

Probably Are You My Mother? by P D Eastman in the Dr Seuss series. A fledgling chick falls from the next and asks a mixture of creatures and inanimate objects if they’re its mother. Heartbreaking stuff.
Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fires. Brilliant – half literary, half like an absurd Jed Mercurio thriller that manages to take on the genuine discomfort of being a British Asian post-9/11. Let down by being a bit wooden at times though.
Akenfield by Ronald Blythe. The aural history of an East Anglian village. The voices in that book were a massive revelation to me. Aside from it being the darkest depiction of the English countryside I’ve ever read, the idea that you could extract narrative and character from a long conversation with someone was amazing. I moved on to read Studs Terkel who was a master of that stuff, but Akenfield kind of inspired me to co-write my first book, Travellers – also an aural history. That also fed into a series of columns I used to do in the Observer yonks ago called The Small Ads.
Love in Amsterdam by Nicholas Freeling. Brilliant outward-looking crime fiction; written in the early sixties, it was set in Europe and was cosmopolitan and rich at a time when England was so inward-looking and dull. When I started writing crime, I thought I was following in Nicholas Freeling’s footsteps. So I re-read him and discovered that what I was doing was completely different. There are people who say when you write, you try and copy the books that first grabbed you when you were young. Or a weirdly mis-remembered version of them, in my case.
Can I save Alan Warner’s The Sopranos? I can’t think why anyone would put it on the bonfire, but I think he’s really overlooked these days. He should be up there with Nicola Barker for wit and invention. I think he writes the best dialogue in the English language.