Years ago, I came across a map that was special, not because it was rare or particularly valuable, but because there was an urban legend attached to it that seemed almost possible enough to be true. Many evenings, I’d find myself looking over its faded ink and curving lines, wondering who else had owned this copy. Where had they gotten it? Had they known the rumors? I couldn’t resist investigating. I spent months researching the history of the small company that produced the map, the process of drafting by hand, how forgeries are made, and so much more.

Eventually, these wonderings began to take the shape of a woman. A young cartographer cast out from the world of academics that had been her life for a grave mistake that ruined her reputation and her family, and desperate for a way back in to both. In her hands, the map became much more than just a map—it became her life. Her story.

My books all develop this way, collecting themselves piece by piece over years, and this one has been no different. I’m still seeking its fragments in library archives, museums, and rare book fairs. I am so grateful to the National Endowment for the Arts for this gift of time, encouragement, and resources for research and travel, without which this novel would not be possible.