(Not Just) Another Book in the Wall

“And she turned away with such surety, because she knew if she looked back just once, she’d be compelled to stay. Any Colour You Like by Pink Floyd blasting on her headphones, she knew that if she didn’t leave, and she didn’t do it now, she may never see the dark side of the moon.” What’s the first thing one looks for when they open a book, ecstatic to start their new read? Is it, perhaps, an introductory line that leaves them completely in awe or shambles, piquing a burning curiosity to devour the book in one sitting, from start to finish? I know a few (beloved) eccentrics who skip to the very last line of the book before fully committing to their literary encounter. Some say they like to flip through the pages instantly, taking in the springtime-rain-like scent, with background notes of almonds and vanilla. 

For me, though, it has always been the book dedications. That little page, often overlooked, tucked neatly right after the title page, which holds a universe of untold stories and heartfelt gratitude. Think about it: before you even dive into the author’s meticulously crafted world, you’re given a peek behind the curtain. I like to think that dedications give you an insight wherein each one is a tiny puzzle piece in the grand mystery of how a book came to be (as a kid, I was a BIT of a detective!) It’s kind of like finding Easter eggs in your favourite TV show except these are deep personal messages hidden in plain sight.  

That’s the thing about dedications – they’re the original tweet-length stories, if you will, before Twitter was even a thing. My personal favourites are the ones that read like inside jokes – you just know the author and their dedicatee are sharing a private laugh somewhere. The first time I read JK Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, I was blown away by its dedication: “To Peter Rowling, in memory of Mr. Ridley and to Susan Sladden, who helped Harry out of his cupboard.” The cupboard reference doubles as both a literal (with reference to the manuscripts) as well as a metaphorical (the cupboard under the stairs) one. 

The 12-year-old me, who sat at her corner desk in her room, eyes often straying outside for inspiration, had, more often than not, wondered what her book dedication would be, looking at the rolled up scraps of paper in the trash. Had I spent more time actually working on a novel, I may have even been a published author by now! 

Stephen King’s dedication in It, “For kids who died in the storm drain, and lived to tell the tale,” sent shivers down my spine, making me itch to dive headfirst into the story. Some dedications though, are like secret love letters, like sneaky little gems masked between the lines. The ones that make you instantly want to reach out for a tissue (or five), like “To my best friend, who knows the chapters I left unsaid.” 

The beauty of dedications, to me, lies in their brevity. They’re forced to distill what is potentially years of gratitude, love, or maybe even spite into just a few words. It’s like trying to capture an entire ocean in a single seashell – impossible, really, but beautiful in the attempt. 

Because in the end, every book is more than just a story. It’s a testament to the souls who made it possible – the ones named in the dedications and also, the ones whose influence lingers in the spaces between those carefully chosen words. And maybe, that’s the real magic these dedications hold: they remind us that even in our solitary moments of reading, we’re part of something much larger – an intricate web of stories within other stories, where every word opens a door to another tale worth being said, waiting to be discovered.

For my Thatha,
Each day without you feels like a lifetime.
With all the love I have,
Maan

• avid reader
• books
• dedication
• novel
• reading