And more chatter

Yesterday I was a guest on Dr Phil Hammond's Saturday Surgery on BBC Radio Bristol. We talked fantasy dinner party guests (I plumped for Jane Austen, Caravaggio, and Paul Simon), I got to pick a couple of records, and chat about The Book of Summers, the upcoming Book Slam collection Too Much Too Young, and what I'm writing next. As well as a GP, Dr Phil is the medical correspondent for Private Eye and a stand-up comic; a very funny chap. I just about managed to keep my laughter at bay (corpsing - not so cool), and generally had a jolly old time; even if all I had to offer Jane Austen was pizza, and found myself haunted by a mysterious and persistent entity named Anne. Moderately chaotic, then... if you'd like, you can listen HERE (I come in around 36 mins, tho' the link will only work until 26th October).

  
Caravaggio's 'Doubting Thomas' (1602/3) - the first work I saw by the Italian painter. I love the startling realism, and the intimacy of the captured moment. From what I know of the artist, he sounds like the kind of fellow who'd have a tale or two to tell; good and crazy dinner guest material.

Chatter

This October I've a couple of new interviews online. The first is with Glow Magazine, a follow-on from the 14/4 Literary Dinner I took part in back in March - thanks to Melanie Gow for organising what was a fabulous event (fine food, great company & bookish chat), and LaDawn Clare-Panton for the interview - you can read it HERE. The second is with journalism student Sarah Abrahams. Sarah is a fellow Devon girl, and I met her when she brought along a brilliantly holiday-battered hardback of The Book of Summers to sign when I was in WHSmith in Exeter - you can read that interview HERE. Between the two I talk about getting muddy ankles with Lizzy Bennet, losing my voice in Kigali, and my Arvon tutor Louise Dean's prescription for writer's block... 

 

Appledore

This week I was on the North Devon coast for the Appledore Book Festival. Appledore is a tiny fishing village situated just where the rivers Taw and Torridge meet. With its picturesque location (reminding me very much of Shaldon, one of my favourite South Devon spots, and setting for 'the call'), and such a well-established festival (now in its sixth year, originally founded as a mission to save an ailing - now thriving - library) the trip promised to be memorable. Truth is, the 24 hours I spent on 'bookish business' in Appledore were some of my favourite since The Book of Summers was published - and that's really saying something. There was delicious company in the form of Shelley Harris, author of Jubilee, and Carol Rifka Brunt, author of Tell The Wolves I'm Home, and our very lovely event chair Professor Helen Taylor of Exeter University. Incredibly generous hospitality from our hosts Brenda Daly and Pat Millner. And an enthusiastic and supportive crowd of festival go-ers at our New Voices panel. Altogether, a pretty perfect book festival experience.

When I returned to Bristol on Thursday night I gabbled to my husband. I told him about sitting in the dark drinking wine by moonlight to the tune of crashing waves. I told him about our cream tea lunch with a ginger beer chaser. I told him about the knock-your-socks-off views from upstairs in our guesthouse, and the excellent fry-ups downstairs. I told him how together we'd talked women & reading, ownership of stories, second novel approaches, writerly rebellion, elusive titles, meeting our literary heroes - and that was all before our panel even started. Here's to sweet times in Appledore, and new friends made.

Creative differences - a Book Slam blog

Over on the Book Slam website I've written about working from home as my husband does the same... a little bit confessional, a little bit therapeutic... read it HERE. 

  

I will arise and go now

I've just returned from a blissful holiday on the Tuscan island of Elba. We stayed on a cape on the North shore, known as 'piccola isola nell'isola' - the little island within an island. It's a place where steep forests of pine and eucalyptus tumble towards the sea, and the snaking roads are hemmed with olive trees and monstrously beautiful cacti, bursting with strange fruit. For all the heart-stopping vistas, it's always been the sight of four walls that really captures my imagination; dusty-red roof tiles, a just-glimpsed wrought iron balcony, a crooked gateway, leading who knows where. Whenever I'm abroad I daydream, imagine myself upping sticks and living there, slipping sideways into a simpler, more picturesque existence. I've always been this way; as a child, seeing Hungary's Lake Balaton for the first time; as a student, living in the Swiss city of Lausanne; now, on our 'island within an island', thinking how would it be, to live here? Would my writing table face the hillside, or the sea?

