I’m just back from one of those heavenly do-nothing-but-lie-on-the-beach sort of holidays (obviously there was quite a lot of very tasty eating and plenty of refreshing swimming involved too. But precious little else) which has meant I’ve had the time to devour books at a rate that would take me months at any other time of year.

I definitely take longer to choose the books I take away on holiday than I do deciding what clothes to pack. That’s partly because, although I have tried reading on my kindle over the years, I’ve always been inexorably drawn back to the printed version. Reading on a screen, each book looks exactly the same and that similarity seems to prevent them from lodging themselves in my memory (more times than I care to admit I’ve found myself starting a book on my kindle, only to realise some way in that I’ve read it before).

For me, the design of a book jacket, the font and layout of the pages are essential elements of its character and story and the physical business of holding the book in my hands and turning the pages is an integral part of my experience and enjoyment of reading. And of course, a printed book never needs to be charged up. And if you get it wet or covered in suncream, it’ll dry and wipe off without getting ruined. Just saying…

I’m also fiercely protective of the precious reading time a holiday affords me. I don’t want to waste a single moment of it on a book that is likely to disappoint me, or prove such hard work that reading it is a slog rather than a joy. Not to mention the space and weight each one of my choices takes up in my suitcase, which rules out hardbacks or anything too weightily long.

So having gone through my usual process of canvassing friends and all the lovely Heydayers, and trawling through published reviews for weeks before my departure date, I whittled down my choices to four books, three of which I’ve finished, the other I’m still half way through. And I’m happy to say I can enthusiastically recommend each one of the completed ones as unforgettable and wildly satisfying holiday reading companions. Or indeed at any other time.

In absolutely no order of preference these are the three books.

Yellowface

A searing, darkly funny insight into the world of book publishing and cultural appropriation

It’s rare to enjoy a book quite so hugely when the heroine is someone who it’s hard to like and certainly even more difficult to admire. It’s testament to Rebecca Kuang’s writing skill and shrewd commentary that we can not only empathise (to a point) with the actions of failed writer June Hawyard and what she does after witnessing her rival and sort-of-friend Athena Liu die in a freak accident (no spoiler here, this happens at the beginning of the book and is the catalyst for everything that follows) but be grudgingly impressed by the lengths she goes to in her quest for the literary acclaim she feels she’s always deserved.

Uncomfortable, unflinchingly sharply observed and disquietingly believable, Yellowface lays bare the machinery and machinations of the book publishing world, pokes at the issues swirling around cultural appropriation, identity and white privilege, and shines a ruthlessly eye-blinking light on internet culture.

It’s a rollickingly good read right up to the satisfyingly clever ending.

Still Life

A beautiful, life-affirming, decade-spanning saga full of unforgettable characters

It would be hard for two books to be more different, both in subject matter and approach.

Still Life is a gorgeous novel about connections, hope, love, the families we choose as well as the ones we have, and having the courage to step into the unknown with your arms and heart open. It’s one of those books you don’t want to end, teeming with characters who stay lodged in the reader’s heart long after you’ve regretfully turned the final page.

The book begins at the tail end of the Second World War with an encounter in the Tuscan hills, between a young British soldier and an English art historian in her sixties who is trying to track down and rescue hidden and appropriated works of art. Their separate stories will only intertwine again many years, and several unwittingly close missed meetings, later and in the intervening decades will criss-cross between London and Florence and draw in a cast of richly unforgettable, beguiling characters each of whom you will fall more than a little in love with.

Sarah Winman’s beautiful, elegant prose is at once intimate and wide-ranging, with seemingly casual, compellingly tempting references to events that will happen later in the story, dropped through the narrative. A truly life-affirming, movingly memorable book you’ll always be glad you’ve read.

Perfect Bound

An astonishingly brave and honest memoir from a titan of the magazine publishing industry

Two disclosures before I explain why Perfect Bound is a book I really urge you to read. The first is I forgot to take a picture of it whilst I was away (duh) and the second is that Lindsay is not only someone I worked with and hugely admired during my time as a magazine journalist and editor, she’s also one of the people to whom I owe my career, having given me one of my first magazine breaks working on Good Housekeeping, and whose magnificent working footsteps I found myself following in many, albeit far less august ways, during my years in the magazine industry.

Lindsay is probably best-known for being the longest-serving editor of Good Housekeeping. Her multiple award-winning career also included editorships at Cosmopolitan, Esquire and She magazines and she was awarded an MBE for services to journalism and equal opportunities. So far, so wildly impressive. But alongside all that dazzling professional success, Lindsay experienced unimaginable personal trauma and loss when her husband and eldest daughter both died of cancer.

In Perfect Bound she describes with remarkable candour and breathtaking frankness what happens when her life utterly unravels for a second time after a would-be-suicide runs out onto the motorway in front of her car.

Weaving together the past and the present and using the framework of the way one of her beloved magazines is constructed and created, Lindsay traces and uncompromisingly clear-sightedly shares the agony of her disintegration and the painstaking process of reclaiming a life that is very different from the one she envisaged.

The book I’m still reading is The Bee Sting by Paul Murray. It’s shaping up to be another cracker . I’ll review it once I’m finished over on the These Are The Heydays Substack newsletter, which also serves up weekly bite-sized helpings of all the things that Heydays is about - ideas and recommendations that I’ve tried or have caught my eye - from recipes to household hacks and tips - wise words, and a generous sprinkling of humour and fun. Join the gang there by clicking on the link and subscribing.