I’ve chosen feel a bit like poetry to me, they tell us a whole lot more, but they don’t really reveal anything. I don’t know any of the people these books are dedicated to, but in a way, I feel like I’ve been let into a relationship. I imagine it’s quite exciting, as an author, to be able to dedicate a book to a loved one – a celebration of achievement, together.

For Jenny – because who else would it 

ever have been dedicated to?

And for Laura – because who else would I 

ever have wanted to share this moment with?

Dedication from Liz Kessler in her novel Read Me Like a Book. I love this because it feels like an inside joke of sorts. I’m not sure who Jenny and Laura are – perhaps friends, perhaps family, but it feels incredibly intimate.

To my husband, Dennis, 

for encouraging me to write the stories that I tell 

and for loving me despite not a few “quirks”

Dedication from Terry Spencer Hesser in Kissing Doorknobs. The novel isn’t autobiographical, but the author has talked about her experience with OCD in the past, and as someone deep in the throes of it, I know how it feels to be loved in spite of quirks. 

For my parents, Duane and Sylvia Danforth, 

who filled our home with books and stories

In The Miseducation of Cameron Post by Emily M Danforth. I wouldn’t be who I am today without my own home filled with books, and I love that Danforth separates books and stories.

To the Spirit: 

Without whose assistance

Neither this book

Nor I

Would have been

Written

From Alice Walker’s The Colour Purple. This feels so much like poetry to me. I really loved The Colour Purple (though I can’t bring myself to spell the title the American way), and this dedication feels so fitting for the story that follows.

For Lilah

Smash the patriarchy, sweetheart

Taylor Jenkins Reid in The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. Again, like with my first choice, I don’t know who Lilah is, but in just six short words, I can tell how much she means to Taylor Jenkins Reid.

A book’s dedication can tell us a lot about an author, and about the novel itself. Not necessarily in content, but in mindset. Dedications can reframe narratives and highlight personal connections to storylines, and help to remind us that the stories we read are crafted not by some all-knowing entity, but by a person who loves and is loved.