My husband, Michael, an historian, an Old Guardsman in spirit if not in fact, whose historical knowledge, political insight, and natural disposition I shamelessly appropriated for the purposes of this book; who married a lawyer and then found himself financially tied to someone who just wanted to tell stories…and refused to do anything else. Thank you.
My boys, Edmund and Atticus, who at times impersonated laptops to gain a spot on my knee; who wanted Rowland Sinclair to be a werewolf; whose fearlessness and belief in all possibilities is both noisy and inspiring—though Rowland Sinclair is not a werewolf.
Leith, my childhood friend, with whom I plotted world domination when I was twelve; to whom I turned in those “who am I kidding” moments; who, most delightfully, retells passages from my novel, forgetting that they are not her personal memories of old friends. Thank you.
My sister Devini, who read the manuscript and then sent me suggestions for casting the movie; who has some quite bizarre ideas about who should play Rowland Sinclair, but whose belief in me and this novel meant a great deal. My sister Nilukshi, who, on hearing of my latest mad obsession, enabled me with a gift of enough paper to sustain several long novels.
My dear friend Wallace, who offered his services if I needed to do anything “dodgy” to get published. I didn’t have to resort to that in the end, but it could have been fun.
Jo-anne O’Brien, whose hand I held tightly as we jumped naively into the world of aspiring authors; with whom I shared paperback dreams over coffee and various types of cake. Thank you.
Rebecca Lachlann, fellow writer, who has, for as long as I’ve know her, been both generous and timely with her advice, her interest, and her friendship. Alastair Blanshard, who both willingly and unwittingly helped me research this novel. Michelle Wainwright, Sarah Kynaston, MaryAnn Marshall, and Stanley Sparkes—that most precious literary resource—friends who could read and were willing to do so.
Whoever it was behind the Australian Newspapers Digitisation Program—brilliant idea! The online access to the times in which Rowland Sinclair lived was invaluable. All but two of the newspaper extracts featured in these pages were taken from actual articles appearing in Australian newspapers in 1932 or thereabouts. The specific dates and the names of the publications in which they appeared have been altered to better align with the story—in some instances, even that was unnecessary.
Finally, I would like to acknowledge the rich background of the era and its personalities that I gained from the writings of Andrew Moore, Keith Amos, David Hickie, and the memoirs of Eric Campbell himself. Thank you, gentlemen, for preserving this fascinating, if occasionally ludicrous, period of Australian history.
Well, that’s my village. Thank you all. S.G.
About the Author
Award-winning author Sulari Gentill set out to study astrophysics, ended up graduating in law, and later abandoned her legal career to write books instead of contracts. When the mood takes her, she paints, although she maintains that she does so only well enough to know that she should write. She grows French black truffles on a farm in the foothills of the Snowy Mountains of New South Wales, which she shares with her young family and several animals.
Sulari is the author of the award-winning Rowland Sinclair Mysteries, a series of historical crime novels set in 1930s Australia about Rowland Sinclair, the gentleman artist cum amateur detective. The eighth in the series, A Dangerous Language, was published in the United States by Poisoned Pen Press in June 2020.
Under the name S. D. Gentill, Sulari also writes fantasy adventure, including The Hero Trilogy: Chasing Odysseus, Trying War, and The Blood of Wolves.
Her widely praised standalone novel, After She Wrote Him, has been chosen as a “Target Recommends” book for 2020.
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