Contents 4 page

I can’t write anymore. Lots of love (& can’t you believe that it’s not love, just because you are beautiful?)
Graham

Graham was a man of strong appetites, often made utterly unmanageable by bipolar illness. His offer of a ‘monastic marriage’ was doomed from the start. His sexual life was conducted mainly outside the marriage; he was involved in many brief liaisons, sometimes with prostitutes, and he had several long relationships.

TO VIVIENNE DAYRELL-BROWNING (LATER VIVIEN GREENE)

With Vivien travelling on the Continent, Graham headed north for a job as tutor at Ambervale, Ashover, near Chesterfield. He was now anxious for a career that would allow him to remain in England.

At St. Pancras | 1.10 p.m | Monday [24 August 1925]

O my darling, you’ve forgotten all about me. My guardian angel’s gone fast asleep. First of all the glass of your frame breaks, then comes the taxi accident, & just now I’ve found I’ve lost my ticket to Stretton & will have to get another. O my dear, I hope you’ll send it back quickly. I’m feeling so nervous of my future ‘charge.’ I wonder when I shall hear from you, my dear love.

I’ve just been to see the Editor of the Lit. Supp.²³A charming man. I’m to send him a card for books I want & he’ll try & send me some of them. I hit on a good stunt quite by accident. He said ‘If I asked you to do a front page leader on anything you liked, what would you do?’ I said the first thing that came into my head ‘The Prose of the Restoration.’ He was fearfully pleased, because he said that he had no specialist in that, & that someone he knew was publishing a book on Rochester soon. So I hope to get that. If I start doing a column or two in the Lit. Supp. it won’t be a bad start. And, my darling, he said there was an unrivalled opportunity on The Times just now. He said if I get on next year, I’d have a chance of doing leaders on home politics at once, & there was no reason why I shouldn’t leap into a good salary, a very good salary. […]

TO VIVIENNE DAYRELL-BROWNING (LATER VIVIEN GREENE)

Graham here proposes an engagement which is no engagement. A further concession, he announces his decision to become a Catholic. A decade later, in Mexico, he would discover some of the emotional aspect of his faith as he studied the progress of a persecution.²⁴By that time, his marriage was very much in decay.

The Golden Cross [Oxford] | 8.45 a.m. | Weds. Sept. 16 ’25

My darling love, thank you so much for the dear cinema note. It stayed under my pillow all through the night & slept when I did, which wasn’t very much.

My very dearest sweetest heart. I wrote to you before the Capitol proposing a Marriage, which the world would not call a Marriage. Darling heart, can’t we have an Engagement, which the World would not call an Engagement. I would not ask that that one in fifty chance should be increased. I would wait until I was settled & then ask you whether you’d marry me, & I should be neither surprised nor angry, if you said No. And of course at any time you could write & say that you didn’t want to see me again. In fact, darling, really there’d be no Engagement at all. I should still be fighting for a one in fifty chance. But, darling, & this is a big but, it would make it so much easier for us to see each other. You could come for a week-end occasionally to Berkhamsted without feeling shy & out of place, &, my own darling, that would be lovely. I think you’d like my family a lot, my own love, & they’d adore you. And no one could object to things like the Thorncliffe Rd. plan. And, darling heart, I give you my word of honour that I would not build a single brick upon it.

My dear sweet love, I seem to be always asking of you, & never giving. I wish to God I could give anything, which would make you even happier than you are. But I’ve got good precedents for asking, haven’t I, & being a persistent worry to you. ‘Ask & it shall be given.’ ‘Knock & it shall be opened.’ Dearest heart, I’ve but little hope that you’ll agree, but one in a million, when it means an easier sight of you, is worth a struggle.

O my darling heart, I wish we could have wiped out everyone else for an hour or two last night, so that I could have got just one star. My dear, dear one.

Now, I’ve got to fill up the time somehow, between now & 3.10. O dear, I hope I don’t have to wait a long time at Bletchley.

Darling one, here’s a secret between us two. It’s my turn to be shy now of speaking. I couldn’t tell you out aloud [sic] last night, even in the dark. Directly I know that I’m going to be settled somewhere for a few months on end, I’m going to get instruction & become a Catholic, if they’ll have me.

