The book that changed me as a teenager
A Separate Peace by John Knowles. It takes place primarily on the campus of a US private school during a summer in the second world war, and the story is about two best friends, one of whom ends up causing the death of the other. It changed me because of the line: “Nothing endures, not a tree …” I think of it not infrequently. The book spoke honestly of the tenacious and pernicious effects of jealousy. I had never thought about such things in that way before. I was 14 when I read it.

The book that made me want to be a writer
Oddly enough, I do not remember a specific book making me want to be a writer. I have no memory of myself not being a writer, and this is because as soon as I learned to write my mother was telling me to write down what I did that day. But I do remember at some point in late childhood reading a book (sadly I cannot recall it) and thinking: “Oh, I’ve had that thought!” And that was when I understood that in books we might get an inkling of what it is like to be another person, and to see ourselves sometimes reflected back. It was a powerful moment.

The author I came back to
Gertrude Stein. I had been introduced to her work in college with Three Lives and I recognised that it was not for me. But I became curious as time went on, so I read more, mainly The Autobiography of Alice B Toklas, and became more intrigued.

The book I reread
Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. I first read it before I was 20 and it took my breath away. Every few years – for years – I reread that book and always found it to be slightly different, because I was slightly different. At times I would be touched by her grace and quiet dignity; other times I would be very involved with poor Septimus. And then I stopped reading it just about the time I became the age of Mrs Dalloway. There was a sadness to the book that I had not fully recognised before.

The book I could never read again
Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain. In my late 20s, I had an hour subway ride into the city and back a few times a week, and this was my subway read. I really loved it, and it made the trip much faster. But I would not go back to it. There are too many other books to read. I remember when I was done with it (oh, the ending!) I thought: I will never read that again, but I’m very glad I did. I read the Afterword by Mann himself and he suggested the reader read the book a second time. I was struck by that. I would never ask a reader to read my books even for the first time! It is up to them.

The book I discovered later in life
The Collected Stories of Alexander Pushkin. Since I had known his work primarily as the poet he was, I was surprised to see this book. The stories, many of them, have a structural similarity, but they are very good. One of them called The Stationmaster made me cry. I am afraid to read it again because it may not have the same effect on me, so I will keep that memory in my heart.

The book I’m currently reading
The Journals of John Cheever. Many years ago, I loved that book with extraordinary passion and would go to it all the time – and then one day: it was over. Just like that, it no longer spoke to me. And recently I found it and am wondering at the things I underlined so many years ago.

My comfort read
The Collected Stories of William Trevor. I read those stories again and again, and I never tire of them. They are gentle and sharp and nuanced and poignant. I love them every time I pick the book up.