People have been reading proof copies of CUCKOO. People I don’t know, as well as people I do know.
In both instances it feels like taking my knickers off in public.
One of the most disconcerting readers is BigSon, who has been sitting beside me on planes etc these holidays with it glued to his face, stopping every now and then to tell me that he likes a passage. He seems to be steaming through it faster than he does most books (it took him about three months to read FREEDOM, and he still hasn’t finished it). Perhaps he is looking for the rude bits?
But worse are my p-p-p-parents. Even at my age, with adult children of my own, I still find that a bit queasy-making, despite my insistences that I have made it all up, nothing is autobiographical and blah blah blah.
Stranger though – but somewhat less worrying in many ways – are the readers I don’t know (or who I know only very vaguely, through Twitter). I’m getting some nice comments filtered back to me, though. Cath Staincliffe said:
A gripping read. Fluently written with mounting suspense and foreboding. Very good on the uncertainties and vulnerability of marriage, motherhood and friendship.
And Jane Casey said:
Seriously sinister – it will make you think again about every close friendship you’ve ever had.
Anyway, I suppose I’m going to have to get used to it.
Oh, alright then, I love it really.