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My earliest reading memory
Probably a Garfield book when I was five or six. I loved Garfield. Mostly because he was funny, but also because he was an iconic ginger. He introduced me to lasagne, which I pronounced “la-sign”. It was the 1980s. I got told off all the time for reading at the dinner table.
My favourite book growing up
After my nanna’s Mills & Boons, stolen from her bedside table, I’d have to say Lucy Maud Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables. Another iconic ginge. Also Anne and Gilbert were the greatest “will they/won’t they?” until Mulder and Scully in The X Files.
The book that changed me as a teenager
Like a lot of 90s teenagers, I loved Judy Blume’s Forever. Thanks to Judy for putting it all out there, especially birth control. Not sure I’ll ever get over the idea of a penis called “Ralph”, but on the demystification front it was otherwise flawless.
The writer who changed my mind
In my early 30s Jennifer Egan showed me what books could do; the playfulness of A Visit From the Goon Squad was really inspiring. I’m also grateful to Maggie Nelson for The Argonauts, and to other writers who have written about motherhood and bodies so honestly and brazenly.
The book that made me want to be a writer
The Romantic poets are to blame for this! All those passionate feelings and excesses. And the symbolists. Let’s chuck them in there. I was a wreck when I discovered Yeats. I genuinely think most of my career has been a massive “I’ll show you” campaign in reaction to Yeats.
The book or author I came back to
I didn’t get Patricia Highsmith for a long time. People kept telling me to read her but I kept getting stuck. Then I hit my 40s and something clicked. Now I think Strangers on a Train must be one of my favourite books, and such an education in how to write effective, elegant humour.
The book I reread
Wintering by Katherine May. I find this book so soothing. I listen to it on audiobook, over and over. It’s such a good antidote to the stresses of modern life. I feel like it resets my nervous system. I dip in and out of it, like an ice bath. Which is possibly the most middle-aged thing I have ever said.
The book I could never read again
Anything by anyone I’ve ever dated and then been ghosted by, you know who you are.
The book I discovered later in life
All Fours by Miranda July was like a bomb in my life, in a good way. I had a deep fantasy life with it for four days in the Lake District last October when I was away on a writing trip. It was such an intense experience I blush when I think of that book. I returned a changed woman. Not menopausally. Although that is relevant.
The book I am currently reading
Ben Elton’s and Ben Miller’s books for kids. I’m reading them with my eight-year-old son and loving them. Just the warmest, smartest, loveliest things for him to get his head into. My four-year-old daughter is into Jon Klassen – she’s got a dark sense of humour. We’re also rereading The Magic Faraway Tree which they don’t find as exciting as I did but I think it’s probably because they have the internet, which is basically the same thing except you don’t have to climb a tree. In my grown-up reading life, Nussaibah Younis’s Fundamentally and Anna Whitwham’s Soft Tissue Damage have been my companions these past few weeks and I’m enjoying them both very much. Bold, hopeful, provocative storytelling. The best.
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My comfort read
Anything by Carrie Fisher, Katherine Heiny or Nora Ephron. Some books feel more like friends, and books by these women are that for me.
Slags by Emma Jane Unsworth is published by Borough. To support the Guardian order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