The longing to 'arise and go now' runs deep. Yeats' 'The Lake Isle of Innisfree' is one of my favourite poems, and thanks to a piece in The Guardian I recently discovered the site Cabin Porn - I fear I should block it from my computer for I can see myself falling into its clutches, the hours rushing past and my wordcount stagnating. I wrote something of this desire into The Book of Summers. Villa Serena is the picture-book home from home, a sun-baked rural idyll. Between summers, memories of Marika, Zoltán and Tamás fill Erzsi's heart, but Villa Serena is ever present in her imagination. But before I wrote of Villa Serena, there was another villa. In 2003 I was living in London and had been granted a month-long sabbatical from my job in an advertising agency. My dad and had just retired from art teaching, and I had an art project I wanted to work on, so the two of us rented a house in Northern Mallorca for the month of October. Our plan was to install ourselves there, devote ourselves to our creative endeavours, and enjoy weekend visits from my mum, sister and friends. 

When you're used to counting holiday days and prizing each and every one, the month-long stay felt like a perfect eternity.  At Les Estemenyes, my dad played his guitar on the terrace, as I picked fresh lemons to slice into our late morning Gin and Tonics. We walked into town to drink coffee with the old boys at a café on the square, and bought buttery apple tarts and bottles of white Rioja. I swam lengths in the ice-cold, bug-dotted pool as my dad fired the barbeque for Merguez and skewered prawns. As dark fell he wrote verse and sketched, and I set to work on my collages. One I titled Les Estemenyes, after the villa. I just have a print of it now as I sold the original, but every so often I look at it and think of the days that inspired it. Outside of the odd childhood competition, it was the first time I'd earned any money from creative work. I spent my earnings on a glamorous pair of boots to trot around Soho in when I was back in the real world of my Ad Land job, but all the while I was planning and plotting my escape. Two years later, I was headed for the mountains - six months that would change everything. 

While I'm freer now than I've ever been, the old desire for flight never goes; a house glimpsed on holiday still lights the fires of possibility. As I sit down at my writing desk, hemmed in by my Bristol street, I transport myself. As long as I'm writing, anywhere, and anything, is possible. A desire for travel will probably always be important to my stories; a ceaseless fascination for a different life, the allure of a home from home, the romance of the unfamiliar. I think of those words of Yeats and I believe in them now as much as ever: 'I will arise and go now, for always night and day/ I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;/ While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey/ I hear it in the deep heart's core.' 

October ELLE

In the October issue of ELLE (out now) I've written about my runaway Las Vegas wedding. It's included as part of the 'Do You Remember The First Time?' feature (with Monique Roffey writing about her first bra). Back in May 2010 it was my first trip to America, my first time in Sin City and, not least, my first time as a bride. 

As well as the delights of a stealth Vegas wedding, I write about a Texan mushroom hunter called Butch, a night spent in a concrete wigwam and a whole lot of chimichangas. I also mention a photo taken by a hobo. This is it. A quick snap on a desert-hot day, trucks whistling past, camera not quite steady. More dear and beloved than any stagey shot.

Ed Book Fest

Last year I went to the Edinburgh International Book Festival with my husband. He was performing his usual duet as a show solo, as his brother was still recovering from a particularly nasty appendicitis. I went with him in support, tucking myself amongst the cheering 8-11 year olds as he talked about the magic of making comics. We caught some comedy, ate some Haggis, and generally had a right old caper. At the time I was still writing and editing The Book of Summers - five months away from publication. In the authors' yurt (of all the very fine things about the Edinburgh Book Festival, it may just be the finest) I felt vaguely like an interloper; legitimate author WAG, sure, but not quite yet the real deal. Well, this year it was different. For the 2012 Festival Bobby and I travelled to Edinburgh together. Whether it was generous programme planning or just serendipity we had events on the same day. How very fine, to be making my literary festival debut* in the company of my husband...

