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My earliest reading memory
The summer I was four, my mum read EB White’s Charlotte’s Web to me and my older sister. I don’t recall much of the story, only that my mum was unable to go on reading through her tears. And when a relative took over, after just a few pages, she too had to pass the book on, this time to my father to try and finish dry-eyed. That afternoon, at a subconscious, cellular level, I absorbed something about the emotional impact a well-told story can have on both children and adults, and how it can gather everyone to the same imagined space.
My favourite book growing up
I loved Shirley Hughes’s books, for the pictures as much as the words. Her illustrations of unmade beds and busy kitchen tables invite you right into the heart of family life and were a reassuringly cosy backdrop to whatever drama might unfold. Moving Molly was a favourite, and stoked a lifelong nostalgia for the details that make a place home.
The book that changed me as a teenager
Paula Danziger’s There’s a Bat in Bunk Five and Francine Pascal’s Love & Betrayal & Hold the Mayo alerted me to the existence of boys.
The writer who changed my mind
During the long summer between GCSEs and A-levels, reading felt, for the first time, like work. I trudged through Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre, resenting the densely worded pages and Jane’s interminable stay at Lowood. But in class, when we began to analyse it chapter by chapter, it came alive for me. I think that was the year I started to notice the craftsmanship in how something was written.
The books that made me want to be a writer
I’ve always wanted to write, and so much of what I read continues to leave me thinking, “Oh, I’d love to be able to do it like that”, when it comes to some particular quality. Such as Maya Angelou’s warmth, which seems capable of cocooning a reader no matter the subject. Or Claire Keegan’s skill for navigating relationships and evoking, in the most everyday moments, the complexities of being human.
The book I reread
Returning to Oliver Burkeman’s Meditations for Mortals recalibrates my internal compass and reminds me how I want to be spending my time.
The author I came back to
After finding Emma all a bit fusspotty as a teenager, I returned to Jane Austen as an adult and totally fell for Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility.
The book I could never read again
I’m not sure there are any books I absolutely couldn’t return to. Although there are a few that seemed so perfect at the time of reading, I’d prefer to keep them in my memory just as they are.
The book I discovered later in life
I read Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird in my mid-30s and remember being amazed to think I’d lived so many years never knowing it.
The book I’m currently reading
A short story collection by Curtis Sittenfeld, You Think It, I’ll Say It – she has this incredible way of going straight to the most human, relatable thing about a character. I adore her writing.
My comfort read
I have a small notebook where I record how many words I’ve written each day, along with a few thoughts, and a running total. It’s immensely comforting on a bad day, to look back and be reminded that writing a novel is often a series of missteps, decreasing wordcounts, moments of despair, interspersed with magical days where everything flows freely.