My own dear heart. I’ve reached the end of my paper, & this hotel doesn’t seem to stock any. Goodbye, dear heart, for a little, & do keep my nursery hug safe for me, my own. I’m feeling rather grey this morning, but last night, oh my darling, I wanted you badly. I heard one o’clock strike & I woke up again at 4, silly me. My darling I love you so.

Your own Graham

[At the end is a large star indicating a kiss.]

TO VIVIENNE DAYRELL-BROWNING (LATER VIVIEN GREENE)

Working on The Nottingham Journal from November 1925 until the beginning of March 1926, Graham took religious instruction from Father George Trollope (d. 1933), a former actor, a ‘stout cheerful man who loved the smell of greasepaint and the applause at a curtain-fall’.²⁵After an initial unease, he developed a fondness and respect for Father Trollope, who later became a monk. On 26 February 1926, Graham was received into the Roman Catholic Church.

Fri. Nov. 13 [1925]

Dear love, just another line before I go out to tea, which I will add to at the office, if I get the chance.

My reception was most friendly, no questions asked, & times fixed for instruction. This Father Trollope did not it appears become an R.C. himself, till he was 25, & he looks no more than 40. I was not struck by him. He was a little gross in appearance, & there was also a most trashy novel from Boots library, lying in his room. However he was very pleasant.

There’s a most marvellous fog here to-day, my love. It makes walking a thrilling adventure. I’ve never been in such a fog before in my life. If I stretch out my walking stick in front of me, the ferrule is half lost in obscurity. Coming back I twice lost my way, & ran into a cyclist, to our mutual surprise. Stepping off a pavement to cross to the other side becomes a wild & fantastic adventure, like sailing into the Atlantic to find New York, with no chart or compass. Once where the breadth of the road was greater than the normal, I found myself back on the same pavement, as I started, having slowly swerved in my course across the road. I’ve got to sally out now & find my little Editor to give him some tea. If you never hear from me again, you will know that somewhere I am moving round in little plaintive circles, looking for a pavement.

TO VIVIENNE DAYRELL-BROWNING (LATER VIVIEN GREENE)

Mon. 3:30 [7 December 1925]

Darling, I’m writing again, not because I’ve got anything to say, but because I’ve got to.

I want you so terribly.

I tried to read a novel, but every sentence nearly reminded me of you. Phrases that you’d used. Small points of character.

It’s when this comes on me, this wanting, that I almost wish I’d never answered that first letter. I didn’t know it was possible to want someone so badly.

And yet it would be so horribly ungrateful to say that I wished it had never happened. You have been so good to me, my darling. Sometimes the whole of my mind & my brain & even my body seems tired out with it, when you aren’t with me. And I want to sleep & sleep & sleep, & forget all about you & everything. And then I almost wish I was in China, only I’ve never got the courage to take anything to its logical conclusion.

And now I’m writing to you gloomily, worrying you, when I want more than anything else that you should be always happy. It’s all so tortuous & paradoxical.

Often I’ve half made up my mind that I wasn’t strong enough to cling to so flimsy & crazy a hope. Once I even got as far as a letter to end it, pretending I’d found that I didn’t love you after all, so as to prevent you writing to me, being rude & unpleasant. And then I couldn’t post it.

Darling I love you. I love you. I love you. I’ve never loved anybody before as I love you, & I never shall again. I should be careful not to be a fool twice.

Oh my darling one that sounds horrid, what I’ve just written.

Darling, you must try & not let yourself be worried by this. It’s only a selfish desire to get relief by talking, not caring about the unfortunate person, who has to listen. To-morrow I shall be better I expect. Things will not seem quite so empty. I’m probably tired & peevish.

Darling, I’ve got nothing to say & yet I daren’t stop. I feel there’s something awful in sealing up the envelope, not being able to add to this. I feel as if I must go on talking, talking, talking to you hard, until I’ve got back control. Chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter. On & on &on.

You were so lovely on the platform & in the firelight & coming out of No. 23 this morning. You were so lovely all the time. For Goodness sake! Talk, darling. The only two methods I’ve had to fight emptiness I can’t use since I’ve loved you. I suppose in time I shall discover a new & proper way of doing it.

Don’t you ever wonder, in moods, now & again, what the use of going on is? Religion doesn’t answer it. One can believe in every point of the Catholic faith, & yet at times like this hate the initiator of it all, of life I mean. Justice can be just as hateful as injustice, more so often enough, because injustice puts us on a level with the wielder of it, whilst justice is more hateful because it emphasizes our own inferiority.