... and his lil' bro Lorenzo, of course. As well as the public and schools' programme, The Etherington Brothers were taking part in the Festival's Outreach programme, and over the course of three days they performed five shows to nearly 1,000 children, amassing far more knuckle-bumps and crazed hoots of laughter than I could ever hope for.

August is a magical time to be in Edinburgh, and we couldn't come to the Book Festival without catching a show at the Fringe. The essence this year? Variety. Earlier in the day I'd been to see Suzanne Joinson and Greg Baxter talk about their books, A Lady Cyclist's Guide to Kashgar (which I recently read and loved) and The Apartment (which I'm now very keen to read), and also Mark Haddon in conversation with Claire Armistead, which was as entertaining as it was inspiring. That evening, we ventured into the thick of the city-wide party and saw the inimitable Tom Thum. If you think you know beat-boxing (and I'm not sure I did, not really) then... think again. He takes it to a whole other level. It's ear-boggling. The next time my neighbours blast their foundation-shaking dubstep bass lines just as I'm settling in to a nice afternoon's writing I shall close my eyes and think of Tom Thum. I'll pretend he's next door practising a new sound. I'll probably smile.   

My event, 'Family Dramas Exposed', was with Karl Ove Knausgaard, whose book A Death In The Family (just published here in translation) is, in Norway, a huge bestseller, and the stuff of watercooler chat and newspaper headlines. I'd just finished reading A Death In The Family before I went to Edinburgh and found it utterly fascinating. It's an examination of the author's relationship with his father, and the repercussions of his death; profound, and unflinchingly honest. Amidst the intensity it also has some brilliant bits where a teenage Karl Ove roams the Norwegian countryside with a plastic bag of beers looking for a party, or tries to get a gig with his startlingly-mediocre band at a shopping centre. Our event was a sell-out, and chaired by the very lovely Jenny Brown, who made the whole thing feel easy - a minor miracle considering how nervous I felt beforehand. We talked about capturing the lost days of childhood, attempting to understand the actions of even the most flawed characters, and how parents can really mess things up for their children (á la Philip Larkin). Afterwards we got to meet some of the brilliantly receptive audience and sign books. Then Karl Ove and I signed books for one another (he'd read The Book of Summers, which I really didn't expect). It was a real honour to share a stage with him - a perfect first lit fest experience. 

I also read as part of the Amnesty International Imprisoned Writers series, along with Jane Rogers and Edinburgh's 'Makar' (poet laureate) Ron Butlin. Most of us writers use the word 'freedom' lightly, it is, in a manner of speaking, our stock-in-trade; the freedom to imagine, to create, to cheat time and space. Reading for Amnesty was a reminder that we should never take it for granted; that freedom should be celebrated, fought for, and pursued at all costs. My piece was by the Zimbabwean journalist Bright Chibvuri, who was arrested in 2007 on allegations of practising journalism without accreditation. The event was titled 'Workers Rights are Human Rights' and it was great to see how packed the space was, and how much support there was for Amnesty.

One of the really fun things about Edinburgh was having time to hang out with my agent and the lovely gang from my publisher, Headline. Special thanks to Rowan, Leah, Vicky, and Ben (who somehow managed to talk me onto the billing - special hurrah for him). Remember that feeling I mentioned, of being an interloper? It hadn't altogether gone away. Flicking through the Festival programme, glancing surreptitiously around the Yurt, seeing the snaking queues for some events - the Festival was full of living legends and I felt incredibly lucky to be there. Thank you, Edinburgh, you were memorable in all of the right ways. Until next year - as writer or reader or, with a bit of luck - both.

