In July of 1929, Frances’s mother, Ruth Lowenthal Katz, was indeed pregnant and in the hospital on bedrest, after losing a baby boy the previous year. Like Esther, Anna Lowenthal made the decision to keep Florence’s death a secret from her daughter. For the remainder of Ruth’s confinement, Anna visited her in the hospital, never letting on that Florence was dead. Ruth’s baby girl, whom she named Hermine, was born on the eighteenth of July, and only then was Ruth told the truth. Several years later, she gave birth to a third daughter, whom she named in her sister’s memory. The story of Anna Lowenthal’s gumption—really, of what we are willing to do to protect the people we love—is a story my family has never let go of.
That’s as far as the similarities go. Ruth’s husband, Harry Isadore Katz, was no Isaac. He was a devoted father and husband who eventually moved his young family out of their apartment and into a house on Atlantic Avenue. Unlike Joseph, Hyman Lowenthal never got the chance to mourn Florence’s passing; he died the year before his daughter drowned. I hope Florence had a friend like Stuart but I don’t know if she did. And Anna Epstein is a composite of several distant cousins my great-grandparents, Walter and Henrietta Hanstein, brought to the United States in the years leading up to the Holocaust.
Since this is a work of fiction, I have changed most characters’ names. The exception is Florence, which I have kept as a tribute to Florence Lowenthal. May her name be a blessing.
Acknowledgments
I am grateful to so many people who supported me on this journey.
Carina Guiterman, thank you, first and foremost, for believing in this book. From our very first phone call it was clear that you loved Florence and her family as much as I do. Your edits, insight, and enthusiasm have made the book better in every possible way. To Marysue Rucci for your careful attention, and to Lashanda Anakwah for your work behind the scenes, thank you. I am indebted to Richard Rhorer, Elizabeth Breeden, Jackie Seow, Kassandra Rhoads, Margaret Southard, and so many people at Simon & Schuster for bringing this book to life.
I’m very lucky to be able to call my agent, Chad Luibl, a friend. For your thoughtful edits and warmhearted advice, and for taking me on this wild ride in the first place, thank you, thank you, thank you. To the entire Janklow & Nesbit team, thanks for rooting for Florence.
To the faculty and students at Virginia Commonwealth University’s MFA program, and particularly to Tom De Haven, who launched and led the novel-writing workshop where this book was born. Tom, your encouragement made me believe Florence Adler Swims Forever would one day be a real book. Thank you. A special thanks to Matt Cricchio and Jake Branigan, who kept reading in Tom’s garage long after the workshop ended. To Hanna Pylväinen, who generously allowed me to continue working on the manuscript the following year when I should have been writing short stories, and to Clint McCown and Gretchen Comba, who made sure I didn’t get so dreamy-eyed about this project that I forgot to work on the next one. Thom Didato holds a special place in many, many people’s hearts, and I am one of those people. Thanks for not only helping me navigate the program but for serving as an advocate of both me and my work.
In 2015 I was lucky enough to attend the Bread Loaf Writer’s Conference, where I studied under Ann Hood. I had brought a creative nonfiction project to the conference but, on a beautiful Vermont afternoon, Ann and I sat in the barn and talked instead about a novel I wanted to write. Did she think I could rotate the story among seven characters, I wanted to know? Could I kill off the title character in the first chapter? I had so many questions. After we had spent an hour discussing the structure of this would-be book, Ann advised me to put everything else I was working on aside. “This is clearly what you’re excited about,” she said. “Go write it.” You can argue that I shouldn’t have needed permission to write this book but I did, and I thank her, again and again, for granting it to me. One day I intend to pay it forward.
A number of friends and family members read versions of Florence Adler Swims Forever, and the book is better for all their thoughtful comments. Thank you to Beverly Beanland, Ben Hanstein, Bobbie Hanstein, Blair Hurley, Tamsen Kingry, Debra Newman, Jenny Pedraza, Ruthie Peevey, Eve Shade, and Nicole Velez. Rabbi Andrew Goodman is a great friend and a careful editor who ensured I wasn’t fumbling my Jewish prayers or traditions. Kristen Green deserves special thanks for giving me a front-row seat on her own journey to publication. She, more than anyone, showed me that manuscripts can indeed grow up to be books.
I was honored to share copies of the manuscript with my mother’s four siblings, all of whom are as invested in Gussie and her well-being as I am. Thanks to Woody Hanstein, Judy Welsh, Joe Hanstein, and Jane Cunniffe for your careful reads and warm praise. A special thank you to Tod Simons for trusting me with this story.
To the staff and board of the Visual Arts Center of Richmond, but especially to Stefanie Fedor. While I was writing this book, I was lucky enough to work for a fabulous community arts center with an inspiring vision: Art for everyone. Creativity for life. I worked alongside potters, painters, printmakers, and photographers (not to mention writers), and the creative energy I felt in that space and among those people kept me going.
Thanks to the staff and volunteers at the Atlantic County Historical
