Machines Can Lie, Writers Do Lie… Stories Tell the Truth

   

The first time I asked an AI to summarize a crime novel, it did so in about three seconds.

It took me three months to write mine.

As a crime writer, I spend an unreasonable amount of time thinking about human psychology. Motive is the engine of the genre. A body on the floor is the starting point; the real story begins with How and Why it’s there.

In my own case, the novel has false starts, rewrites, and long stretches spent staring at a paragraph that refuses to behave.

That small experiment captures the current argument about artificial intelligence. Depending on whom you ask, AI will either usher in a golden age of creativity or reduce writers to gig workers polishing prose generated by a machine that has never experienced heartbreak, homicide, or a missed deadline.

Both predictions are probably wrong. Historically, they almost always are.

New technologies tend to arrive with two publicists: one predicting paradise, the other predicting catastrophe. For more than a century we have been promised that machines would free us for higher pursuits. Washing machines spared us from scrubbing clothes by hand. Email replaced letters. Television was once expected to become the great educator of the masses, bringing Shakespeare, science, and world affairs into every living room.

The promise is always the same: remove the drudgery and humans will devote themselves to more meaningful work.

Sometimes the promise even holds.

Writers once worked on typewriters, producing pages that looked like minor crime scenes—crossed-out lines, correction fluid, and coffee rings as editorial commentary. When word processors arrived, they quietly eliminated one of the great mechanical burdens of writing: retyping entire pages just to fix a paragraph.

Spell-check followed. Then autocorrect, which introduced its own genre of accidental comedy.

And yet many of us, liberated from the tyranny of the typewriter, still struggle to produce a compelling sentence.

Artificial intelligence continues that same technological trajectory. It can summarize research, organize information, propose outlines, and imitate the statistical patterns of language with impressive speed.

But stories—especially crime stories—depend on something less mechanical.

Crime fiction is rarely about the crime itself. It is about human nature under pressure: the moment someone crosses a line they once swore they never would.

Greed. Fear. Loyalty. Betrayal.

These are the emotional forces that drive the story.

A machine can describe a murder. Understanding why someone commits one is another matter.

None of this means artificial intelligence is trivial. It may reshape publishing, accelerate research, and flood the world with more text than anyone can reasonably read. Writers will adapt, just as they adapted to typewriters, word processors, the internet, social media, and the curious modern expectation that authors should also function as marketers, podcasters, and amateur meteorologists of the publishing industry.

Storytelling has survived every technological shift thrown at it so far.

That is because the appetite for stories is older than any machine. Humans want to know what happened, why it happened, and whether justice—however imperfect—will prevail.

Crime fiction, especially, thrives on that ancient curiosity.

Which brings me back to the three-second summary.

Artificial intelligence can reduce a novel to a neat paragraph. It can identify the characters, the plot, and even the twist.

What it cannot easily summarize is the thing crime writers spend years trying to understand:

why someone crossed the line in the first place.

And as long as that question remains difficult, messy, and stubbornly human, there will still be work for crime writers.

Yes, I would like a slice of that lemon pound cake!

 

 

 

How do you see AI changing the landscape for better or worse for authors? 

Let me be transparent from the start. I am firmly in the No-AI-in-the-arts camp. Even so, I had my doubts about the ability to stuff this pervasive genie back into the bottle. AI has infiltrated virtually every facet of our lives without our even noticing. Now that we are noticing, it’s too late to stop it. From the time Alexa wakes me up in the morning until my smart lights plunge me into darkness at night, AI is there, helping me cook, checking my health, directing my driving, and my steps. So then, how could I expect it wouldn’t worm its way into the arts, specifically storytelling.

Enter Afroman. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, congratulations! Somehow, you’ve managed to shield yourself from the invasive tentacles of the internet, and possibly all forms of modern communication of the 21^st century.

Afroman, a rapper, singer, poet, of a sort, was erroneously (on purpose) targeted by his local police as a possible drug-dealing kidnapper. They invaded his home, destroyed his property, and terrified his family. The result, the most brilliant series of revenge albums ever made.