[…]

VIVIENNE DAYRELL-BROWNING (LATER VIVIEN GREENE)

In support of striking coal miners, the Trades Union Congress called a general strike, which lasted from 3 to 12 May 1926. The government, fearing the worst, made preparations against a revolutionary uprising. Most of the country’s newspapers were unable to publish, but The Times, which Graham had joined in March as a sub-editor, printed and distributed a reduced edition.²⁶

11.30 a.m. | May 6. Thurs. 1926

No letter from you to-day, darling. I hope I get one to-morrow. I’ve written every day, but I don’t suppose you’ve got them.

Great triumph! Last night we got off a properly printed four page paper, with one machine working. The only paper in London to do it. The strikers are getting nasty though. Last night about 9.30 they set us on fire with the help of some petrol & a squirt, but we got it out all right, almost before the brigade arrived. We had a bit of trouble about 1.30 this morning. The police seemed to have disappeared & we had to carry parcels of papers to private cars lined up along Victoria St. to carry them into the country, Oxford, Margate, Bournemouth, Dover etc. There was a bit of a scrimmage then. I didn’t get hurt at all, but one man got slight concussion from a blow on the head from his own parcel – they tripped him up & got hold of it – & another had his jaw cut & there were a number of bruises.

Later the police arrived in greater force & they were held at a distance, but they’d already tampered with some of the cars. The ridiculous thing is that most are our own men, who were awfully decent, cheerful & contented, when one had met in the canteen etc. They didn’t want to strike, but now they’ve struck they’ve entirely changed, & of course no filth is bad enough to describe us & our parentage. We are trying to produce a five page paper to-night. But either there’ll be no trouble at all or else last night’s fire & scrimmage will be a mild opening. It’s all very exciting.

[…]

TO VIVIENNE DAYRELL-BROWNING (LATER VIVIEN GREENE)

Friday. 12.15 p.m. | May 7th 1926

[…]

Last night & this morning (!) were fearfully disappointing after the previous excitements. We’d got properly organized for trouble this time. The 20 of us who are acting as ‘storm troops’ were divided into two parties. One party escorted a car round from Queen Victoria St. into the square, & then after it was loaded escorted it as far as Blackfriars Bridge, whilst the other party loaded. Then for the next car the two parties changed places & so on. We had a doctor ready to deal with casualties & about 1 a.m. a dozen M.P.s came round from the Commons to join in the fight – but the rioters never showed their faces, & they had to content themselves with talking to the peaceful pickets. Darling, you talk as if I was labour. I’m not. I’m really conservative now – especially after labour tried to burn us all.

[…]

TO VIVIENNE DAYRELL-BROWNING (LATER VIVIEN GREENE)

On 5 October 1926 Graham underwent an appendectomy in Westminster Hospital. During his recovery he witnessed deaths in the ward.

Wednesday | Oct. 13, 1926

[…]

We had an awful to-do yesterday evening – the first time I’ve ever been in a room when someone dies. Do you remember the small boy with the broken leg on the opposite side of the room? He had an operation yesterday afternoon apparently perfectly all right. In fact about six his mother & father came in to see him, & he spoke to them & they went off happily. Then about 8 the house surgeon on his round seemed to find his breathing almost non-existent. There was half an hour’s rush & scurry round his bed with oxygen apparatuses, an undignified scrambling for the tail end of his life & he was gone. Absolutely unexpected. No one thought he was in any danger. Of course they rigged a screen up round the poor little devil’s bed, but the terrible thing was when the mother turned up about 8.45. I’ve never seen any one with all their self-control gone before. She had to be supported in & she was calling out things at the top of her voice – what made it worse it was the sort of things people say on the cinema & which one had fondly imagined real life was free of – sentimental hackneyed things. ‘Why did you go without saying goodbye to your mother?’ & ‘Royston, Royston’ (the ridiculous name seemed to make it worse), & ‘What shall I do without him?’ ‘Sister, sister, don’t tell me we’re parted.’ All in a sort of scream. It was ghastly lying in bed listening to it. Then they half carried her out.

