What are you reading?

Whether it’s in those all too infrequent transatlantic telephone calls with my children, during the meetings of our quixotic Blackheath Writers’ Group, or in the clipped conversations between pints of Bombardier in the Dacre Arms pub - that is the essential question.
What are you reading?

Or, what’s important to you? What’s inspiring you? What’s changing you? As Alberto Manguel writes, “I believe that we are, at the core, reading animals and that the art of reading, in its broadest sense, defines our species.”

What are you reading?

A few years ago while browsing in a bookstore in Paris with two committed bibliophiles, we came across a journal designed to list the books you have read during the year. We loved the idea but for some reason none of us bought one. Ever since then I have promised myself I would chart my reading journey for a year to remind myself of where I had been.

I finally got around to doing this in 2011, and as I look back there is little wonder why it was such a good year for me.

I have experienced the exhilaration of freedom (Jonathan Franzen), the unsentimental joy of family (Colm Toibin), the rhythm of love (Carol Ann Duffy) and the tranquility of home (Marilynne Robinson). I have also plumbed the depths of war and peace (Leo Tolstoy), suffered through complaints (Ian Rankin), spent time far from the madding crowd (Thomas Hardy) and sometimes muttered "so much for that" (Lionel Shriver).

I have rambled (Mark Thomas), run (David Grossman), waltzed (Anne Enright), travelled on Green Dolphin Street (Sebastian Faulks), searched for Gilead (David G. Hallman) and restored myself with tea (Sophie Dahl).

Along the way I plunged deep into smut (Alan Bennett), endured the occasional idiot (Fyodor Dostoyevsky) and enjoyed other people’s money (Justin Cartwright) but I did learn 23 things they don’t tell you about capitalism (Ha-joon Chang).

As the year wound down I got the sense of an ending (Julian Barnes) and felt I was at the point of departure (Robin Cook). It was time for a homecoming (Bernhard Schlink).

Sorry, I got carried away. But it gives you a sense of the breadth of the adventures available, even when we don't wander far from novels. Perhaps more important were the discoveries and re-discoveries.

Parts of Franzen’s Freedom absolutely dazzle so it was great to encounter him again as a Christmas gift. The Stranger’s Child by Allan Hollinghurst was the sumptuous feast I expected. Price be damned, I went out and purchased the hardback as soon as it was on the bookshelves of Waterstones.

Marilynne Robinson was a new and incredible discovery. Certainly Home was the very best book I read in 2011, a moving look at family and reconciliation that is rich in theological and political insight.


And the Land Lay Still by James Robertson was an engrossing immersion into the politics and art worlds of Scotland that began with a lucky quick pick at Heathrow Airport. Julian Barnes’ The Sense of an Ending was wise and witty and I was happy to finally read him along with Howard Jacobson’s baffling yet engrossing The Finkler Question.


But the real find for me last year was a beautiful book by Mary Rose Donnelly, titled Great Village, a graceful story about family, community and poetry in Nova Scotia that made me weep, and then quickly hand it on across the pillows.

(In case you are interested: 42 books read – 32 novels, three books of short stories, three books of poetry, four books of non-fiction. I can send the list if you get in touch.)

What are you reading?