An irresistible highbrow

The Children’s Book, by A. S. Byatt

I should declare an interest. Nineteen years ago, I believe that A. S. Byatt saved the lives of my unborn twins. When I went into premature labour at 22 weeks, I was rushed into hospital, put on a drip, and told it was absolutely vital Not to Panic. Useless advice. So I took to fiction, as narcotics for the unquiet heart and brain. On that first long night, day and night, I read Possession, at a single sitting, or rather lying; and it worked, magnificently. The twins were not born until eight weeks later, and survived.

The point of this confession is to remind readers that Byatt’s novels, at their best, are tremendous page-turners. Few other modern novelists could have absorbed me in such circumstances. This is a quality far too often overlooked when reviewers describe Byatt as a heavyweight, high-brow, rather daunting novelist, implying that because she is undoubtedly intellectual she is somehow difficult to read.