I’m afraid we’re going to have another death in the ward to-day. An emergency case was brought in yesterday evening before they found the child was going out. An old man of about 76, who’d been in a motor accident, head fractured, one hand smashed & both legs. I don’t think they expected him to last through the night. He’s quite quiet though. I shall be glad to get away – it’s all very morbid.

Are people who write entirely & absolutely selfish, darling? Even though in a way I hated it yesterday evening – one half of me was saying how lucky it was – added experience – & I kept on catching myself trying to memorise details – Sister’s face, the faces of the other men in the ward. And I felt quite excited aesthetically. It made one rather disgusted with oneself.

[…]

The Death Register of Westminster Hospital records that Royston Walker, aged nine, died on 12 October 1926 in Chadwick Ward, as did Thomas Lowe, seventy-six, on the following day. (Information from Robert Baker; see also A Sort of Life, 133–5)

TO HERBERT GREENE

Handsome and charming when young, Herbert Greene spent most of his life between jobs. Despite annoyance with his alcoholic brother’s impositions on their parents, Graham liked Herbert and in later years provided him and his wife Audrey with an allowance. Graham modelled a number of characters on him, notably Anthony Farrant in England Made Me (1935) and Hands in the unfinished novel ‘The Other Side of the Border’ (c. 1936).

Nov. 13 [1928]. | 8 Heathcroft, | Hampstead Way, N.W. 11.

Dear Herbert,

This is to wish you & Audrey a happy Christmas. How does the farm go? I do hope it’s a success. I hear you had a bad disappointment over a splendid crop of mealies.

V. & I took our summer holiday in Devonshire at Lynton & had lovely weather in July, bathing every day. We got another scrap of holiday last month & went to Wells & Glastonbury. Having done England this year we have hopes, if we can get a holiday in the spring, of going to Corsica next year. But the General Election is likely to get in the way.

We are going down to Crowborough²⁷for Christmas Eve & Christmas Day – all I can get – to take the place of Raymond & Charlotte²⁸who won’t be there this year.

Life goes on peaceably. I’ve written another novel, but I don’t suppose it will be taken any more than the others. I haven’t yet seen Janet, except in photographs.²⁹

I’m sending under a separate cover the Centenary Spectator. It has 188 pages of reading matter, so that you’ll have quantity if not quality.

V. sends her love to you both. I hope Audrey’s fit again.

Ever yours,
Graham

TO HUGH GREENE

8 Heathcroft, | Hampstead Way, | N.W. 11.[December 1928?]

Dear Hugh,

I have sent off your book under another cover. I can’t say that we are enthusiastic over the idea of learning anything by heart; we arrive jaded & way-worn for lunch on Christmas Eve which leaves little time. Unless of course you give us silent parts or such speeches as ‘My lady, the carriage waits.’

If you fell back on a form of charade what about taking a situation, say the murder of a greengrocer or some other bloodthirsty situation, & do it in parody of various authors, making the actors³⁰guess the authors. Shakespeare – you know the way the dear old Bard has with death scenes, ‘Enter the Duke. Sound the sennets & take up the corpse’ sort of touch with the usual panegyric. ‘He was the noblest tradesman of them all.’ Etc.

J. M. Barrie. Elisabeth in pantaloons tripping. ‘Now he belongs to the fairies.’

Galsworthy. Should the murderer be blackballed by his club? Honour of an English soldier touch.

Edgar Wallace?

Georg Kaiser on one of the ‘modernists’. You know the kind of thing. Everyone is very triangular & talks geometrical nonsense.

Love.
Graham

One hand-sketched play-bill survives from ‘Grand Guignol Theatre’ for ‘The Ape-Man’ by Graham Greene, a skit set on a wintry island off the coast of Norway, with the part of Olaf played by Graham, Grethe his wife by Vivienne, Frida his daughter, a moron, by Elisabeth, and a Sailor by Hugh.

1A Sort of Life, 64–76; NS 1: 92.

2 With negotiations for the Anglo-Irish Treaty about to begin, Eamon de Valera (1882–1975) had recently been declared President of the Republic of Ireland. Graham undertook a reckless journey to Ireland in 1923, and wrote of Dublin in the aftermath of civil war: ‘It is like that most nightmarish of dreams, when one finds oneself in some ordinary and accustomed place, yet with a constant fear at the heart that something terrible, unknown and unpreventable is about to happen.’ (‘Impressions of Dublin’, Weekly Westminster Gazette, 25 August 1923, reprinted in Reflections, 1–4).

