Hollie McNish: ‘Being a writer didn’t enter my mind – I wanted a job that involved roller-skating’ | Books

My earliest reading memory
Being taken to the local library to choose, being able to browse through so many books, and the rush of excitement as the ones you’ve chosen are stamped and taken home.

My favourite book growing up
The one I still remember off by heart is the poem Please Mrs Butler, in the poetry collection of the same name by Allan Ahlberg. I still have it. I read this poem constantly, and loved that it allowed me into a world of adults, to see what a classroom might feel like from the teacher’s perspective. Most of all, it made me laugh, and I loved that.

The book that changed me as a teenager
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by CS Lewis. I still think about the moment it flipped at the end (no spoilers). It was as if new worlds and ideas of time and space had exploded before me.

The writer who changed my mind
Wilfred Owen’s Dulce et Decorum Est changed my mind about war. Irvine Welsh’s Glue changed my mind about politics, poverty, class, masculinity. Salena Godden’s Mrs Death Misses Death changed my mind about life. I think every book or poem I’ve ever read has changed my mind about something.

The book that made me want to be a writer
It wasn’t a book that made me want to be a writer, I don’t think. I didn’t dream of being a writer at any age. It didn’t really enter my mind. I loved learning languages. I studied French, German and then economics. I also loved that. For some reason, I’ve written my diaries in poems since I was little. All of the things I saw and learned and loved made me want to write. I loved reading, I loved writing, but “being a writer” wasn’t an idea that entered my mind. So perhaps I’m back to Please Mrs Butler again as the kickstarter of my love of writing poems. I mainly wanted a job that involved roller-skating.

The book I came back to
Books I was made to study at school. Alice Walker’s The Color Purple was the first one I returned to. It’s incredible. I did the same with poetry; Seamus Heaney’s in particular, which I now love, but at school was like “Uh, potatoes, why are we learning about potatoes?” Of course, I knew nothing of the history.

The book I reread
I reread poetry books all the time: Laurie Bolger’s Makeover, anything by Jackie Kay, Michael Pedersen’s The Cat Prince and the poetry anthology Everything Is Going to Be All Right edited by Cecilia Knapp. And I reread Dickens’s A Christmas Carol every December to get into the Christmas spirit and to remind me never to become a greedy, selfish git.

The book I could never read again
Aside from my own books, Glue. It is one of my favourites, but I think it’s done all it can to my heart already and I’m not sure I could take it again. I feel the same about Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye. I read that when my daughter was little, grappling with the very white-centric world of children’s toys and books and greetings cards, and it broke my heart, as it should.

The book I discovered later in life
This implies a classic, but there are so many great authors now across the world, and so many more translations, and I think we are slightly obsessed with reading the canon. As a parent, I never insist my daughter reads books I read as a child, because they are so often much less diverse, more racist, sexist and so on.

The book I am currently reading
I’ve just finished a brilliant new poetry collection by Amy Acre called Mothersong and I’m now reading The Night Alphabet by Joelle Taylor, which is stunning.

My comfort read
Cookbooks. Whether or not I’ve any bother to actually make the recipes afterwards.

My earliest reading memory
Being taken to the local library to choose, being able to browse through so many books, and the rush of excitement as the ones you’ve chosen are stamped and taken home.

My favourite book growing up
The one I still remember off by heart is the poem Please Mrs Butler, in the poetry collection of the same name by Allan Ahlberg. I still have it. I read this poem constantly, and loved that it allowed me into a world of adults, to see what a classroom might feel like from the teacher’s perspective. Most of all, it made me laugh, and I loved that.

The book that changed me as a teenager
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by CS Lewis. I still think about the moment it flipped at the end (no spoilers). It was as if new worlds and ideas of time and space had exploded before me.

The writer who changed my mind
Wilfred Owen’s Dulce et Decorum Est changed my mind about war. Irvine Welsh’s Glue changed my mind about politics, poverty, class, masculinity. Salena Godden’s Mrs Death Misses Death changed my mind about life. I think every book or poem I’ve ever read has changed my mind about something.

The book that made me want to be a writer
It wasn’t a book that made me want to be a writer, I don’t think. I didn’t dream of being a writer at any age. It didn’t really enter my mind. I loved learning languages. I studied French, German and then economics. I also loved that. For some reason, I’ve written my diaries in poems since I was little. All of the things I saw and learned and loved made me want to write. I loved reading, I loved writing, but “being a writer” wasn’t an idea that entered my mind. So perhaps I’m back to Please Mrs Butler again as the kickstarter of my love of writing poems. I mainly wanted a job that involved roller-skating.

The book I came back to
Books I was made to study at school. Alice Walker’s The Color Purple was the first one I returned to. It’s incredible. I did the same with poetry; Seamus Heaney’s in particular, which I now love, but at school was like “Uh, potatoes, why are we learning about potatoes?” Of course, I knew nothing of the history.

The book I reread
I reread poetry books all the time: Laurie Bolger’s Makeover, anything by Jackie Kay, Michael Pedersen’s The Cat Prince and the poetry anthology Everything Is Going to Be All Right edited by Cecilia Knapp. And I reread Dickens’s A Christmas Carol every December to get into the Christmas spirit and to remind me never to become a greedy, selfish git.

The book I could never read again
Aside from my own books, Glue. It is one of my favourites, but I think it’s done all it can to my heart already and I’m not sure I could take it again. I feel the same about Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye. I read that when my daughter was little, grappling with the very white-centric world of children’s toys and books and greetings cards, and it broke my heart, as it should.

The book I discovered later in life
This implies a classic, but there are so many great authors now across the world, and so many more translations, and I think we are slightly obsessed with reading the canon. As a parent, I never insist my daughter reads books I read as a child, because they are so often much less diverse, more racist, sexist and so on.

The book I am currently reading
I’ve just finished a brilliant new poetry collection by Amy Acre called Mothersong and I’m now reading The Night Alphabet by Joelle Taylor, which is stunning.

My comfort read
Cookbooks. Whether or not I’ve any bother to actually make the recipes afterwards.