You may have never heard of Afroman, may never have, or ever will, listen to an Afroman song in your life. That’s fine. But if you’re an artist, especially an artist that uses words as your medium, his story is relevant to you. Because, his ability to take a real-life situation and reshape it into creative gold can never be duplicated by AI. I just don’t believe that’s possible. Why not? Emotion. Creativity is all about emotion, in my mind. Afroman, along with every artist who’s ever sat down and created something out of nothing was inspired by an emotion. Our characters act out of emotion. Our readers react to our emotion.

AI may can write about emotion, but it can’t fake the feelings that lead to a whole song written about a rogue sheriff and his lust for lemon pound cake. Look it up and thank me later.  And we should all feel better about that.

 

                                                               

 

Do you know what month it is? | Working Other Genres into Crime Fiction by Faye Snowden

For the past several years I’ve waited with anticipation for April, and because this *age redacted* Grandma is twelve at heart, I go around asking everyone I encounter, ‘Do you know what month it is?’ in a riff off the old Geico commercial, the one with the camel talking about hump day. My husband groans. My sons pat me on the head and say, ‘That’s wonderful, Mom’ while furiously completing an application to Shady Pines. I’m quite sure those two are conspiring to put me in some version of a Shady Pines old folk home when I reach my dotage. (Yikes, maybe that’s now.)

Photo by Yana Yuzvenko on Unsplash

Let me see if I can explain my excitement every time April rolls around.

I’ll start with James Dickey’s poem, The Hospital Window. When I was first getting together with my husband, I recited this line on dates, or dinner at home, even in the movies (especially the soapy romcoms he made me watch): I have just come down from my father. My poor soon-to-be husband didn’t love it. He wasn’t the only victim. My sister-in-law got it, too. That line was just so damn good, the lilt of it. Okay, don’t like Dickey? How about the first line of T.S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock: Let us go then, you and I / When the evening is spread out against the sky / Like a patient etherized upon a table. You read it and know this poem is about to take a serious turn.

Let’s not forget Ai (no, not AI. Come on, focus). I’m talking about Ai, the poet known for her stark and bloody monologues. Take a look at The Kid. When the poem opens, a young boy is smacking the flat tires of an old pickup with a tire iron. The monologue continues with him murdering his family. It ends:

In the house, I put on the old man’s best suit

and his patent leather shoes.

I pack my mother’s satin nightgown

and my sister’s doll in the suitcase.

Then I go outside and cross the fields to the highway.

I’m fourteen. I’m a wind from nowhere.   

I can break your heart.

 

There are more, of course, Gwendolyn Brooks’ The Bean Eaters, Robert Hayden’s Those Winter Mornings, Kim Addonizio’s What Do Women Want (hint: not a man), poems with images so sharp you’re bound to get cut. 

As for the question we’re answering this week: do I work other genres into my crime fiction? Absolutely, positively, most definitely yes. I love poetry so much that my main character Raven Burns can’t help but love it. Her serial killer father doesn’t love poetry, per se, but he does have a fondness for doggerel including The Owl and the Pussycat. And he is quite fond of quoting nursery rhymes. 

Coming, April 14, 2026

I’ve used poems as clues and in character development. I’ve turned to poetry to help me craft a mood or perfect an image or when my drafts start to sprawl and I need to be concise. Looking to explain something important in the story, but only have one or two lines to get it done? Read some poems. Having trouble showing and not telling? I head over to The Poetry Foundation at poetryfoundation.org where all of the poems I’ve discussed in this blog are hosted. I’ve downloaded the app and regularly use the spin feature to find poems on disappointments and celebrations, doubt and science, humor and aging. 

Have you guessed why I’m so excited about April? April is National Poetry Month! Every year, I delight in posting a poem a day on social media to celebrate.  So, I ask again, Do you know what month it is? If you do, join me. Read some unforgettable poems to improve your writing, and so you, too, can annoy your friends and family.  

