Peter Kaplan taught me how to exhaust every angle of an idea for hours, and then—just when I thought I had come up with something new to say—to look at it slightly sideways. It was in a messy office in New York that I learned how to think. His words of encouragement were like fairy dust. I miss him every day.
Pankaj Mishra and Mary Mount listened patiently to me every time I came out of Istanbul, eager to tell them of my very American realizations about it. I wanted to write a book about Turkey; Mary said, “Your book is about America.” Pankaj, our conversations, and your endless book recommendations, were my entry into a world of ideas, and indeed into the rest of the world. Thank you both for your faith and generosity.
To my father, who braved the roads of Cappadocia and who loves to argue with me; to my brother, who told me to write every day and to notice the trees; and to my mother, who took me to the library, bought me the college books, and cheered me on with curiosity and humor—you never asked for my ten-year absence, but it is all of you who made this life possible.