26-05-2025
Conn Iggulden: ‘All problems feel better if you sleep on them'
Conn Iggulden is one of the country's most successful authors of historical fiction. In 2007, he became the first person to top the UK fiction and non-fiction charts simultaneously with Wolf of the Plains and The Dangerous Book for Boys. Following years of rejection from publishing houses, he was set to quit writing at 28, but decided to send his first Julius Caesar-based novel to just one agent before throwing in the towel. Then, a bidding war ensued, allowing him to resign from his teaching job and write full-time. He has now published more than 30 books – his latest, Tyrant (Michael Joseph, £17.99), is the second of his Nero trilogy. He lives in Hertfordshire with his wife Ella and their four children.
Best childhood memory?
I have a very unusual background – my mother was a former nun for 20 years until the age of 34. She had a strong urge to have children and felt her time was running out, then had to leave Ireland because of the shame of breaking her vows. My paternal grandfather was born in 1850; he was 73 when my dad was born. It's absolutely crackers that I have photos of him with mutton-chop Victorian whiskers. My dad was an RAF bomber pilot during World War Two. Our family background meant history wasn't something found in books – I could just ask Dad because he'd lived through it, or Grandad had. History was more personal and relevant because of all the major world-changing events he could tell me about, and his tales got darker and more detailed as I got older. He was also one of the most relaxed men I've ever known because he'd expected to die as a young man, so everything else was a bonus. That made a big impression on me. I have two older brothers – David and John – from Dad's first marriage. David travelled the world with the Merchant Navy, and I remember one time he bizarrely brought me back a Chairman Mao cap with a red star on it.
Best lesson you've learned?
Go to sleep. When life is completely overwhelming, if you go to sleep, the next morning your problems may still be exactly the same, but you'll be better able to deal with them. My mother also taught me the importance of little moments of kindness, especially in marriage.
Best role model?
There was a lovely old married man called Walter who lived up our street in London. Sadly, he's long dead now, but I still think of him. Walter taught me how to play chess. He had a lot of time for me; he was like a surrogate grandfather. He was quite eccentric, walking everywhere barefoot. Mum was a little concerned at first, but she vetted him. We used to set up mock war games with wooden blocks on his lounge floor. It makes me sad that this sort of friendship would be really discouraged nowadays because of people's fears. I have four children of my own, so I get it, but I learned a lot from him.
Best conditions for writing?
I used to sit at my desk for eight hours a day, smoking as I went, to help me concentrate. When I quit, I thought I'd lost my knack because I could only manage about 100 words before I had to get up and wander around my attic room. But I got back to the flow eventually. I developed lower-back problems, so I got a standing desk. I used to write during funny hours, too, from midnight to 4am and then noon to 4pm. The main thing that stopped that was Amazon – they were constantly ringing my doorbell in the morning, when everyone else was out. This was before the advent of Ring doorbells. The only thing that has stayed the same is I need silence. I tried music, but my brain couldn't handle two things at once and it was irritating.
Best part of your job?
I love telling stories that I'm excited about because I know others will enjoy them too. When my publishers let me out on the road, and I meet my readers and get to see their instant response to my stories, that's just lovely. It's an absolute joy bringing history to life.
Best advice you've ever been given?
Be in the delivery room with your wife. I had an oddly old-fashioned idea (a little understandable given my very elderly parents and grandparents) that I'd be handing out cigars to strangers in the hospital car park. At the time I was head of English at a secondary school and a fellow teacher in the staffroom told me, 'Conn, speaking as a mother, you might be the only one in the delivery room who actually cares about your wife, so I would be in there if I was you.' This turned out to be very sound advice because the delivery went horribly wrong and it turned into an emergency caesarean. Our three other children were planned c-sections as a result. I jokingly said we should get a zip put in.
Best career moment?
I felt like I was on top of the world when The Dangerous Book for Boys (non-fiction) and Wolf of the Plains (fiction) were number-one in the charts at the same time. I'd fantasised about being a successful writer since I was a kid, so it mattered a great deal to me. The bonus was when The Dangerous Book for Boys was named Book of the Year at the British Book Awards in 2007. Thankfully, both my parents were alive when they got to see my initial success. When they died, I found they'd saved copies of everything I'd ever written, which was touching.
Worst trait?
I'm terrible at small talk. I'm really awful at social events and asking the basic questions, even though I hear my mother's voice reminding me to ask them. I started writing down people's details on a card if I was likely to see them again, but it went disastrously wrong when I bumped into an editor in Finland and I tried to persuade her that she had three children, not the two she was claiming to have. Unfortunately she didn't find it funny.
Worst part of your job?
When I was horse-riding in Mongolia in the footsteps of Genghis Khan, doing research for Wolf of the Plains, I developed dangerous saddle sores and couldn't undress without getting into a bath to soak everything off. It was grim. I was also told not to ask for a wooden Mongolian saddle, but a Russian saddle, which is partially leather with a hoop of iron that sticks out of the top for your reins. Let's just say that my awful riding skills meant I became intimately and painfully acquainted with that iron hoop – all while enduring -20°C weather. I'd never seen a landscape that vast. We ate a lot of mutton, which I quite liked. Hands-on research brings my books to life.
Worst habit?
I'm terrible at taking time off: I feel guilty, bored and I constantly think I should be doing something; I can't enjoy myself. I love writing – I work until there's practically blood on the page, but it's never as good as I imagined it to be. I set an incredibly high standard for myself, which can be very frustrating. Most authors may manage a book a year. My publishers have three books in hand, completely finished and copy edited.
Worst piece of advice?
I was in a French restaurant and wanted to try an Andouillette sausage. The waiter said, 'You may want to rethink that because it is the food of French peasants, Monsieur', but I insisted. What was served both looked, smelt and tasted like the last six inches of the faecal cavity of a cow. I valiantly kept chewing, wanting to save face, while my fellow diners suppressed their laughter, all while encouraging me. Eventually I had to admit defeat. I should have listened.
Worst lesson you've needed to learn?
I can't solve everybody's problems. Because if I do, I will infantilise the people around me, and you could drive yourself to exhaustion.
Worst lesson from modern history?
It's now too easy to forget what's happened in the past, given how much information we're bombarded with in our daily lives, which makes it easier to repeat mistakes. And one life can make an extraordinary difference. But overall, I try to keep things in perspective, otherwise every day would seem like the end of the world, given the news. My mellow dad used to say, 'Are you going to care about this in five years? If not, why on earth are you worrying about it now?' That helps keep sight of what's important.
Worst pet peeve?
People who hang poo bags on bushes. It drives me bananas. I have three dogs – a 16-year-old terrier, an eight-year-old black lab cross and a 14-year-old ridgeback crossed with a bull terrier – and I always pick up after them. Before Covid, when I had a sense of smell, I used to dry heave, but now that my sense of smell has almost disappeared, I can pick poo up like nobody's business on my walks.
Worst moment in the public eye?
There are many. Early in my career, when the first of my five-book series on Julius Caesar came out, I was doing a book talk with two Roman legionaries from the local re-enactment society – but only an elderly couple showed up. And I think they were just sitting down for a rest. Then, another time, I was speaking at the biggest bookshop in Singapore and a microphone was thrust at me, with the orders that I was to stop the crowds walking by outside (who were more interested in clothes shopping) by just talking.
Worst fear for the future?
I'm an optimist, so my worst fear is that I will be proved wrong.