Aliens in Love: Bending the Rules from James W. Ziskin

Do you work other genres into your crime fiction? Do you bend the “so-called” rules?

 

I had a killer idea for a time-traveling-interstellar-alien-romance-mystery-cum-bildungsroman/comedy of manners/roman à clef. But—would you believe it?—

 

SOMEBODY BEAT ME TO IT!

Other than my alien romance, I haven’t tried to write outside the overarching umbrella of crime fiction. But I have mixed elements from other genres into my books. As for bending the so-called rules, aside from playing fair with the reader, I don’t subscribe to any. That includes (excludes?) most, but not all, of the prohibitions laid out by S. S. Van Dine and Ronald Knox back in the 1920s. Only one secret room permitted in a story??? Who can write a mystery with only one secret room? No way. In fact, I have broken—not bent—several of their rules in my books, as have many writers more accomplished than I.

 

Now, have I borrowed elements from other genres and used them shamelessly in my mysteries and crime fiction? Yes, I have. And since I don’t intend to give them back, I suppose you could say I stole them. That said, my Ellie Stone novels (seven to date) fall squarely into the mystery genre. Ellie is a small town newspaper reporter in the early 1960s. Her beat is local and human interest stories until the occasional murder pops up. These books are traditional procedurals and do not stray into other sandboxes. Okay, once she nearly fell in love (Heart of Stone), but that’s about as close to romance as she’s ever come. And no sci-fi, fantasy, western, or erotica DNA to be found.

 

On the other hand, many readers of my historical thriller, Bombay Monsoon, have suggested that it’s a romantic thriller. I’m fine with that description, even if that wasn’t exactly my intention when I wrote it. Yes, my main character, Danny Jacobs, falls for a mysterious, desirable woman, and his obsession for her fuels the plot and the suspense of the book. The object of his desires is unavailable, is the lover of Danny’snewfound friend, and appears to be all wrong for him. I won’t give away the ending other than to say that while Bombay Monsoon is a love story of sorts, it’s not a bodice-ripper and it is definitely a historical thriller.

 

That brings me to my next book, THE PRANK, which comes out in July 2026 (Level Best Books). I struggle to put a tag on this story. Is it a mystery? No, definitely not. Is it a romance? Well, the main characters spend time together and one is definitely interested in the other. But, no. It’s not a love story. And it’s not science fiction or fantasy either—no robots or elves or faeries. And, no, it’s not exactly historical, even if it does take place at Christmas 1968. It’s not a comic novel, there’s no time travel, and I wouldn’t call it literary despite the fine writing.

 

(Blushes as accolades pour in.)

 

(Blushes even more as eyes roll in reaction to ill-concealed attempt to pat self on back.)

 

No, THE PRANK is not a literary novel. Finally, I’m confident it’s not picaresque, paranormal, steampunk, dystopian, or alternate history.

So what is it, exactly? 

 

Could it be a thriller? Yes, I suppose I’ll have to settle for that. But what kind of thriller? I don’t think it’s a domestic thriller, in that it’s not about a married couple or a family. Is it medical? Legal? No. It’s certainly not geo-political, military, or techno either. No spies in the story either. No, THE PRANK is none of those.

 

So, back to my previous question: what the hell is it?

 

Well, there’s a crime of sorts. And somebody dies. And we wonder what will happen next. But there’s never any doubt about who did what. No mystery. It’s more a cautionary tale about good intentions and bad decisions. The characters drive the story because they both want something. And they want it a lot. Enough to risk serious societal repercussions. 

 

I like stories like that, even if they don’t fall into neat categories, which makes them harder to sell. Kind of like that novel I wanted to write: a laugh-riot bildungsroman about alien detectives falling in love as they tumble through eons and galaxies.

 

 

 *****************

THE PRANK…enigmatic and unnerving. The pace never flags for a second. This is some masterly plotting. I loved it.”

