BOOKS READ:
- Vernon Subutex—Virginie Despantes
- “Astral Weeks”: A Secret History of 1968—Ryan H.Walsh
- Voices: How a Great Singer Can Change Your Life—Nick Coleman
- The Line Becomes a River: Dispatches from the Border—Francisco Cantu
BOOKS BOUGHT:
- Fire and Fury: Inside the Trump White House—Michael Wolff
- To the River: A Journey Beneath the Surface—Olivia Laing
- Trouble Boys: The True Story of the Replacements—Bob Mehr
- Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race—Reni Eddo-Lodge
- 1947: When Now Begins—Elisabeth Åsbrink
- Three Daughters of Eve—Elif Shafak
- Grant & I: Inside and Outside the Go-Betweens—Robert Forster
- The Nix—Nathan Hill
I turned sixty in 2017, and before I reached that dismal milestone, I was of the opinion that you’re only as old as you feel, that age is just a number, that life is a box of chocolates, et cetera. I am working on the assumption that Believer readers had never even heard the number sixty before I mentioned it just now, and certainly had no idea that it could be an age human beings reach, so I bring you news from the far-distant future: there is indeed, as you might have suspected, a pill that men are forced to swallow on the last day they are fifty-nine that makes them less interested in new fiction. I tried to hide it in my cheek, but eventually—another peril of advancing years—I forgot it was sinister and swallowed it, thinking that it was one of the other pills they give me here after dinner.
I try to find works of fiction, I promise, but it’s like pushing a wonky shopping trolley round a supermarket. I constantly veer off toward literary biographies, books about the Replacements, and so on, and only with a concerted effort can I push it toward the best our novelists have to offer. I suspect it’s to do with age and risk. A bad book about, say, the history of Indian railways will inevitably tell you something about railways, India, and history. Reading a bad novel when you are approaching pensionable age, however, is like taking the time left available to you and setting it on fire. (I am also getting the impression that most books by young novelists are about sexual abuse. I know, I know—I shouldn’t be so squeamish. But I’m in the middle of an English winter, there’s no daylight after about eleven o’clock in the morning, I’ve quite often watched my football team play out a dismal, goalless draw… Give me a break until the spring, at least.)
A couple of months...
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contributor
contributor
Nick Hornby is the bestselling author of eight novels, including High Fidelity, About a Boy, and, most recently, Just Like You. He has also published several works of nonfiction including his ground-breaking debut, Fever Pitch, and has written numerous award-winning screenplays for film and television including Brooklyn, Wild, and State of the Union.
