5 hours ago
8
My earliest reading memory
I started reading because I was wildly jealous of my sister Paula, who is four years older than me. I must have been six or seven when I managed to read The Mountain of Adventure by Enid Blyton. I know she is no longer in fashion but I still remember the thrill of the world she created and the excitement of the plot.
My favourite book growing up
I adored the Flambards series by KM Peyton, probably because it felt slightly adult and a little bit sexy, but my absolute favourites were Grimble and Grimble at Christmas by Clement Freud. They were anarchic and knowing, in a way I hadn’t encountered before but more than anything else they were very funny. It also introduced me to the inspired illustrations of Quentin Blake.
The book that changed me as a teenager
When I was around 15 or 16 we had a supply teacher and he brought with him plastic bags of novels and just threw them out to us sitting at our desks. I randomly caught The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath which really did change how I felt about books. It was funny, sophisticated and raw in a way I didn’t know novels could be. But more than that, as people say now, I felt seen. Esther Greenwood contained so many emotions and qualities that I recognised. I’m also happy to say that the supply teacher Niall is a good friend to this day!
The writer who changed my mind
When I was about 19 I remember reading the very start of Daniel Martin by John Fowles. He describes a German plane crashing into the British country side and it was so perfectly written that I resolved to never write books. What was the point? They would never be as good as these few pages. I took me more than 30 years to get over that feeling.
The book that made me want to be a writer
Prior to my John Fowles experience I had wanted to write and was scribbling down short stories, but I have no recollection of a moment or novelist that lit the spark. I think it was more the joy I found in telling tales and setting the scene. Everything I was reading just taught me that there was a way to do that and a world I could be a part of.
The book or author I came back to
I think I was exposed to Charles Dickens too early and found him very dark and dense. It was only many years later, when I had to read Oliver Twist for work, that I realised how incredibly engaging and entertaining his books are. There is a passage towards the end of A Tale of Two Cities where Carton roams the streets of Paris contemplating his death, which is as beautiful and profound as anything I’ve ever read.
The book I reread
I very rarely reread anything but if I do it is probably during the summer in Ireland and it would tend to be a classic, like Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park or Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. There is such pleasure in finding out how much you’ve changed as different characters and plot points speak to you differently. Interesting how much we all bring a point of view to every novel we read.
The book I could never read again
I can’t imagine I will ever go back to the Just William series by Richmal Crompton. I loved them as a preteen but I fear I might find them a little less charming now.
The book I discovered later in life
The novels of Elizabeth Taylor were a fairly recent discovery for me. Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont is a stunning book. Wry, funny and heartbreaking, but never cruel. Maybe you have to be a little older to really enjoy it? I was also recommended the works of the late Octavia Butler recently. I rarely read sci-fi, but Kindred is the most visceral novel about the horrors of slavery that I’ve read.
The book I am currently reading
I’ve just finished Long Island Compromise by Taffy Brodesser-Akner. A sprawling saga about a damaged family which I really enjoyed.
My comfort read
Agatha Christie, what else? Grisly murders and neat solutions. A balm for any troubled soul.
