I learned of the novel through advertising at Fictionaut. I clicked on it, though I tend to read few new novels and reread classics; then I read an account of it and an excerpt. I liked it. Early the next morning I dreamed just before waking that Amy Grace Loyd sang to me and my publisher her praise of my writing and my way of representing it. Her language seemed untailored to my situation yet enthusiastic, and my praise of her, though I have not read her novel, was precise and equally enthusiastic. My publisher, as I am forced to know him after three decades of friendship, stood by me as we withstood the gale of Loyd's approval.