My earliest reading memory
I remember reading throughout my childhood, but it’s hard to identify my earliest memory of reading. In a lot of ways, it’s as if my childhood began when I learned to read. I do remember taking a copy of Pierre Choderlos de Laclos’s Dangerous Liaisons off the shelf when I was maybe 10 or 11 – far too young to be reading it. I was suitably scandalised and excited by it.

My favourite book growing up
I read a lot of Theodore Dreiser growing up, for reasons that are mysterious to me now. I don’t know how I came to him: he wasn’t assigned in school and no one in my family was reading his books. But his focus was on female characters and perhaps even then, that felt notable. I started with Sister Carrie, then read Jennie Gerhardt and An American Tragedy, but Sister Carrie was the one I returned to again and again.

The book that changed me as a teenager
The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. I was about 12 when I read it and it transformed my understanding of what a story was. That was the first time I understood the capacity of the novel not only to comment on, but to enact social change.

The writer who changed my mind
Almost every writer changes my mind – that is the point of reading.

The book that made me want to be a writer
Kenzaburō Ōe’s A Personal Matter. I was in my mid-20s and my father was dying of cancer. I understood the possibilities of writing differently after I read Ōe, the way it both sat alongside ordinary life but also offered a perch from which to understand it.

The author I came back to
Yasunari Kawabata wasn’t especially easy for me to understand when I was younger. His books are slim, and when I was young they felt tonally almost erratic, both passionate and restrained. Now, I read him and each book seems like a minor miracle.

The book I reread
Henry James’s The Portrait of a Lady. It’s one of those books that contains many different meanings and that seems to shift each time you read it, which is one of the many signs of its greatness.

The book I could never read again
There’s probably no book that I wouldn’t read again. Even a book that I know I wouldn’t enjoy now would still be interesting to read, to figure out how both it and I had changed. And there is always the possibility that I would enjoy it after all. Books are always surprising you.

The author I discovered later in life
Muriel Spark was a relatively late discovery. I read The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie and The Girls of Slender Means when I was in my early 20s, and maybe too young to fully appreciate their genius. I’ve been systematically reading my way through the others, from Loitering With Intent and Memento Mori to my personal favourite, The Driver’s Seat. It’s been one of the most satisfying and astonishing reading experiences of my life.

The book I am currently reading
I have been rereading Ford Madox Ford’s The Good Soldier as well as Graham Greene’s The End of the Affair.

My comfort read
Possibly the same books as in the answer above, but also the entirety of Javier Marias’s work.