I never finished the ‘Purpose’ edition of the New Philosopher but would have loved to. You can only borrow magazines from the library for a week and unfortunately that was the very same week that everything we had put into the toilet came gushing out the shower hole, so, to be fair, a real distraction from reading. My writing is partly about how absurd being alive is, and so I hunt for anything that includes the pursuit of meaning-making. I also love everyday human suffering, yay! After all, isn’t so much of life having a shit staring up at you from your shower floor distracting you from your purpose? Out of respect, I will be re-borrowing.

Stories are quicksand. When I do not have a book I feel incomplete, and when I finish a story, I long to be back. Since becoming a mum, reading time has naturally shortened, except for Hairy Maclary, who is an absolute loose unit, you guys. The pleasure in reading is largely about the character for me, same with writing. They have to be an outcast, decidedly uncool to the people around them. Someone questioning their world. A hero but with no friends. Endearing but, you know, tragic. Maybe at times a little unhinged — that’s great too. And of course, some relatable human suffering. Blanche in Hannelore Cayre’s The Inheritors: wild, brazen, radical. Olga Tokarczuk’s Janina in Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead with her trust in the cosmos, her reverence for nature. Christina in Jenny Zhang’s Sour Heart, who breaks my heart. These outsiders are my kindred spirits who reassure me, a fellow loser, that after all that pain it’ll be okay … well, sometimes. I am so obsessed with people. What makes them do stuff. Their peculiar and boring bits. What worries them, their purpose. My new favourite person introduced themselves as ‘one of those rare chicks who loves lost trades’. I mean, there is a lot to uncover from that starting point. Second favourite, by the way, is the woman who would only birth under a Christmas tree. I look for books with a surreal world but a plot grounded in human adversity. Before the Coffee Gets Cold, Toshikazu Kawaguchi—love and regret in a cafe where you can time travel. There’s No Such Thing as an Easy Job, Kikuko Tsumura—burnout from writing advice in cracker packets. The Memory Police, Yōko Ogawa—disappearance of objects, self, the rise of an authoritarian power. Anything Haruki Murakami: No matter how far you travel, you can never get away from yourself (After the Quake). Wouldn’t it be so nice to have a break though, Haruki?