The Devil in Silver (54 page)

The same can be said (the love I mean) of my wonder-editor, Chris Jackson. This is our third book together, and by now I really can’t imagine how I’d write a good book without him.

Thanks also to Julia Masnik for being so bright, warm, and really damn funny when I called in to my agent’s office.

Thanks to the John Guggenheim Memorial Foundation and the MacDowell Colony for their support.

While I had personal experience visiting psychiatric units around New York City, this book demanded research to learn how the units run, and what kinds of systems keep them operable (if not always working). Dr. Monique Upton and Dr. Jennifer Mathur were kind enough to answer my many questions. Thanks also to Nina Bernstein, whose insightful reporting on the story of Xiu Ping Jiang inspired
portions of Sue’s story. I’m in their debt. Any mistakes or simplifications about how the mental-health system runs are mine.

My wonderful wife and closest ally, Emily Raboteau, gave me great help with this book. She also gave me our son, Geronimo, who is a badass. Little man, I knew you were dope ever since you were semen!

Being a kid from Queens means I grew up with people of every color, nationality, and faith. Among those were plenty of working-class white guys. They were my friends. But when I saw guys like them in books, movies, or television, they were usually depicted as: 1) drunks, 2) abusers, or 3) drunk abusers. The guys I’d known deserved better than those portrayals. They were as capable of goodness as anyone else. I wanted Pepper, flaws and all, to be complex and surprising, like real human beings. I’m thankful for the friends who inspired him.

The name Kofi Acholi is not a Ugandan name. This was a purposeful choice. I have a large extended family on my Ugandan side and I didn’t want any of them thinking I based Kofi on them. So I used a name one would never find in real life simply to spare myself any hell at the next Ugandan picnic.

I’d like to send a heartfelt
fuck you
to St. Luke’s-Roosevelt Hospital’s psychiatric unit. No doubt they’ve long forgotten why I loathe them, but I will never forget.

Okay, I got that out of my system. But I don’t want to end on a poisonous note.

While Emily was pregnant we lived in Amsterdam thanks to the Dutch Foundation for Literature. While there, we got to visit the Van Gogh Museum. The museum does a great job of drawing a visitor deeper into the story of Van Gogh’s life. His work is displayed in a sort of timeline, floor by floor, until by the time you’ve reached one of his last paintings,
Wheat Field with Crows
, it feels as if you’ve really come to know the man. Those visits inspired me to pick up Van Gogh’s letters. I practically devoured them and, soon enough, his spirit possessed this novel. I have to thank the Van Gogh Museum for being curated so damn well.

Finally, I thank Vincent Van Gogh aka Big Vince aka the Red Tornado. If there is an afterlife, I hope you finally got to see how much you’ve meant to so many.

VLV
March 15, 2012