I said, when bemoaning the utter impotence of John Banville’s The Sea on this blog some time ago, that I’d try to read as many other Booker Prize winners as possible. It’s been slow progress, dear reader. Slow progress. There’s been twittering to do, Ashes all-time XI’s to compile, Thatcherite itinerary’s to report, that sort of thing, getting in the way.

The novelist looks forward to her appearance at this year’s Hay festival and explains why ‘for months I’ve been apologising that The Little Stranger has no lesbian in it’

Footprints in Paris is and is not of the moment. The book has immediate relevance to issues of identity and belonging, while turning its back on celebrity culture. Few publishers, in the current climate, would encourage investigation of the anonymous terrain suggested by the subtitle: “a few streets, a few lives”.

The theme of Hearts and Minds – shadowy, unwanted migrants in London – began to excite literary London five years ago, leading to a cluster of novels by accomplished old and new writers. Film-makers had got there first: Stephen Frears made his gritty Dirty Pretty Things, followed by Anthony Minghella’s Breaking and Entering and Ghosts by Nick Broomfield.

Best known for his Man Booker shortlisted The Good Doctor, Galgut’s long awaited sixth novel opens on a thrillerish note. Adam Napier is on his uppers, having recently lost both his job and his home.

Very little is known about JA Baker. Born in 1926, he was a librarian, lived in Essex and wrote two books about its wildlife. We know that he has died although not exactly when. This dim biographical silhouette contrasts with the blazing intensity of the work. The Peregrine is increasingly recognised as one of the masterpieces of 20th-century prose. It’s a book I find deeply restorative and one I often give to friends as a gift.