Virgil was born of a conversation and a feeling. The conversation was about how despite all the talk of belonging and identity, people of all ages, castes and creeds, from all walks of life, seem increasingly isolated; the conversation was about the kind of impact someone, cast adrift in a sea of digital (and literal) trash, can have. The feeling was a common enough, I suppose, just a nagging sense that “I am not what I am”. And this led me to wonder whether we exist more in minds and mouths of others than in ourselves? Our stories, however unremarkable, outlive us, while (thankfully) our interior monologues don’t.   
At an embryonic stage, Virgil was sent to Eukalypto, whose team (to my delight) not only accepted it, but also spent many days editing it and refining its point of view until it fulfilled its initial aim of telling a person’s life from the outside. We (almost) never get to know what Virgil thinks – portraits are seldom painted by their sitter! 
My heartfelt thanks go to Youssef, Stephanie and Hhala (and the whole Eukalypto team) for nursing him through a variety of difficult developmental stages. Any remaining pimples (or mood disorders) are solely the author’s responsibility.

At Eukalypto, we believe the point of view is crucial in storytelling. A rigorous approach to perspective and voice is essential to emotionally engaging the reader. Inside Virgil Caine is built on a unique premise: aside from the prologue, the protagonist’s life is shown only from the outside, through the perspectives of those who knew him and whose lives he influenced.
The range of viewpoints chosen by the author is diverse. We hear from the protagonist’s lovers, friends, and father, but also from people he barely knew, including a stranger he met just once on a train.
This unconventional exploded portrait is akin to a puzzle and leaves the reader to piece together the connections. Throughout, Sam’s style remains incredibly inventive and sharp.