*As a debut novelist at the Festival, The Book of Summers is entered into the Anobii First Book Award. If you'd like to vote for me (oh, please do!) then go HERE and just follow the links. Thank you x

Adland part II

Back in January I blogged about my new favourite ad. Now there's a few more vying for that title, so here's a round-up from the UK, the US, and Spain. Big thanks to Headline and MIRA for these oh-so-summery splashes. 

As to the aeroplane that flew over the beaches of Málaga the other weekend, trailing an El libro de los veranos banner... that's the work of my Spanish publisher Suma de letras. Muchas gracias. Brilliantly, brilliantly loco!

Holiday reading - a Book Slam blog

It's the holiday reading season, and I've been warning the lovely people over at Book Slam about the oft overlooked perils of this most enjoyable of pastimes. We're talking the Intellectual Overstretch, Destination Envy, Cultural/ Environmental Mismatch and, most crucially, Delicious Upheaval. Maybe you should take heed too... read it HERE.

R&J Summer favourite!

The Book of Summers has been voted readers' favourite in the Richard and Judy Summer Book Club poll! Thank you SO much to everyone who voted - you've made my already brilliant summer even better.

I feel very lucky to have been chosen for the club in the first place, and to know that readers cared enough to vote is really something. Again - thank you.

You can read more about the vote on the R&J site, and also in The Bookseller. And if you want to catch the video interview or podcast again, you can do so HERE and HERE. 

Hurrah for R&J, and especially the readers!

Little things

On the Spanish website enfemenino.com, for a few brief moments, El libro de los veranos was bigger news than RPattz and KStew. That's a flashbulb moment. Or a screengrab moment.

Your Summer needs you

A few weeks ago I excitedly blogged about The Book of Summers being chosen for the Richard and Judy Summer Book Club. Now we're at the point where everyone gets to vote for their favourite read. You've only got until Noon this Friday to get your vote in. 

To vote for The Book of Summers go HERE (please!). 

Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!


(... and if you'd like to watch my interview with the legendary R&J... it's HERE.)

Good old goulash

Next up in my Villa Serena recipe series is beef goulash. It's a dish that couldn't be more synonymous with Hungary. My mum always cooked it for us at home; she favoured a soupy version which we'd hunch over, blowing on our spoons and dipping hunks of bread. In Hungary I've eaten goulash from a battered tin pan at a dusty roadside cafe, and I've had it served in a Herend porcelain bowl by a black-jacketed waiter at a refined Budapest restaurant. Whether it's street-food or fine dining, goulash always tastes the same to me. Robust. Fiery. Salty. Sweet. And full of heart.


In The Book of Summers, Erzsi remembers Marika making a wickedly hot goulash just to put the frighteners on her English relatives... "On the rare occasions that my aunt visited, Marika used her extra hot paprika in the goulash soup she made, and filled the house with gypsy music that made the cobwebs tremble." 


I think a recipe should be a starting point for inspiration, rather than something to be followed slavishly, and goulash is a great dish for freestyling. Despite what the purists may say, for me the only essential ingredients are beef and paprika... after that, it's a case of adding lots of what you fancy and less of what you don't. So if the inclusion of lard in the list below makes you balk, just swap it for a good splash of extra virgin. Or if you're not keen on the reedy taste of celery, throw in some more onions. I like my goulash to have a real kick but milder versions are good too - just add your chilli and paprika according to taste. I also prefer it to have the consistency of a stew rather than soup, but if you like the latter, just add more liquid. Here's beef goulash the way I make it...    

