All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #16) - Louise Penny Page 0,151
I’d gotten sober, met and fell in love with Michael, and was now in Paris.
We just don’t know. The key is to keep going. Joy might be just around the corner.
I’ve tried to bring that wonderment. That awe. That love of place because of the place, but also because of the memories a place holds, to this book.
That love of Paris that I discovered with Michael. And that the Gamaches have.
This is a book about love, about belonging. About family and friendship. It’s about how lives are shaped by our perceptions, by not just our memories, but how we remember things.
It’s about choices. And courage.
Michael and I returned to Paris several times after that. But since his death, I had not been back. Too chicken.
But I knew in my heart it was time. It was time for Armand and Reine-Marie to visit Daniel and Roslyn. Annie and Jean-Guy. And the grandchildren. In Paris.
It was time for me to return.
It was time to leave the safety and security of Three Pines, and face whatever was waiting.
The first time I returned, to research All the Devils Are Here, I knew I couldn’t go alone. I asked my good friend Guy Coté if he’d come with me, guide me, show me places in Paris I’d never normally see.
Places the Gamaches would know about, but that I did not.
So we rented an apartment in the Marais, where Armand’s grandmother once lived and where they’ve inherited her home. Then I asked if Kirk and Walter, great friends of ours, would join. They did.
Then my Québec publisher, Louise Loiselle, said she was going to be in Paris at the same time. So she joined our little troupe.
Suddenly, what had been fraught with emotional turmoil felt safe. And fun. I was not alone.
I am deeply, deeply grateful to Guy. For all his research, for the lunches and coffees we had together in Knowlton in preparation. For the books and maps he bought me and that we pored over together.
And, once there, for the fun we all had, exploring that extraordinary, luminous city.
Thank you to Kirk and Walter, for coming along and making it all the more meaningful and fun. And for always being, over the years, so supportive. Michael thought of them as sons. And they reciprocated his love.
Thank you to Louise Loiselle, of Flammarion Québec, for all her help, including setting up meetings in Paris with Eric Yung, a former undercover cop in Paris and now a crime writer, and with Claude Cancès, the former head of the Police Judiciare de Paris.
Guy, Louise, and I sat in the Hôtel Lutetia, as Claude and Eric recounted stories of investigations in Paris. Of crimes. Or criminals. Of events both horrific and hilarious. Of how the Préfecture de Paris is organized.
Claude became the inspiration, though clearly fictionalized, for the Prefect of Police in the book.
Something else quite amazing happened during that first Paris research trip (I returned several times for more research). Through a mutual friend, I was introduced to Dorie Greenspan, the cookbook author and columnist for The New York Times Magazine.
She and her husband, Michael, live in the U.S. and have an apartment in Paris. They invited us over for drinks one night, and then out to dinner to one of their favorite little restaurants.
Juveniles.
None of us had met Dorie or Michael before. As we walked through Paris to the restaurant, Dorie and I fell into step. And by the time we arrived we’d fallen into a deep friendship.
Through her I’ve discovered a Paris I would never, ever have found on my own. And I found a kindred spirit.
Someone else I met there is Eric Zenouda. Who walked me around the Marais and talked about the little-known history. He too has become a friend.
I hope you’ve finished the book before you read on, because there are going to be some spoilers now.
A huge thank-you to Stephen Jarislowsky, the inspiration for Stephen Horowitz. I want to make it clear that Horowitz is fictional, especially the descriptions of his family in the war. A dramatic decision on my part that has absolutely no connection to the real Stephen.
I do need to point out that in a previous book Horowitz has children. In this book he does not. I’m afraid I made a mistake in that first mention of Horowitz, in being far more specific than I needed to be.
Lesson learned. Children erased.
As always, a huge thanks goes to my assistant, Lise Desrosiers. A colleague and great friend. There’s no way I could do what I do without her help, and her unfailing support. What a gift to love a person you work with.
Thank you to my U.S. publishers at Minotaur Books and St. Martin’s Press. My wonderful new editor, Kelley Ragland, one of Hope’s protégées. Publicist Sarah Melnyk. Paul Hochman, the father of the virtual bistro and so much more. David Rotstein, who has designed this marvelous cover. Andy Martin, the publisher. And Jennifer Enderlin, Sally Richardson, and Don Weisberg of SMP.
Thank you to Jamie Broadhurst and the entire team at Raincoast Books in Vancouver.
Thank you so much to Linda Lyall, in Scotland.
Thanks to Danny and Lucy who run the bookstore, Brome Lake Books, in my village and organize the annual prelaunch event.
Thank you to my longtime agent, Teresa Chris, for all her help over the years, and to my new literary agent, David Gernert.
Thank you to Rocky and Steve, to Oscar and Brendan, to Allida and Judy, to Hardye and Don, Hillary and Bill, Chelsea and Marc, Jon, Shelagh Rogers, Ann Cleeves. Rhys Bowen, and Will Schwalbe.
And to my family, Rob, Audi, Doug, Mary, and the nieces and nephews who, while amazed and shocked by my success, never fail to cheer.
This book is dedicated, as you might have noticed, to Hope Dellon. Hope edited the Gamache books, from The Cruelest Month on-ward. She became ill and went on sick leave a couple of years ago, but continued to edit my books, from home.
As special as the word “friend” is, as powerful a concept and reality, it doesn’t come close to what Hope and I had. It was an intellectual and emotional intimacy that comes from working so closely together on something we both cared deeply about.
Hope realized she couldn’t continue, and so she announced her retirement this year. But, over lunch in New York, she agreed to become my First Reader. To take over the role Michael always held.
So she read All the Devils Are Here before anyone else, even Lise. And she gave me her thoughts. Always incisive. Thoughtful. Kind even. But clear. What she liked. And what she did not.
We were all to gather at the home of her close friend Sally Richardson, the longtime publisher of St. Martin’s Press, to celebrate Hope’s retirement. But two weeks before that, Hope suffered a heart attack, and passed away. Her beloved Charlie and daughters Rebecca and Emma at her side.
The loss is incalculable. As is her contribution to literature. The books she edited and improved, including mine. The writers she worked with and improved, including me. The young editors she mentored.
Hope was a passionate supporter of all things literary, from libraries to bookstores, from theatre to books of all genres.
It breaks my heart that Hope is no longer with us, but I take comfort in imagining her sitting with Michael by the fireplace in the bistro. Waiting for us.
As I write this, I’m looking at one of the many gifts she sent. It’s a pillow and on it is written: