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hrjReading through the dedications of books published in the 16th century, it always seemed to me that there was a great deal of theatrical posturing around how unworthy the author was, and how great an honor it was to be allowed to present their work to the dedicatee, and so on. Really, a bit over the top, don't you think?
But a dedication--like any sort of gift--creates a social connection between the two parties. And as sociologists have noted about gifts, they inevitably come with social strings attached. To give a gift is to create an obligation--perhaps only to be grateful, perhaps to make some reciprocal gesture. When the connection with a book dedicatee came before the existence of the book, and the connection was significant to both sides, then the dedication can be simply a public acknowledgement of that.
My first novel was dedicated to two women who I deeply wished had survived long enough to see it in print. It was a way of making them a part of the process even in their absence. The question of reciprocal obligation never came into it. My second novel was dedicated to my girlfriend (and alpha-reader), and although it was a surprise to her, I didn't have any concerns that I'd misjudged the action.
But now I find myself contemplating asking a complete stranger for permission to dedicate book 3 to them...and suddenly I understand all those 16th century book dedication texts. Because I would be asking a complete stranger to do one of two things: either to blindly accept my book being connected to their name and reputation, with the implication that they approve of it; or to put in the work of reading and evaluating the book to decide whether they would approve of the connection. In either case, maybe it's part of that whole imposter syndrome thing, but although my impulse is meant to be a gesture of gratitude, it feels presumptuous for me to expect someone to take on either of those burdens.
Gifts are never free of implications and expectations, however much we intend them to be. I've been beating myself up over one story dedication where I felt like it ended up being an imposition (despite getting permission) because it created the appearance of an obligation to read the story. And now I'm going to keep second-guessing myself on this topic forever.
But a dedication--like any sort of gift--creates a social connection between the two parties. And as sociologists have noted about gifts, they inevitably come with social strings attached. To give a gift is to create an obligation--perhaps only to be grateful, perhaps to make some reciprocal gesture. When the connection with a book dedicatee came before the existence of the book, and the connection was significant to both sides, then the dedication can be simply a public acknowledgement of that.
My first novel was dedicated to two women who I deeply wished had survived long enough to see it in print. It was a way of making them a part of the process even in their absence. The question of reciprocal obligation never came into it. My second novel was dedicated to my girlfriend (and alpha-reader), and although it was a surprise to her, I didn't have any concerns that I'd misjudged the action.
But now I find myself contemplating asking a complete stranger for permission to dedicate book 3 to them...and suddenly I understand all those 16th century book dedication texts. Because I would be asking a complete stranger to do one of two things: either to blindly accept my book being connected to their name and reputation, with the implication that they approve of it; or to put in the work of reading and evaluating the book to decide whether they would approve of the connection. In either case, maybe it's part of that whole imposter syndrome thing, but although my impulse is meant to be a gesture of gratitude, it feels presumptuous for me to expect someone to take on either of those burdens.
Gifts are never free of implications and expectations, however much we intend them to be. I've been beating myself up over one story dedication where I felt like it ended up being an imposition (despite getting permission) because it created the appearance of an obligation to read the story. And now I'm going to keep second-guessing myself on this topic forever.