Ingredients (to serve 4):
Lard - a golf ball sized hunk (or however much your conscience can take)
750g-1kg beef (depending on how greedy you're feeling) - stewing steak or casserole
2 x large onions - chopped finely
1 x teaspoon of dried chili flakes (or more... )
3 x stems of celery - chopped chunkily 
2 x cloves of garlic - finely chopped
2 x heaped tablespoons of paprika* (medium strength)
Beef stock - approximately 1 pint 
2 x red peppers - sliced lengthways
1 x yellow pepper - sliced lengthways
1 x dried or fresh chili pepper - thrown in whole for extra heat (optional)
Chives & sour cream for garnish
Salt and pepper for seasoning


*I also like to use a spoonful of hot paprika paste (see jar in picture) - you can buy this from specialist Hungarian delis online.

Use a nice big heavy-bottomed pan. Melt your lard (okay, okay, or oil!) then fry the hunks of beef in batches until nicely browned. Once done, remove from the pan and set aside. Next fry the chopped onions, celery and garlic until glistening. Then add in the red and yellow peppers, and the chilli flakes, and fry until softened. Next, stir in the paprika, then get your beef back into the pan. Combine it all nicely, and then pour over your beef stock until everything is just covered. Add a little hot water from the kettle if you need more liquid. Bring to the boil and then turn it down to a simmer. If you've managed to get hold of the paprika paste, here's when I'd add it. After seasoning generously, now all you do is leave it to cook in. Turn the heat down as low as it'll go, put the lid partially on, and let it cook for about 1.5-2 hours (or until you can't resist the smell any longer). I sometimes like to leave it even longer, so that all the peppers and onions entirely break down and the sauce becomes really thick. To serve, scatter chopped chives and add the requisite dollop of sour cream.


I like my goulash accompanied by gnocchi - a little Italian-Hungarian combination that works brilliantly - and a zingy side of cucumber salad. This might seem like a wintry dish but to me it says 'summer'; hot sun on your skin, fire on your tongue and in your belly. And if you're serving your goulash at lunchtime there's nothing more perfect for dessert than an afternoon snooze in the shade. Jo étvágyat!

Hometown signing

On Saturday I went back to Devon for a book signing at WHSmith Guildhall in Exeter. So many friendly people stopped to chat and bought a book. The store had made a sign proclaiming me a local author - never have I felt prouder to have been born a Devon girl.

I went to college in Exeter, studying A-level English in a building just steps from the WHSmith door. In fact my former tutor popped down to say 'hello' - I hadn't seen her in maybe 14 years. We reminisced about sitting in class watching Colin Firth emerge dripping from the Pemberley pond, all in the name of the study of literature. The Bloody Chamber, Hamlet, Cat On A Hot Tin Roof... such happy memories of A-Level English. I loved studying in Exeter; visit it now and even with its cathedral, university and new shopping centres, it has the feeling of a quiet country town - to me at sixteen though, it was a heaving metropolis, and way before the high-street coffee chains rolled in I used to frequent its cafés, with a novel or notebook usually in hand. I used to hang out at The American Diner (now gone), making a butterscotch milkshake last all afternoon and playing 'Young Hearts Run Free' on the jukebox (Baz Luhrmann's Romeo & Juliet had just come out). Or the French café (also gone) in the concrete precinct, where I first tasted a Cappuccino to the strains of accordion music, and fancied myself in Paris. And in later years when I was home for the holidays from university and worked in a café-bar just off the Cathedral Green - spending my tips afterwards in a place called Number Five (gone? yes, gone), where giant leather armchairs swallowed you up and the waitresses' footsteps clattered across the uneven flagstones.  It always feels like winter when I think of Number Five - low lamplight inside and frosted cobbles outside; rushing the last of my coffee before I dashed to catch the country bus home, hoping it'd make it through Haldon Forest without skittering on ice. 


Ah, the country bus. Unlike my favourite cafés, nothing's changed there; it still runs infrequently, bumping along the green-tunnel lanes, gears complaining on the steep hills, often slowed by clusters of wandering sheep. I caught the bus after my signing, just as I had when I was a teenager, for as much as Exeter feels like home it isn't really. I come from a place where you can cross the River Teign on one good swing of a tattered rope and where on a clear day you can see all the way to the blue-grey hills of Dartmoor. One day I'd like to try and paint this place with words but for now my father's brush is better. Here's one of his pictures. Here's home.
    

