Hubert the Hare

My parents had a strange relationship with books. I never knew either of them to go out and buy one, or indeed have a library ticket.

Somebody gave me a copy of Hubert the Hare when I was very young. I didn't like it. I thought the illustrations were grotesque, and the story was preposterous.

I was also given an illustrated book of fairy stories, which disappeared as soon as I learn to read.

The only books I had access to were my mother's art books (which I absolutely loved, especially the nudes) and a set of encyclopedias, which were very old.

By the time I was about nine, I must've had chickenpox, because I was confined to bed, and my mother gave me a book to read, the title of which I forget, however I do remember that the story concerned a young Canadian schoolboy whose mother wrote a list of his 'to do' job jobs and pinned it to the kitchen door before she died and left him to fend for himself. His only income being the paper around he did before setting off to school.

The story upset me a great deal, and I never got past the first chapter.

The message seemed to be: you are on your own in this world so you'd better be prepared.

How I became a writer is the subject of another chapter, but it just goes to show that we become what we want to be, not because of our upbringing, but often in spite of it.