The book I am currently reading
I just finished Catherine Lacey’s new novel Pew. I enjoyed it very much. The writing is top drawer, and the text is experimental to profitable effect, which I’m afraid is rather rare.
The book that changed my life
There is only one book that changed my life in a more or less permanent manner, and that’s We Need to Talk About Kevin.
The book I wish I’d written
The Heart of the Matter by Graham Greene. I read it quite some time ago, and while I can’t remember the plot well, I can still call up an atmosphere of yearning and tragedy, but also inevitability.
The book that had the greatest influence on my writing
I was bowled over by William Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom! in my teens. My style has come a long way from Faulkner since, but I believe my ear for assonance and cadence goes back to reading him in my formative years.
The book I think is most underrated
I’d like to call attention to a writer all of whose works deserve more acclaim (although he is already well regarded in literary circles): Rupert Thomson. His books are wide-ranging, from satire (Soft) to memoir (This Party’s Got to Stop) to speculative fiction (Divided Kingdom). He has a new novel out under a pseudonym, NVK, which I’m looking forward to.
The last book that made me laugh
Angel by Elizabeth Taylor. I loved the descriptions of the protagonist’s terrible novels, and especially the vicious, hair-tearing reviews of her work that didn’t matter, because she garnered a following despite the horror of the critics.
The book I couldn’t finish
A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. I know it won a Pulitzer and I know the story of its publication captured the popular imagination (the author killed himself years before his magnum opus appeared in print). But I found this novel utterly unreadable and every joke, for me, landed like a sack of flour. When I finally gave myself permission to put it down, I felt as if I’d just been let out of jail.
The book I’m ashamed not to have read
I should probably have read Moby-Dick, but I have passed the point in my life when I might have had the patience for all those details about whaling. Funny, I remember the summer I put it on my list (along with all that Faulkner), and my father, unusually, vetoed the choice and said I was too young. I have a feeling that’s when I should have read it, and I missed the boat, if you will. Now I’m too old for that doorstop. Like, get on with it: did the old bastard catch the fish, or didn’t he?
The book I give as a gift
This may sound ghastly, but I almost always give my own books away – and not frequently enough, either. My author’s copies have completely taken over the attic. But I’m sure other writers will recognise the slight reluctance to dish them out too widely, and I don’t mean in order to protect commercial sales. When you give people your own book, they feel obliged to read it, and then they don’t read it. They feel embarrassed and you never hear from them again.
My earliest reading memory
I remember my mother taking me to the public library when I was about six. I could not believe that we could walk out with this huge stack of books for free – Curious George, Babar, Dr Seuss. The library was my idea of a candy store.