Teign Valley, by Alwyn Hall

Thank you to WHSmith, and to everyone who came along, for making Saturday's signing so memorable. 

My week with Richard and Judy

Over the course of the summer each of the ten selections in the Richard and Judy Book Club enjoy their time in the sun. This week it's the turn of The Book of Summers.

On Thursday (tomorrow), from 12-2pm, I'll be doing a live web chat through the R&J Book Club's Facebook page - go HERE to check it out. People are already posting their questions and my fingers are itching to answer them... I need to point out here that I'm possibly one of the few remaining two-finger typists (but no less quick fire - pit me against a touch typist and... well... perhaps not). I'm really looking forward to answering everyone's questions. Maybe see you online tomorrow?


This coming saturday (the 21st) I'm heading to my home town of Exeter to sign books at WHSmith Guildhall and will be there from noon. I attended Exeter College for my A-levels and studied English in a building just steps from the WHSmith door... happy times, and it'll be great to be back on home turf. If you're in the area, do drop by and say 'hello.'


My interview with Richard and Judy is also available to watch now, and you can see it HERE. And the podcast we recorded is also live - go HERE to listen. They were both so lovely and easy to talk to, quickly relaxing a twitchy, nervous author - it was great to be in the hands of such pros.


As part of the Book Club The Book of Summers also features in Woman's Own this week. As well as Richard and Judy's own reviews four Woman's Own readers have reviewed the book  - thanks to Nazreen, Deborah, Lizzy, and Karen for saying such kind things. I doubt that my delight in knowing that my book has been read and enjoyed will ever fade.


Then the book itself... the edition that's for sale in WHSmith has extra Book Club bonus material in the back, including an extended Q&A and a piece I've written called 'Travelling With A Book' about the inspirations behind The Book of Summers. I also talk about some of my favourite holiday reads that still bear the marks of my travels. Just as a reader never forgets a good book, I like to think a book never forgets a good reader. My shelves are groaning with happily dog-eared titles; dust-flecked and sun-cream smeared, we've had some grand adventures together.

Finally - talking of special books - my publisher Headline are marking this week with a competition to win a very limited edition copy of The Book of Summers. It's a signed proof*, is hard-backed, gold-foiled, and astonishingly beautiful (see above pic). There are 15 to win, from a print run of only 90. You can enter HERE - on The Book of Summers Facebook page.


Thanks to Richard and Judy, WHSmith, Woman's Own, Headline, and everyone else involved - especially the readers - for making this such a brilliantly busy week of Summers.




*... which means it isn't the final, final version - so beware odd typos and other inconsistencies!

We'll always have the book - a Book Slam blog

What happens when our favourite books are turned into films? I recently heard James Sallis and Lee Child speak and the words of the latter made me think that maybe, just maybe, we should try not to take it all so personally... (unless, you know, Ryan Gosling is playing our lead, in which case let's dial up the personal). To read more, hop on over to the Book Slam website.

Independent Booksellers' Week

To help celebrate Independent Booksellers' Week on 5th July I visited Rossiter Books in Ross-on-Wye. It's a beautiful shop run by the husband and wife team of Andy and Victoria Rossiter, and one of two stores owned by the couple (the other's down the road in Monmouth). I first met Andy a few weeks ago while doing a signing in Waterstones, he was shopping with his children and stopped to chat. Serendipitously he was planning his events programme and was kind enough to ask me to be a part of it. Rossiter Books is clearly beloved within the local community. A great crowd came along, all friendly faces, and full of perky questions. It was my first evening event at a bookshop and I'm so happy to have been involved in Independent Booksellers' Week in some way. I went back to do some shopping the next day, and came away with a bag full of beautiful hardbacks. Lucky people of Ross, to have such a gem on their doorstep. Thanks to Andy, Carol and Richard who gave me such a lovely welcome - and to all those who came along on the night. Hurrah for indies!

