My earliest reading memory
Sitting on the floor while our primary teacher, Mrs Craig, read to us about Odysseus and the blinded Cyclops. The story transported me to a hillside on an island in ancient Greece. I think that moment put the idea in my head that books, the best ones, were a kind of magic.
My favourite book growing up
In my teens I stopped reading, like lots of boys. My mum was the only bookish person in our family, almost everyone else was obsessed with our farm. My grandma scolded me one day for reading in daylight hours; she said there couldn’t possibly be so little to do on the farm that a boy should sit and read a book. She swept me out of her kitchen to find some work to do. And I felt ashamed that she thought I was idle.
