There is a kind of delicious voyeurism in reading the dedication of a book. It is a highly intimate space within a completely public project. Dedications allow us to take a peek into the author’s life, oftentimes far more than they ever let us within the pages of their novels. Through that peek, we can glean what they care about, who is important to them, and the things they are grateful for.
Here are some of our favorite dedications of all time.
Dedications to Parents
The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
“To the two who gave me life
and the one who made me free”
The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson
“To my mother and the memory of my father
whose migration made me possible,
and to the millions of others like them
who dared to act upon their dreams”
Dedications to the Public
A Court of Frost and Starlight by Sarah J. Maas
“To the readers who look up at the stars and wish.”
The Frankenstein Art Novel by Bond & Grace
“To our collective future–– may we welcome it with care and humility”
Difficult Women by Roxane Gay
“For difficult women, who should be celebrated for their very nature.”
Gallant by V.E. Schwab
“To those who go looking for doors
are brave enough to open the ones they find
and sometimes bold enough to make their own.”
Ruthless Vows by Rebecca Ross
“For anyone who sought a different realm through a wardrobe door,
who wrote a letter and is still waiting for a reply
or who dreams of stories and bleeds words”
Last but incredibly far from least, here are two tear-inducing Dedications to Editors, without whom there would be no books at all.
Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger
“As nearly as possible in the spirit of Matthew Salinger, age one, urging a luncheon companion to accept a cool lima bean, I urge my editor, mentor, and (heaven help him) closest friend, William Shawn, genius domus of the New Yorker, lover of the long shot, protector of the unprolific, defender of the hopelessly flamboyant, most unreasonably modest of born great artist-editors, to accept this pretty skimpy looking book.”
East of Eden by John Steinbeck
“PASCAL COVICI
Dear Pat,
You came upon me carving some kind of little figure out of wood and you said
“Why don’t you make something for me?”
I asked you what you wanted and you said “A box.”
“What for?”
“To put things in.”
“What things?”
“Whatever you have,” you said.
Well, here’s your box, nearly everything I have is in it, and it is not full.
Pain and excitement are in it, and feeling good or bad and evil thoughts and
good thoughts––the pleasure of design and some despair and the indescribable joy of creation.
And on top of these are all the gratitude and love I have for you.
And still the box is not full.”
JOHN”
