My attitude toward houses is the same as it is toward books: you can never have too many. To prove it, I’ve moved 32 times. Those who have been to England know what a delicious smorgasbord of homes the country offers … until an overcooked housing market ruins the appetite. We viewed 60 homes in a stonking-hot market in 2017, and when house-hunting fatigue hit us, we surrendered to a Victorian terrace house that was overpriced, in need of a total renovation, and that we didn’t even like. As we glumly hunkered down to the task of fixing it up, my mind began churning over all my past homes; the ones I grew up in and the ones I owned, and it got me thinking about where this addiction to homes and to moving began. This memoir isn’t so much about renovating a house as it is about what happens when we run from our past and try to renovate it; how events that occur during the course of our lives can make us uncomfortable settlers, forever craving to restore something we lost long ago.
Publishing in 2020