Sunday, March 1, 2026

Derek Owusu / ‘I didn’t read a book until the age of 24’

 

Derek Owusu

The 

Books

 0f my 

life


Derek Owusu: ‘I didn’t read a book until the age of 24’

This article is more than 3 months old

The writer on bingeing Henry James, his friendship with Benjamin Zephaniah and a confidence-boosting classic


Derek Owusu
Fri 31 Oct 2025


My earliest reading memory
When I was about four or five, I think. I was living in Long Melford, Suffolk, with my foster parents, and my foster dad was trying to teach me how to read using those Biff and Chip books.

My favourite book growing up
I never read a book until the age of 24, so there wasn’t a favourite until I was about 25, and they usually changed with every new book I read. It started with St Mawr by DH Lawrence, then EM Forster’s Where Angels Fear to Tread and The Time Machine by HG Wells, Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, and then it was F Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby for a very long time. But that lost its place last year when I finally read The Real Life of Sebastian Knight by Vladimir Nabokov.

The book that changed me
The book that changed me as a young man was The Will to Change by bell hooks. Until I read that I didn’t really know what being perceived as a man was all about. I kind of just drifted through life never having thought about it. Or if I did, it was so surface-level that it essentially meant nothing.

The writer who changed my mind
Benjamin Zephaniah. I emailed him out of the blue once and we started a correspondence that built into a friendship. He and my partner at the time convinced me to do a master’s in creative writing. I was hesitant, because I’ve always considered myself not very clever. But he said I could do it. And I did.

The book that made me want to be a writer
There are three: Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison, Don’t Let Me Be Lonely by Claudia Rankine, and The Terrible by Yrsa Daley-Ward. Ellison gave me access to the strings behind a novel, showed me the pieces it was made from. And Rankine and Daley-Ward gave me permission to write a novel however I wanted to, to shape it in any way I felt necessary.

The author I came back to
Henry James. I tried him almost a decade ago – I think it was Washington Square – and it seemed so dry and impenetrable that I decided I wouldn’t bother again. But I did try again, as I always do, earlier this year. I picked up The Aspern Papersand suddenly James’s writing opened up to me, the voice on the page so strong, the sentences so satisfyingly unique and complex, that I ended up reading five novels in a row. My next is The Bostonians.

The book I reread
Self-Reliance by Ralph Waldo Emerson. I can’t remember how I discovered it but I read it whenever my self-esteem drops to dangerous levels.

The book I could never read again
Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. At first I remember thinking how beautiful the prose was. That changed very quickly and it all became really cloying. Once I got to all the descriptions of jewels and beautiful things from around the world I called it quits. That was the first time I had ever got that far into a novel and stopped. Even thinking about it annoys me.

The book I discovered later in life
A Good School by Richard Yates. I think it’s his best novel. A friend from work had told me her favourite novel was Revolutionary Road so I made a note to read it. Years later I picked it up and decided to read everything Yates had written. It wasn’t until I got to A Good School that I was truly taken by that feeling of just loving something instantly and intensely.

The book I am currently reading
Departure(s) by Julian Barnes.

My comfort read
The Problems of Philosophy by Bertrand Russell. For anyone who experiences depersonalisation, this book will pull you out of it and remind you the external world is in fact real.

 Borderline Fiction by Derek Owusu is published on 6 November by Canongate (18.99).


THE GUARDIAN




Romantic Collection by Nickie Zimov

 


Romantic Collection
by Nickie Zimov

A series of February sketches filled with quiet apathy, winter sadness, and a subtle romantic mood in green, blue and ochre tones. 

Oil paints, ink, acrylic powder.

