My earliest reading memory
I was around five when my mum first pulled out Clement C Moore’s The Night Before Christmas, a bumper blue book with vivid illustrations. There was such suspense in the poem, such inexorable music, the sonic possibilities matching the mystery.
My favourite book growing up
The Weirdstone of Brisingamen by Alan Garner. I used to spend every spare moment in Bacup library, Lancashire, bag of sweets to the right and a book open before me. I had read all of Enid Blyton’s Secret Seven books, thought Famous Five were all a bit dry, and picked up Weirdstone in a swoon of nine-year-old despair. The darkness was delicious, exciting because many of the landmarks in the story were from my local area.
The book that changed me as a teenager
I was the first of my family to attend university, where I was introduced to books by black female writers for the first time. The one that has influenced my writing the most is probably For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide / When the Rainbow Is Enuf by Ntozake Shange. Its fusion of narrative, poetry and choreography is seismic. Both political and personal, it left its watermark on me, hinting at the sheer possibilities of poetry and literature.
The writers who changed my mind
They were the ones who published in fanzines like Shocking Pink or in the feminist magazine Spare Rib.
The book that made me want to be a writer
There was never a moment when I didn’t want to be a writer but The Dream of a Common Language by Adrienne Rich showed me how.
The book I came back to
The Waste Land by TS Eliot. As a young woman I couldn’t understand how anyone could connect with these old white men of poetry – and then a couple of years ago I finally sat alone with it. I was astonished at the immediacy and expansiveness of the world building: it’s cinematic imagery.
The book I reread
Another Mother Tongue by Judy Grahn. I shoplifted this book in the late 1980s, compelled by discovering the etymological origins of the words used to describe the queer community.
The book I could never read again
The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall, a classic lesbian text (you must read it to get your certificate). While it seemed incredible in my mid-teens to find women like me, the book itself is harrowing, formed mainly of striding across moors and thrilling unhappiness. I’d like us to have more positive introductions to queer culture.
The book I discovered later in life
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.
The book I am currently reading
RABBITBOX by Wayne Holloway-Smith, which is out next year and will change everything we believe is possible in poetry.
My comfort read
Strangely, ghost stories of any kind. I’m particularly drawn to the English ghost story, the idea of the phantom as the past constantly intruding on the now, the mythic weather, the intricate architecture, the tweed. I like a story that follows me.