—Liz Nugent, author of Strange Sally Diamond

 

THE PRANK. A picture clipped from Playboy magazine, a missing Swiss Army Knife, and a prank gone terribly wrong conspire to make Christmas 1968 a deadly holiday to remember.

 

“The Holdovers meets The Bad Seed,” THE PRANK features a charming but volatile thirteen-year-old named Jimmy Steuben. He befriends his seventh-grade English teacher, Patti Finch, just days after her boyfriend is killed in an electrocution accident while hanging Christmas lights on his roof. Patti desperately needs respite from her grief, and a chance encounter with Jimmy provides just that. Ignoring the dangers of a potential scandal, the mismatched pair begins spending time together over Christmas break. Patti finds solace in Jimmy’s company; Jimmy discovers desire and infatuation. But what Patti doesn’t know is that it was Jimmy who caused the tragic accident that killed her lover.

From two-time Edgar Award finalist, Anthony, Barry, and Macavity award-winner James W. Ziskin, THE PRANK releases July 2026.

PLACEHOLDER—NOT THE OFFICIAL COVER

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Never a Straight Line

Do you work other genres into your crime fiction? Do you bend the “so-called” rules?

by Dietrich

In crime fiction, the path from crime to consequence rarely runs straight. Twists, detours and sharp turns keep readers hooked, and the same goes for how I approach writing it. Over the years, I’ve never been one to stick rigidly to a single lane. My novels are crime novels at their core—gritty, character-driven stories full of flawed people making bad choices—but I like to weave in other elements that bend the so-called rules of the genre.

My earlier books set in modern Vancouver — Ride the Lightning, The Deadbeat Club, Triggerfish — are straight-up urban crime tales: drug deals gone sideways, small-time crooks clashing with bigger fish, dark humor amid the chaos. But even there, I pull from noir traditions— dialogue driven and fast paced with a focus on the underbelly—while letting the city’s real vibe seep in. I don’t force a whodunit structure or insist on a tidy resolution. Sometimes the bad guys get away with it, or the hero isn’t all that heroic, and justice doesn’t always prevail.

Some stories border on thriller territory with high-stakes chases, or even a touch of Western grit. 

Then there’s the historical side of my work, where things get even less straight. I love drawing from real events and figures to ground the crime in history, blending factual details with fictional drama. Under an Outlaw Moon is based on the true story of Bennie and Stella Dickson, a Depression-era couple who turned to bank robbing and were forced to live on the run. Call Down the Thunder dives into Dust Bowl desperation and criminal choices amid economic ruin. House of Blazes sets high-stakes crime and revenge against the chaos of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and fire. The disaster itself becoming a force that drives the characters’ actions. Crooked brings to life Alvin Karpis and the Barker Gang—Ma Barker and her boys—in their Chicago bootlegging and kidnapping era, turning historical outlaws into vivid, unpredictable characters driven by greed, loyalty and desperation. Dirty Little War keeps the 1920s–1930s vibe, exploring gangland conflicts and moral gray areas in that turbulent time.

I don’t set out to write historical fiction, but crime novels rooted in history. I love to blend in period atmosphere, slang, and social tensions, but the heart remains the crime: heists, shootouts and betrayals. It’s crime fiction with a historical twist, or historical fiction with a criminal pulse. Either way, it defies a neat box.

My latest, Rust and Bone (coming March 31, 2026), takes things further afield. Set at the tail end of World War II in Ukraine and Germany, it’s part coming-of-age story and part family drama set against a backdrop of war’s devastation—escape from captivity, survival in ruined landscapes, and the search for refuge while the entire world’s gone mad. It leans more literary in its exploration of human resilience and loss, but crime elements still simmer beneath. Survival often means breaking laws, making ruthless choices and crossing lines in a world without any rules. It’s another bend in the line, showing how crime and moral ambiguity persist even in historical extremes.

I also like to blend dark comedy into many of my stories—the absurd schemes in The Get and the punk-rock edge of Zero Avenue. 

