Of all the modern literary forms, the author acknowledgements at the end of novels are perhaps the least loved but most enthusiastically practised. Just in case the preceding few hundred pages haven’t done the business, here is the writer’s last-ditch effort to impress you for all sorts of irrelevant reasons.
These observations do not apply to non-fiction, which is almost always collaborative in some sense and draws on the efforts of many people. The scientist and researcher whose work has been cribbed, the authorities and real-life participants who share their stories for no payment – these people really did contribute and deserve all the thanks they get. Only in lyrical first-person meditations on the natural world, or similarly inward-looking works, is non-fiction created without the help of others.
It’s hard to date the first appearance of back-of-the-book acknowledgements. They seem to have evolved from the brief dedications that can still be found at the front. Go back 100 years and it’s hard to find them.
Dickens, for instance, did not thank the governing board of the poorhouse for their invaluable advice about gruel recipes and child labour practices, without which Oliver Twist “would have been the poorer”. Herman Melville did not find space in Moby Dick to thank his local whale-spotting group for “helping me to avoid numerous errors relating to whales and their habits”.
It sometimes feels as though today’s novelists exercise as much imagination in dreaming up people who deserve a tip of the hat as they do in perfecting their tales. But this growth of acknowledgements is in tune with the times. It’s merely a literary reflection of what social media hath wrought, with the least significant sentiment needing to be shared with the world.
As the Guardian plaintively asked in a piece on the subject that was written 14 years ago but has not dated even slightly: “Why do writers whose prose is clean and clear turn into gushing Kate Winslets in the thank-you pages of their books?” Which is a bit unfair on Kate Winslet.
International industry bible Publishers Weekly was not being judgmental but certainly hit on something when it compared acknowledgements to an awards acceptance speech. Given most books don’t get awards, this may be the only time the author gets to stand up in front of the world and drop all the names in their contact book in one place.
One publisher, when asked if there was any chance they could exercise their influence to rein in their writers, grimaced and said there were usually more important battles to fight with an author, so letting them have their way with acknowledgements was a useful bargaining tool.
Which might explain the case of a local novel in which the writer thanked – among many, many others – all the members of their book group, individually.
In any given book, you are likely to learn that the author “had no idea how many people’s efforts are involved in making a book happen” and find the likes of:
The over the top name-drop: “To Barack Obama and Pope Francis, whom I have never met but whose examples have been a constant inspiration.”
The cool urban vibe thank you: “To the barista at Cafe X for her life-saving double-shot cappuccinos and lively banter.”
The self-pitying shout-out in disguise: “To my colleagues at [insert old job here], who put up with my absences and crankiness during the torturous years it took to bring this book forth into the world.”
The virtue signal: “To rough sleeper Harry, whose indomitable spirit every time I stopped to brighten up his day with a cheery hello was an inspiration.”
The “in-with-the-in-crowd” shout out: “To the organisers of the Colorado Leafy Pines Summer Writers Camp for a two-month residency, which provided much creative nourishment and muffins to die for.”
Then there are the thanks to the person the reader always feels sorry for: “X, who has been there from the start and read this novel at various stages of composition. It is the richer for your many helpful suggestions.”
And finally, inevitably, and mawkishly to: “X, who knows why. You are my life, my soul, my guiding star and my anchor, my compass, my everything. I owe you all and then some. Here’s to Capri and precious memories.”
Of course, writers want to thank people who helped. And so they should. But it’s worth remembering that the rest of the world just doesn’t care or need to know. Rather than seeing their name bundled in with a bunch of others, a more acceptable token of gratitude might be a bunch of flowers or a nice bottle of wine, delivered in person, or perhaps a handwritten card with a thoughtful message that would gratify the recipient and spare the reader.