3Getting to Know the General, 10.

4 Graham’s cousin Ave began psychoanalysis with Kenneth Richmond near the end of 1921.

5 Raymond Greene (1901–82), Graham’s brother who was studying medicine. He would become famous for an attempt on Mount Everest in 1933. His friend Crompton has not been identified.

6 Marion Greene’s sister Nora (d. 1971), known within the family as ‘Aunt Nono’.

7 Mrs O’Grady was the wife of a master at Berkhamsted School. Eric Guest, a close friend of Graham’s, later became a magistrate.

8 A philatelic shop.

9 Stamp collecting figures in a number of Graham’s books, notably The Heart of the Matter.

10 The poet Walter de la Mare (1873–1956) was a friend of the Richmonds. Through him, Graham met Naomi Royde-Smith, the literary editor of the Weekly Westminster Gazette, who published a number of his early works but not ‘The Creation of Beauty’.

11 A volume of poems for children by Walter de la Mare.

12 The equation, meant to be meaningless, is also, to a degree, illegible.

13 A well-known comedian and music hall entertainer.

14 Postal order.

15 ‘Poetry by Wireless’, Oxford Chronicle (30 January 1925); reprinted in Reflections, 14–16.

16A Sort of Life, 118.

17 NS 1:475.

18 This word is blotted.

19Ways of Escape, 12.

20 This idea reappears in A Burnt-Out Case (1960), in which the main character, Querry, yearns for a place of peace named Pendélé deep in the jungle.

21A Sort of Life, 100–5.

22 From Blunden’s poem ‘The Giant Puffball’. The exact wording is: ‘And all my hopes must with my body soon / Be but as crouching dust and wind-blown sand.’

23 Bruce Richmond (1871–1964) gave Graham three biographies to review: Sir Thomas More and Sir Thomas Gresham (3 December 1925) and A Short Life of William Pitt (7 January 1926).

24Ways of Escape, 58–60.

25A Sort of Life, 119.

26A Sort of Life, 125–7.

27 Following retirement from Berkhamsted School, Charles and Marion Greene made their home in Crowborough, Sussex.

28 Charlotte was Raymond Greene’s first wife.

29 Probably a reference to their sister Molly’s daughter.

30 The word ‘authors’ appears here.

2
THE MAN WITHIN

TO MARION GREENE

Graham’s first published novel was The Man Within, a work about smugglers set against the Lewes Assizes in the nineteenth century. It was accepted first by Charles Evans, chairman of Heinemann, and later by the American publisher George Doran. Although he retained an affection for the book, Graham said in 1980 that if he had been the publisher’s reader, ‘I would have turned it down unhesitatingly.’¹

The Times | [7 January 1929]

Dear Mumma,

Great news! Doubleday, Doran & Co. have taken the book. £50 in advance of royalties & ten percent on all copies. They’ve promised to send it to the Book Society of America & if they take it as their book for the month (very unlikely of course) it sells about 80,000 copies straight away. It’s coming out in England in May. Evans this morning read me a letter from Clemence Dane in which she said that she liked the book immensely & that I was ‘a born writer’ & she thought perhaps a born dramatist too, as there was a fine play to be got out of the novel!²Evans sent me to an agent he recommended who’s going to see if he can do anything about dramatising it! Evans was very sweet again & told me that I must get started on the next book as not more than a year should elapse between the two! I’ve got to go & see Doran, the American publisher, at the Savoy Hotel, as he’s on a visit to England. We still haven’t found a title. The m.s. is going to be sent to Tennyson Jesse³as apparently she has a flair for such. ‘Flight’ has too much of a Lindbergh suggestion. My latest idea is ‘The Man Within’ & quotation from Sir Thomas Browne ‘There’s another man within me that’s angry with me.’ We had lunch this morning at Montagu Sq.

With much love to both in haste,
Graham

TO RAYMOND GREENE

8 Heathcroft, | Hampstead Way, | N.W. 11.

[postmark: 13 January 1929]

Dear Raymond,

How sweet of Charlotte & you to write. I hope you are better & Charlotte well. We should love to come down for a week-end. The difficulty is to get one. Flu’ & colds are rampant at the office. Awful fate! I’m terribly afraid that I’m going to succeed Leslie-Smith as Court sub-editor, he being removed to more exalted regions. A hellish job without the compensations of hell, save I hope a ‘rise’. However nothing is settled.

