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New Statesman​

Who loves the sun?

Photo by Miriam Reik/Millennium Images Early on in life, I noticed something fundamental about myself that I have struggled to make sense of ever since, let alone find a way to explain to other people in clear and comprehensible words: a strange pattern that has travelled with me everywhere. It was the same in Istanbul, it is the same in London. It was the same when I was young, and the same now that I am middle-aged. It goes like this: on sunny days, I feel demoralised, down and depressed, but it is quite the opposite when the weather turns chilly, overcast and gloomy. Give me rain and plenty of grey and I am most upbeat. As soon as the sun peeks through the clouds my soul starts to plummet. This week as London sizzled and temperatures rose I wondered if there are others out there who have always felt the same way. I did not need to look far. Our dog, Romeo, a small Maltese with a huge heart, responds in a similar way to the hot weather. He visibly hates the sun and each morning crawls under a sofa with miserable, melancholy eyes, waiting for the evening to descend. We are nocturnal creatures. But this week, I told Romeo we must change our ways: we must rewire our brains, as the climate crisis is an acute reality that will be worsening with each passing day. I put him on his lead and we went out for a walk to find some inspiration. We saw people sunbathing, playing frisbee and socialising. We saw a man on a bike with a loudspeaker on his back playing Santana's 'Maria, Maria'. We returned an hour later with our tongues lolling out, sulking, in a state of despondency. Temporary reprieve Heatwaves. Hosepipe bans. Water companies systematically failing to invest in infrastructure while pumping sewage into our beloved rivers. Climate destruction is primarily the story of water. This week, an international NGO announced that Kabul was likely to become the first major city to completely run out of water. Seven million people live in the Afghan capital. I stayed at home. I read. I finished Damian Barr's brilliant book The Two Roberts and found it immersive, intelligent, immensely sensual. Nicola Sturgeon's Frankly is a memoir of profound power, honesty, emotional intelligence and humanity from one of our most influential politicians. It touched me, the journey of a shy child from a working-class family becoming Scotland's first female and longest-serving First Minister. Then I dived into Lyse Doucet's The Finest Hotel in Kabul. Everyone should read this book. It is important, insightful, subtle and simply unforgettable. A labour of love Mid-week, I was asked to visit Penguin headquarters in London's Embassy Gardens to give a talk to the employees at Viking. When I entered the room, there was a surprise waiting for me: a beautiful cake, and on it a drop of water with the title of my latest novel, There Are Rivers in the Sky. So many people contribute to the journey of a novel, from cover designers to printers to copy editors and then, when it's been released, booksellers and librarians. Many young people and women work in the publishing world, and they put so much labour and love into making books accessible in this age of hyperinformation and fast consumption. I left the office with much gratitude in my heart. On the wall I was touched to see a small quote from my work: 'Home is Storyland.' Stories to tell It was an immense honour to receive the British Academy President's Medal from Julia Black. On the way home I took a cab. The driver, an immigrant in the UK from Eritrea, was a gentle, mannered person. When he learned I was an author, his face lit up. He told me about his daughter, Betty: 'She will become a writer someday. I know she will.' Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe His wife died suddenly years ago, and he has raised their three children on his own. Betty is the youngest, and the only girl. 'She did not speak for a long time, and then she started writing stories,' he said. 'She loves books – she even talks to them sometimes.' It was very moving to listen to these words from a single father, a hard-working immigrant, doing his best not only to raise his kids but to support their creativity, their talents. We rarely share positive stories of migration. We seldom publicly acknowledge how much immigrants contribute to all areas of life in the UK – from medicine, the economy and the NHS, to small businesses and arts and culture. These stories matter. At home, Romeo was waiting for a walk in the evening, our usual time. [See also: Britain's billionaire tax problem] Related