And I like to read outside crime—literary fiction, history, whatever catches my eye—and it all filters in. A straight crime plot can feel predictable if it follows every convention. I prefer letting characters lead, even if they veer off the expected path. Rules like “the protagonist must be likable” or “tie up every loose end” often get bent or broken when it serves the story.

Ultimately, crime fiction thrives on tension, moral gray zones, and the tangled mess of being human. Clinging too tightly to a predictable formula risks diluting all of that. My aim is to engage readers by weaving in whatever feels authentic and keeping things unpredictable.

Spoiled for Choice

 

Terry here, with our question of the week: Do you work other genres into your crime fiction? 

Do you bend the “so-called” rules? I had to research what falls under the umbrella of genre fiction. I know about sci-fi and romance, but what else is considered genre? According to Wikipedia: Popular genres include crime, fantasy, romance, science fiction, Western, inspirational, and historical fiction, It never occurred to me to include historical fiction into genre. Or inspirational. I think of those as separate fiction categories. 

So which ones would I consider including? I just read Calico, by Lee Goldberg, which is not only a mystery, but also involves time travel. And it’s a great read. Have you read Ben H. Winter's Last Detective trilogy? Mystery, sci-fi, a tinge of philosophy. I’d love to work some sci-fi into my novels, but I suspect Samuel Craddock would sneer at the idea. I could imagine doing a little something with Jessie Madison and her dive team. The Bermuda Triangle? That used to loom large in the public imagination. I haven’t heard anything about it in the last several years. Maybe it’s time to resurrect it. 

 I also recently read a mystery that had more than a little romance. Maybe a little too much. It’s a delicate balance. I’ve actually been thinking about writing a romance mystery. The problem? I’m not very romantic. I’m not even sure what a romance is. I don’t read them. But I sort of like the idea of people working together to solve crimes and having a little romance on the side. Side note: I just read R is for Ricochet, Sue Grafton, and I was surprised at how much...well, romance? Sort of. But a healthy dose of sex, too. 

Fantasy? Probably not. I’ve been a science fiction fan for years. I distinctly remember when the sci-fi suddenly began to embrace fantasy. The first time I picked up a sci-fi book that was actually fantasy, (dragons were involved,) I backed away fast. Why? Who knows? When you think about it, dragons are no different from aliens. I have no defense for my aversion. I talked to a fourteen-year-old girl yesterday who reads a lot. Her latest book? The Secret History, by Donna Tartt. So she’s no slouch. She said she loves fantasy, that it's fun. 

Western? I read a lot of Zane Grey when I was a kid, along with other Westerns. Cormac McCarthy may be considered a mainstream, serious writer, but he writes Westerns. And what is a Western, anyway? Anything that happens in the West? Are we talking Tony Hillerman and Anne Hillerman? Joe Landsdale? Craig Johnson? Reavis Wortham? I suppose even my Samuel Craddock books could be considered Western. Craddock wears a hat and boots. And he lives in Texas. So maybe I do incorporate some Western genre in my crime fiction. 

Inspirational? Definitely not. Although I once got a heartfelt letter from a man who said he was happy that his bookseller had recommended my books. He said they were wholesome and had moral underpinning. Turned out the guy was a minister in a large megachurch. So maybe I do write inspirational books. Although all I could think of was, “You do understand I write about murder, right? I hope you aren't inspired to murder someone.” 

 Bottom line: I believe at the heart of every great book there's a mystery. So why should genre fiction be any different? It's all mysterious. 

 As for the second part of the question, are there any rules? I guess there should be a few. Top of the list: Try to entertain your readers, even when you are trying to tell them something important. Rule two: Don’t make a mess of it. Rule three: Be true to you characters. I try not break those rules. Only readers can tell me if I succeeded.

Genre Mashups in Mystery - by Matthew Greene

Do you work other genres into your crime fiction? Do you bend the “so-called” rules?