Robin Wright / Gallery


GALLERY
Robin Wright



Saturday, February 28, 2026

Can ceramics be demonic? Edmund de Waal’s obsession with a deeply disturbing Dane

 

‘Pottery is deep in the human story’ … De Waal in his studio
Photograph: Linda Nylind/


Interview

Can ceramics be demonic? Edmund de Waal’s obsession with a deeply disturbing Dane

This article is more than 3 months old

The great potter explains why he turned his decades-long fixation with Axel Salto – maker of unsettling stoneware full of tentacle sproutings and knotty growths – into a new show

Edmund de Waal / A life in arts

Edmund de Waal



Edmund de Waal

A life in arts


'Lots of reading goes into my pots. My own way of making things comes out of a great deal of thinking about literature'
Edmund de Waal
Edmund de Waal. Photograph: Eamon McCabe for the Guardian
Six years ago, Edmundo de Waal, whose beautiful porcelain pots, glazed in greys, creams and pale greens, have transformed the world of British ceramics, gave a paper at Harvard on orientalism and Japanese pottery. Afterwards, at dinner, he found himself recounting an extraordinary story he had told only to his wife and close friends, about a collection of miniature ivory and wood sculptures he had inherited from his great uncle Iggie.

Natalie Haynes / ‘I’ll never read anything by a Brontë again’

 

Natalue Haynes

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life


Natalie Haynes: ‘I’ll never read anything by a Brontë again’

This article is more than 4 months old

The author and comedian on the immortal lines of Snoopy, discovering the heart of Homer’s Iliad and her culinary comfort read


Natalie Haynes

Friday 10 October 2025

My earliest reading memory
Harvey’s Hideout by Russell Hoban, illustrated by Lillian Hoban. Harvey is a muskrat with a grievance against his awful sibling. His sister Mildred feels just the same way. I read this at four or five curled up on a yellow beanbag next to the radiator, in Bournville, where I grew up. I honestly don’t think there is a better reading spot anywhere in the world.

My favourite book growing up
Peanuts. I loved Snoopy long before I became an author. But he is an inspiration to all writers, sending a novel to his publishers with an immortal covering letter: “Gentlemen, enclosed is the manuscript of my new novel. I know you are going to like it. In the meantime, please send me some money so I can live it up.”

The book that changed me as a teenager
Thrasymachus, by CWE Peckett and AR Munday. There were newer Greek textbooks, so I have no idea why we used this. It had been written for prep school boys, I think, so the stories centred on a little boy named Thrasymachus, wandering about the Underworld, using simple constructions until we got the hang of the alphabet and the many, many verb endings (perfect, imperfect and pluperfect not enough for you? Let us throw in the aorist to keep you on your toes). I was terrible at Greek for ages, but it all worked out in the end.

The writer who changed my mind
Anyone who has ever written an instruction manual, for anything from a boiler to a board game. It took me many years to accept that I would honestly rather sit being cold than read the instructions to anything. There’s something about turning the first page that makes me feel as if I’ve been buried alive.

The books that made me want to be a writer
Cynthia Heimel. Her collected columns were so smart and funny, with their pop art covers and excellent titles – If You Can’t Live Without Me, Why Aren’t You Dead Yet?!, Get Your Tongue Out of My Mouth, I’m Kissing You Goodbye etc. I was about 20 when I first read her, and just starting to do standup, which would go on to be the next decade of my life. She made me see a different way of being funny, in print. I still think of her often when I’m writing.

The author I came back to
Homer. I hated the Iliad when I read it at school: all those loathsome, posturing men, and endless descriptions of people dying. And now I know it has worlds contained within it, about war and loss, anger and grief, love and fear.

The book I reread
Ovid’s Metamorphoses. It never migrates back from my desk to the bookshelf. We have unfinished business, I assume. I just don’t know what it is yet.

The book I could never read again
Anything by a Brontë. I just don’t need that much torment in my life, and if I do, there’s always Catullus.

The book I discovered later in life
Bleak House. The Turning Point by Robert Douglas Fairhurst – which charts the year when Dickens wrote it – made me want to read Dickens for the first time since school.

The book I am currently reading
The Politics of Apollonius Rhodius’ Argonautica by Anatole Mori. Because how else will I find out all the things I wish I’d known when I was writing about the Argo?

My comfort read
Meera Sodha’s Dinner. She’s such an open-hearted writer. She makes you feel fine about the days when you can’t face cooking, and she has a thousand great ideas for the days when you can.

THE GUARDIAN