This is the memoir Christopher Fowler always wanted to write about ‘writing’. It’s the story of how a young bookworm growing up in a house where there was nothing to read but knitting pamphlets and motorcycle manuals became a writer – a ‘word monkey’ – and pursued a sort of career in popular fiction. And it’s a book full of brilliant insights into the pleasures and pitfalls of his profession, dos and don’ts for would-be writers, and astute observations on favourite (and not-so-favourite) novelists. But woven into this hugely entertaining and inspiring reflection on a literary life is an altogether darker thread. In Spring 2020, just as the world went into lockdown, Chris was diagnosed with terminal cancer. And yet there is nothing of the misery memoir about Word Monkey. Past and present intermingle as, in prose as light as air, he relates with wry humour and remarkable honesty what he knows will be the final chapter in his story. Deeply moving, insightful and surprisingly funny, this is Christopher Fowler’s life-affirming account of coming to terms with his own mortality.