This is one of those questions that's a little tricky for me to answer as a newcomer on the novelist scene. My first book was praised by my publicist for faithfully observing the rules of the cozy mystery genre, which may have prompted me to think a bit more outside-the-box during subsequent projects. In truth, I love genre mashups (shoutout to Sinners fresh off all those Oscar wins), and my two current works-in-progress are much less "rule following" than my first outing.

But, instead of talking about my own work, I thought I'd highlight three books I've read recently that played with genre conventions in an interesting way. This is the sandbox I'm eager to play in as a writer, and these types of books are my favorite to read as well.

Nothing To Do But Read by Poppy Gee

You get to go on a trip of a lifetime. What books do you bring along?

I've just come back from a trip of a lifetime so I can answer this question honestly. I took three books - Bila Yarrudhanggalangdhuray by Anita Heiss because I was halfway through and finished it on the plane, Don't Ask The Trees for Their Names edited by Oula Ghannoum which I had read but wanted to review in my free time, and a slim volume of poetry called The Rot by Evelyn Araluen because its light and fitted in my bag. I like poetry because you can dip in and out of it. We were catching trains between European cities, sleeping in tiny apartments above cobblestone streets, and cramming every day with museums, cafes, markets, architecture and galleries. In the end, I actually did more writing than reading. 

I wrote about some of those books in my last blog. So I'm going to interpret this question as 'you're locked in a stone tower in a remote forest for a week with nothing but books. What do you take?'  

A favourite author whose new book I haven't read:

Fox by Joyce Carol Oates

I think JCO is a macabrely seductive and deliciously dark writer. This new one is about a charming mercurial teacher who disappears from an elite New Jersey boarding school. Victim v predator, revenge v restitution, crime v complicity. Sounds fabulous.

An intriguing author I only just heard about:

Carved in Blood by Michael Bennett 

The New Zealand (Ngāti Pikiao, Ngāti Whakaue) author and filmmaker's latest book, Carved In Blood, is about retired Māori investigator Hana Westerman. I heard of Michael Bennett recently because he's coming to Australia for the Sydney Writer's Festival. 

Set in the depths of the New Zealand winter comes the rising of Matariki – a sacred constellation in Māori culture. But this Matariki brings unwelcome change when a shooting sends Hana on a dark and suspenseful journey. 

That premise has me hooked. 

A 'comfort read' / the book I've read the most times:

Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld

This was published in 2005. I remember seeing it on the bookshop counter at Mary Ryan's Bookstore on Park Road. It looked pink and pretty, it was set in a boarding school, and I read it three times in a row, then once every year for about ten years. I don't know why I kept reading this book. It was a comfort read, but I was endlessly fascinated by the characters. It's about a middleclass white person who feels like a fish out of water at her elite boarding school. The characterisation is strong, the people feel real, and they're odd, too. The protagonist is uncomfortably relatable in her weird awkwardness. I haven't read it for a few years now. But I might like to.

The book I DNF fifteen years ago and feel bad about not finishing:

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel

I love history and this story imagines a particularly interesting time. It's about Thomas Cromwell and his machinations in the Tudor court of King Henry VIII. Cromwell was a lowly blacksmith's son who rose in the king's favour and became powerful enough to work out how to make the king the head of the church in England (instead of the Pope). In my remote tower, with nothing to distract, I would persevere with this book. Everyone I know who loves literature, loves this book.

An intriguing new release

The Bookshop of Buried Pasts by Sarah Clutton

Set in an antiquarian bookshop in the Southern Highlands (a charming farming hinterland of heritage villages, boutique wineries and stunning waterfalls) this story is about an abandoned boy and the woman who never forgets him. I'll be interviewing Sarah at Avid Reader next month so it's top of my reading pile. Early readers are describing it as an enchanting story about secrets, love, loss and relationships. 

Two Complete Workses of Shakespeare, by Catriona

You get to go on a trip of a lifetime. What books do you pack?

