MY LIFE IN BOOKS
Cosy crime author J.M. Hall harks back with fondness, and admiration, to the well-crafted stories that inspired him
As a child, books were a happy fact of life: the trip to the library a weekly highlight, book tokens a bright part of every Christmas. At some point – I can’t remember when – it seemed only natural to extend my enthusiasm for reading stories into writing them. And what I recall are the writers who fired me into writing my own versions of the stories I loved so much I didn’t want them to end.
Enid Blyton showed me not a world but a universe – tales of magic where trees touched different worlds, stories of castles and beaches and swimming – and, yes, ginger beer. From there I rapidly raced to the stories of Monica Dickens, great-granddaughter of Charles. I loved – love – her brilliantly accomplished style; wry, humorous, evoking character, setting and heartbreak in economical, glittering sentences. A darker world was shown me by Agatha Christie. “Queen of Crime” is one of those over-used phrases, but here it’s spot on. What’s often overlooked about her is her skill as a novelist – a skill owing as much Gaskell, Dickens and the Brontës as it does to writers like Conan Doyle.
And then there was the hero of my childhood: one of the great unsung heroes of the universe (literally!). Terrance Dicks was a prolific author in his own right, but also writer of some 80 Doctor Who novelisations. In those grey days before home media, he brought to life worlds of Saturday tea-time terror with literary flair.
These days when I’m immersed in twin worlds of writing and teaching, it’s all too often so hard to commit to the third world of a novel. Historical non-fiction gives me a structured read; I’m particularly drawn to the quiet wisdom of Antonia Fraser. And there’s vivid fascination to be found in the history of Welsh narrow-gauge railways, evoked by writers like J. I. C. Boyd.
There’s a wealth of crime fiction – from the rollercoasters of Patricia Cornwell to the puzzle-boxes of Anthony Horowitz – but so often it’s an escape my tired mind struggles to make. And it’s then I find myself going back once more to that deceptively peaceful village… or maybe a besieged moon base… or even climbing the Magic Faraway Tree.