It’s certainly fun about the book. I hoped that one day one might be taken but never in wildest dreams so to be received with open arms & told that in five years I should be at the head of the profession!! £80 in advance of royalties – £50 in America & £30 in England – & the possibility of a dramatisation. And the funniest part of the absurd, joyful situation is that the book is quite terribly second-rate.

I went and saw my American publisher at the Savoy. He was a darling. What one has always imagined the Virginian gentleman of old family to be like. Tall & courteous with a little white imperial & advice as to exercising the ‘abdominal muscles’.

I’ve been told that I’ve got to have another novel ready within a year; great fun & great sense of importance!

Love to Charlotte & you

from both of us,
Graham

TO CHRISTOPHER ISHERWOOD

The novelist Christopher Isherwood (1904–86), descended from the brewing Greenes of Bury St Edmunds, was Graham Greene’s distant cousin. His first novel All the Conspirators was published by Jonathan Cape on 18 May 1928.

8 Heathcroft, | Hampstead Way, | N.W. 11. | April 15 [1929?]

Dear Christopher,

Will you forgive these terribly tardy congratulations on your fine novel & implicitly, therefore, my terribly tardy reading of it? I only wish I had been still reviewing when it appeared that I might have aided, if by no more than a tin whistle, to have trumpeted its praise. It is a far finer book than I believed that any of our generation could produce. I have but just finished it & must praise or burst.

Yours with admiration & envy,
Graham Greene

TO HUGH GREENE

Hampstead Heath, | Broiling gently. May 22[1929]

Dear Hugh,

You set me a terrible task. I know what I should get & if you would like to give me the money & thus save yourself wearing perplexity – But your lines of liking I do not know any longer. For instance do you care at all for literary criticism – if so there is nothing better than Avowals by George Moore (Heinemann, 10/6). Or do you like biography – François Villon by D. B. Wyndham Lewis is good (Gerald Howe, 12/6?). Or travel in weird places The Magic Island (Seabrooke, about 12/6, publisher I’m not sure of) is an interesting work telling of black magic & Voodoo worship in Haiti.⁴Did you like A Path to Rome? Belloc’s The Voyage of the Nona, a bit of everything, travel, sailing, criticism, a medley, is good & can be got in Constable’s charming 3/6 series. Of novels I have read few that I like better than Joseph Hergesheimer’s Tampico, scene Mexico.⁵Do you like Aldous Huxley? You ought to try him – Mortal Coils Phoenix Library, 3/6, is a good introduction to him. Or Chrome Yellow if you don’t mind a novel without a plot.

The town sounds lovely.⁶If the novel proves a best seller we must visit you. Next month we go to a Musicale in Mayfair! given by my American publisher, which necessitates the buying of tails, alas! Write again of your experiences & how life is with you.

Love,
Graham

TO HUGH GREENE

8 Heathcroft. | Hampstead Way N.W. 11 [28 June 1929]

Dear Hugh,

So many thanks for your letter. I’m very glad you liked the book. It’s selling fairly well & gone into a second impression. I’ve had very good reviews so far in The Times, Times Lit Supp., Sunday Times, Bystander, Piccadilly (with photo!), Spectator&Daily Telegraph. The provincial papers have been inclined to sniff. We went to a terribly grand party at the American publishers the day before publication, with people like the Duchess of Devonshire, Rudyard Kipling etc. floating about. We drank a lot of champagne & felt happy.

[…]

TO RAYMOND GREENE

8 Heathcroft, | Hampstead Way, | N.W. 11.

[postmark: 3 July 1929]

Dear Raymond,

[…] The book continues to sell well – about 5,000 have gone & Heinemann hope to keep it going through the autumn & are optimistic of 15,000–20,000. What a joke! How is the world fooled! But most amusing of all – I lunched with my managing director yesterday & he is preparing to give me a fixed yearly salary, in advance of royalties, of say six hundred in order that I may do nothing but write. No binding conditions. Just a book when I feel like it!

Summer in England & winter in the South of France seem within reach. He has to discuss the plan with Doran of USA & I hear their decision next week. Apparently they did this for many years with H. M. Tomlinson until he became a best seller with Gallion’s Reach.⁷

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