Let me start with an admission. I’m an eclectic reader. I can choose to read a book because I know the author, or because I’m fascinated by the subject or, even, because the cover has caught my fancy. Consequently, a strange but very individualistic collection of books sits on my bedside table. At any given time, it includes biographies, histories, novels, specialist accounts and memoirs. I dip into them as the mood takes me. Rarely do I finish a book at one go. But over a period I’ll have read several.
For me the greatest surprise this year was Aatish Taseer’s