ABSTRACT
I was on my way back to the U.S.—by ship, for this was more than forty years ago—and I was sitting on deck reading the galleys of a Dutch novel which Alice van Eugen-van Nahuys, the editor of the Dutch publishing house Querido, had given me, “to read on your voyage.” (I had just completed my own first novel, for Knoph, and Alice was going to publish its Dutch translation; I was still writing under my Dutch name, Hans Koningsberger.)
