Victoria HobbsAM Heath and Co

Nancy Mitford, The Pursuit of Love (if ever I am ill enough to be in bed but not so ill that I cant face a book, this is the one I reach for). Alice Munroe - all and any. Early Coetzee, in particular In the Heart of the Country. Out of Sheer Rage, Geoff Dyer. Brother of the More Famous Jack by Barbara Trapido (and then you wont be able to just stop at one of hers so no further recommendations needed). Edward St Aubyn, particularly the last two in the Melrose series, Mothers Milk and At Last. I read very widely but even so have only recently come to appreciate the joy of Lee Child. I was given one of his novels by his publisher a year ago, devoured it, and have since ploughed my way cheerfully through his entire backlist and can't wait for more, and am outraged that Tom Cruise has nabbed himself the part. I love a good thriller. Henry Porter delivers just the right kind of clever thrill. Tana French, too. Nevil Shute's On the Beach was the first time I discovered the dubious pleasure of weeping my way to the end of a novel. Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca was another early discovery as I worked my way through the bookshelves at home (lots of Ngaio Marsh, Agatha Christie, Alastair Maclean, or Dickens and Trollope nothing in the middle, which made the discovery of contemporary literary fiction, many years later as a 16 year old, that much more exciting, The Life and Times of Michael K was a revelation). Born To Run by Chris McDougall. I loved this book. It legitimized my slightly out of control passion for running. Helen Simpson, all her stories, but if I had to choose just one collection it would be Hey Yeah Right Get a Life. I have bought many copies of this book, usually with a copy of Kate Figes, Life After Birth. There is no better care package for the first time mother, assuming they are capable of focusing on the page long enough to read. G B Edwards - The Book of Ebenezer Le Page is another quiet masterpiece which bears re-reading every few years. Max Porter's Grief is the Thing with Feathers andJenny Offill's Department of Speculation are two new favourites which I suspect I will still be talking about in 10years. I could go on. And on.

I struggle with fiction about musicians and actors. There is something about describing the magic they conjure up on stage which, more often than not, falls very flat on the page.