I know this is just one - the wee sonnets are holding it open

I've been in training to answer this question my whole life. When I was very small, younger than five, I packed to run away from home and go to live round the corner with my Godmother. She never made me go to school. (We visited on Sundays.) She never made me have a bath. (We visited in the daytime.) She never cooked liver. (She couldn't cook so we filled up on Cadbury's chocolate mini-rolls.) Anyway. What I loaded into my little bag was my slippers . . . and the rest was all books.

I never went through with this plan, by the way. My mum pointed out that if I left it was for keeps and I reconsidered.

But, since then, every trip has had a lot of book planning associated with it. And besides that I've been listening to Desert Island Discs on BBC Radio 4 every Sunday for about half the time it's been broadcast. (It started in 1942.)

You get eight tracks to take to the desert island where you're washed up and they give you the Bible (or Quran or Torah . . .) and the Complete Works of Shakespeare. Then you get to choose one more book. I'd choose another Complete Works of Shakespeare, in a little-studied foreign tongue. Then, using both, I'd try to write a grammar for the obscure language. By the time I was rescued, I'd be the world expert. 

For trips rather than shipwrecks, I've got a different formula. Every beach trip and every Christmas I curate a pile of reading that always goes pretty much the same way:

1. Stephen King

It's not easy but even though I buy the new Stephen King on publication day, I always keep it for the next seasonal shut-down or summer break or coast-to-coast road trip. I love him. I love that they're all so long. I love how he doesn't ahem go to town on the endings. I love every tic and quirk and unspeakable psychological deficit he rains down on his characters.

 

2.  Poetry

One slim volume of poetry (cannot stand collected works (and as for themed anthologies?)) is perfect for a trip. I can reread the twenty or however many poems, until they are forever associated with the place I'm staying, so that picking the book up years later will take me back there.

All the fat ones were presents

3. Some food-related non-fiction 

Or as we call it in my house "Kitchen FRM". This stems from moving to the country in 1996 and no longer being able to have a daily newspaper delivered, in a time before the internet was worth much. One day, Neil tossed a novel onto the brekafast table and said, "Stories are the stuff of livingrooms and bedrooms.You need factual reading matter, for the kitchen." I've been seeking out not-quite-cookbooks ever since. Not quite = there might be some recipes but there's a lot of life and food philosopy in there too. I rarely use recipes when I cook but I adore reading about food. It's even better on a trip when all you have to do is choose from a menu every day and someone brings delciousness to you.

two of the best

 

4. a childhood favourite

Just in case of woe, I always like to have an old friend with me. Who wants to be reading the latest NYT bestseller when you're in hospital, or you've been kidnapped, or it's hour eleven of a flight delay, or . . . None of these things had ever happened but if they did, I'd be all set. Enid Blyton's The Treasure Seekers, Noel Streatfield's Ballet Shoes, Josephine Pullein-Thompson's Prince Among Ponies, or Jean Estoril's Drina series. Sometimes nothing else will do. And it's nice for them to get out and see a bit of the world, you know?

My friend Catherine grew up and ditched these.
I swooped in.

   

5. a wildcard 

Undercutting my whole argument so far is the fact that I always take an unknown and untried newbie along, and more often than not I fall in love with them. If I don't, I donate them and free up space in my suitcase for one of the books I'm inevitably going to buy while travelling.When I took N.K. Jemison's The City We Became, I didn't have high hopes. I don't really read science fiction, as a rule. What happened? I devoured it and bought the sequel. Now, she's one of my go-tos.

Although I read that love letter to NYC (and Jersey) while on the other coast, I don't particularly try to read books set wherever I'm headed. And I definitely don't do that other thing people seem to - use the summer or whatever to "finally get to grips with" something I've been planning to pretending to read for a while. My days of aspirationl book-buying are over, thank God. I won't be found on a beach with Finnegans Wake or The Life of Lord Nelson lying facedown beside me on the sand while I watch kitten videos on my phone. 

Vive les Philistines!

Cx