Summers in Madrid

On 4th July The Book of Summers, El libro de los veranos, was published in Spain and my publisher, Suma de letras, invited me over for the launch. WHAT a time to be visiting Madrid. The city was euphoric, riding high on the football team's stunning success. I arrived in the middle of a city-wide street party, with Gran Via, the central thoroughfare akin to Oxford Street, entirely closed to traffic. Marta, from the Suma de letras publicity team, met me at the airport - a taxi took us as far as it could then we walked the last steps to the hotel. It was past 9pm and the heat of the day was still thick in the air. We sauntered to the tune of air horns and whistles, drum beats and joyous renditions of Viva España. Underfoot the street was sticky with spilt drinks and paper replicas of the Euro 2012 trophy were scattered like giant confetti. As an arrival in another country goes, it couldn't have been more intoxicating. As soon as I'd checked in I went out to join the red and yellow blaze of the party. 

The next morning I threw open my balcony doors. Even though it was only 8am it was already white-hot, and Gran Via was back to business as usual, football shirts swapped for office wear, and humming with traffic. I was getting ready for work too; the next day and a half held ten interviews with some of Spain's biggest papers, magazines, radio stations and websites. El libro de los veranos and I were going to be busy.

Our base for the day was my hotel, Hotel de las Letras, a place with a fine literary heritage and apparently the venue of choice for visiting authors. I met Marta and my interpreter - the super smart Diana - in the cool-white lounge, and so began an exciting, stimulating, exhausting day of interviews and photo shoots. 

After lunch at a cool little restaurant across the street (where my new Spanish friends laughed at our crazy English ways - puny sandwich lunches 'al desko' and bed before midnight) we sped through the afternoon. After the last interview Marta introduced me to the delights of San Anton market, helping me pick the finest Manchego cheese and Chorizo sausage to take home. By the evening I was pooped (last night's air horns not proving to be the softest lullaby) but Madrid is not the kind of city you want to draw a curtain on. Thanks to the late hours everyone keeps I still had time to wander around the shops, spotting El Libro de los veranos in three bookstores and two window displays, all within steps of one another.  In El Corte Inglés - Spain's biggest department store chain - the book is being sold together with a lovely desk-top photo album, meanwhile in Fnac in Valencia (books, music, movies) there's a huge banner advertising El libro de los veranos on the building's exterior... for a girl who used to work in Ad Land, that's especially awesome. I'm told Suma de Letras have even more exciting advertising plans for the summer... so watch this blog.

Rejuvenated by these 'in the wild' sightings I took to the hotel's rooftop bar for a nightcap and caught up with some work on book two (a deadline's a deadline, even when you've escaped your desk). The pink-white dusk was rolling in gently, Madrid's rooftops were luminous, and I found a quiet corner all to myself. Bliss.

I woke up the next morning with the sense I always get on my last day in a foreign city - I didn't want to go home. But there was plenty to keep my mind off departure, with more interviews - including with Spain's biggest daily El Pais - followed by lunch with the very lovely editorial team of Gonzalo and Pablo. They took me to a gem of a restaurant tucked in the back-streets, where giant hams hung from the ceiling and old boy waiters served up Spanish specialities. Gonzalo is a dedicated Anglophile and we talked cream teas, Agatha Christie and the indescribable joy of plucking a perfectly risen pie from the oven.

After bidding goodbye, I spent my last couple of hours in Madrid wandering the streets surrounding Gran Via. I found the brilliantly tatty English second-hand book shop J&J Books & Coffee where I drank a café con leche and browsed the stacks, coming across a near-new copy of Paul Hendrickson's Hemingway's Boat. Ernest famously loved Spain, and the last page of The Sun Also Rises takes place on Gran Via, with Jake and Brett in a cab.

