The Smithsonian’s Archives of American Art holds Anna Coleman Ladd’s papers and photos from her time at the Studio for Portrait Masks and I was fortunate to have access to these in researching At the Edge of Summer. Most of the archived documents were used as wartime publicity for the studio—contemporary articles meant to encourage donations, photos of French soldiers both with and without their masks. From the photos alone, the studio’s work was impressive. Before their masks, many of the soldiers had disfigurements and scarring so extensive that they hadn’t been home in years. They didn’t want their families and friends to see them like that. As impressive as the photos of the masks were, more impressive were the personal letters to Anna Coleman Ladd from women writing to thank her for giving their husbands and sons the courage to stop hiding and return to them.
Thank you to the Archives of American Art for accommodating my research, despite an ice storm that closed much of the city. Thanks also go to my mother, Beth Turza, for joining me on a road trip to Washington D.C. and for patiently listening to all of my research-fueled ramblings on the drive home. That’s what you get for raising a history nerd!
A research trip to France allowed me to not only walk the Parisian streets near where the Studio for Portrait Masks once was, but to take an illuminating guided tour of WWI battlefields and memorials. Many thanks to Olivier Dirson of Chemins d’Histoire tours for showing me the France that my characters would have known. His expertise was boundless and his enthusiasm for the history of the area was infectious.
One of our stops was at the medieval quarries beneath Confrécourt, near to the village of Nouvron-Vingré. Used as a hospital and, later, as a shelter for French troops and their horses, the caves at Confrécourt became a place for artistic soldiers to record and react to the war on the fields above their heads. Like my fictional caves, these are full of carvings, from formal rolls of honor to quick initials scratched into the limestone, from crude pictures of women or wine to studied scenes carved in relief. One of the most poignant is a woman’s face, sketched in on the wall, but the carving itself only half-finished. A reminder of how, even in the relative peace away from the lines, war could disrupt. Thank you to the tourism office in Soissons for arranging a private tour of the caves at Confrécourt. To see the artwork, to soak in the history, to just be to feel and hear and sense, all was invaluable.
Thank you to my mother-in-law, Candace Brockmole, for tirelessly accompanying me through Paris’s art museums and across snowy battlefields. Somebody had to come with me to France, if only to help me eat all those macarons and chocolate crepes.
I would be amiss if I did not offer a few other thank-yous.
To my editor at Ballantine, Jennifer E. Smith, for giving me the space and encouragement to find my story. To Hannah Elnan and Nina Arazoza for pushing me in the right direction. And to Anne Speyer, for a seamless transition. I look forward to what comes next!
To my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, for cheering me on and up. She is smart, sharp as knives, and fearless enough for the both of us. This road continues to be much less scary with her by my side.
So many friends keep me writing, even on the days when I want to do anything but. To Kate Langton, for so many ideas and glasses of wine. To Ardea Russo, for executive tables, cheese dips, and coffee-fueled brainstorming. To Danielle Lewerenz, for those Skype talks all the way from Morocco just when I need them. To Pamela Schoenewaldt, for thoughtful reads and insightful suggestions. To Sarah Lyn Acevedo, for being not only the brilliance behind the camera, but for being my one-woman street team. To Rebecca Burrell, for loving me even in Buffalo.
To Owen for offering tea and to Ellen for offering story suggestions. (Sorry, dear, no tragic ends on the Eiffel Tower.) To Jim for knowing when I need a weekend away from the laptop…and for knowing when I then need to find a quiet corner and a cocktail napkin.
In order to carve a place for her story, the historical novelist must chip away at history. Please pardon the dust.
To my daddy, who taught me to see the world through the eyes of an artist
BY JESSICA BROCKMOLE
Letters from Skye
At the Edge of Summer
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JESSICA BROCKMOLE is the author of the internationally bestselling Letters from Skye, which was named one of the best books of 2013 by Publishers Weekly, and a novella in Fall of Poppies: Stories of Love and the Great War. She lives in northern Indiana with her husband, two children, and far too many books.
Facebook.com/jessicabrockmoleauthor
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