From the inside looking out you can never see how it looks from the outside looking in

This time last week I was deep in the intellectual buffet that is the Hay (formerly known as Literary) Festival in Wales. Spanning just over a week its a proper smorgasbord of talks from incredibly talented authors, with a smattering of politicians, scientists, musicians and other entertainers mixed in for good measure. As a proper book addict who is dangerously close to filling her eighth bookshelf – with no immediately obvious space for a ninth – it was literally my heaven.

Whilst Margaret Atwood discussing her Handmaid’s Tale had to take top spot, I would be hard pressed to choose a clear second between the other events I attended, because they were. Just. All. So. Good. My reading wish list for at least the next couple of months is completely full up.

That said, there were two authors whose stories especially struck me, each discussing something seemingly quite different yet with a common shared vein.

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