My own taxi was waiting, so I hastened back to the hotel. As I walked, smiling and sweltering in the full heat of a weekday afternoon, the incredible warmth of my Madrid welcome over the past couple of days hit me. And it's with me still. I feel incredibly lucky to be published in Spain by people as passionate and enthusiastic as the Suma de letras team (thank you - Gonzalo, Pablo, Marta, Patricia, and interpreters Diana and Beth - for such an amazing trip). I feel grateful that so many journalists were willing to meet me and talk about my book. And I feel awed that The Book of Summers has taken on a life of its own, as El libro de los veranos, and will still be in Spain even when I can't be. Muchas gracias y Viva España!

Edinburgh International Book Festival

In August I'm making my first book festival appearance* and I'm delighted that it's at EDINBURGH, 'the largest celebration of the written word in the world.' Over 800 writers and thinkers will descend on the city over two weeks in August.

My event, 'Family Dramas Exposed', is on Friday 24th August, with Norwegian writer Karl Ove Knausgaard.   You can buy tickets HERE.


On the same day I'm also reading as part of the Amnesty International Imprisoned Writers Series. You can read more about that HERE.


All debut novelists appearing at the festival have their books entered into the ANOBII FIRST BOOK AWARD. This year there are 45 titles in the running, The Book of Summers among them. It's a public vote - last time fellow Headline author Sarah Winman won with the brilliant When God Was A Rabbit. If you'd like to vote for The Book of Summers, you can do so HERE (oh, go on!). 


All authors received their copies of the Festival programme a few days ahead of it being announced online, and the postman delivered not one but two copies to our house. The Etherington Brothers have their event on saturday 25th following a 'storming performance last year' (according to the most excellent blurb). Bobby and I did a little caper in the kitchen that morning, and waved our programmes madly. Then got back to work.


It's tempting to take my writing room on the road and north of the border for those last two weeks of August. My Edinburgh wish-list?  Liza Klaussmann, Nell Freudenberger, Susan Fletcher. And many, many more. Excited isn't the word... but it'll do for now.



*I've a few different events lined up over the coming months - check them out over on the EVENTS page of my blog. Hope to see you somewhere...

Uborka saláta

After Marika's Raspberry Cake, the next dish out of the Villa Serena kitchen is Hungarian Cucumber Salad or, Uborka saláta. I've a good old goulash bubbling away on the stove, and you'll get that recipe soon too, but before then here's my favourite of all side dishes. A lot of traditional Hungarian food is rich and intense so this sprightly salad is a welcome addition to any meal. It makes a particularly tasty accompaniment to said goulash. Marika and Zoltán serve cucumber salad as part of Erzsi's welcome supper, when she arrives for her fourth summer at Villa Serena. They dine together on the terrace as night falls behind them and the fireflies come out to play.

'Our plates were piled high, the silvery slices of cucumber dripping off the edges. 

Zoltán poured the glowing wine into three glasses. In the candlelight it looked 

like magic caught and held.'

Ingredients (to serve 4):
1 cucumber, peeled and sliced as thinly as you can manage
2 tablespoons of white wine vinegar
2 tablespoons of olive oil
1/2 teaspoon of caster sugar
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
Salt and pepper for seasoning
Sour cream & paprika to garnish


Take your peeled and finely sliced cucumber and cover it with a very generous sprinkling of salt. If you're not a salt fan you might balk at this part but it really does make all the difference to the salad's perky taste. Leave it to stand for about half an hour, then squeeze it out using the flats of your hands and a colander. While the cucumber's enjoying its salt bath, make your dressing by combining the white wine vinegar, olive oil, sugar, and a crunch of black pepper. Once you've wrung a lot of the salt from the cucumber, douse it in the dressing, and throw in the finely chopped garlic. Combine thoroughly, and taste to check for seasoning. I like to top it off with a dollop of sour cream and a dusting of paprika.  Jó étvágyat!