Liz Hyder, 42, was born in London and studied drama at Bristol University. While working as a publicist at the BBC, and later as a freelance PR consultant, she wrote six novels, none of which were published. Her seventh, Bearmouth, about a child called Newt who lives and works deep inside a Victorian coalmine, came out in September to glowing reviews and was named “children’s book of the year” by the Times, which described it as “A Christmas Carol for 2019”. Hyder lives with her husband in Ludlow and is completing another novel.
What have the past few months been like for you, since the publication of Bearmouth?
I feel like I’m in a weird cheese dream – this is Camembert-at-3am-on-New-Year’s-Day levels of weirdness. I pinch myself every day. It’s not often I’m speechless, but I really am dumbfounded, flabbergasted, all those things, by the response.
What was it about this book, of the seven you’ve written, that struck a chord?
It’s better [laughs]. It’s the first book that I wrote truly from my heart and I think that’s made the difference. When I started, though, I thought it would never get published, because it’s so strange – in terms of the dialect and the setting. And I still think it’s quite a Marmite book. I really prepared myself for the haters, but what I hadn’t taken into account was people really loving it.
Would you like any of your previous books to see the light of day?
I don’t know. I haven’t looked at them for quite a while, they may well all be terrible. But I’m always more interested in what I can do next – how can I challenge myself, how can I do something different? With Bearmouth, I wanted to write a page-turner that was set in a really confined space.
Where did the idea come from?
On a walking holiday in Wales, my husband and I visited [the Victorian] Llanfair slate caverns, just south of Harlech, and three things there inspired the book: the miners [used to] slit the right nostril of boys on their first day, to prove they were man enough to work there; they had a stretcher, which was basically a coffin without a lid, which had a real brutality to it; and there was a stone figure in the rock that the workers used to doff their caps to every day. Those things got me thinking about the exploitation of that world, but also the rebranding of exploitation as opportunity in our own time.
Was it difficult to write?
I’m scared of the dark, and I don’t like small spaces or being underground, so writing a book about a mine was a foolish thing. But I did go down a lot of mines, and I read a lot of books about that period of mining. And then it sort of wrote itself. Newt was such a strong character in my head.
Much of the narrative is written phonetically. Did you take inspiration from other books? I was reminded a little of Riddley Walker by Russell Hoban.
A couple of US publishers mentioned Riddley Walker and I’m ashamed to say I hadn’t heard of it. But I read it after I finished my edits and I’m really glad I hadn’t read it beforehand – I think I would have felt intimidated. Another book that plays with languages in an extraordinarily clever way is Boneland by Alan Garner. It’s like nothing else I have ever read.
Are you working on anything at the moment?
I’ve kind of finished a second book. It’s an adult novel, though whenever I say that, it sounds very rude, like I’ve written a Mills & Boon. But it’s more historical fiction with a twist, set in Victorian London. Bearmouth is set in a very male-dominated world, whereas this is very much a book about women’s place in society, as well as science and art, religion and morality. It’s much more of an epic tale.
What’s your average working day?
The first thing I do in the morning, when I’m compos mentis and have drunk a tank of coffee, is reread the last 10,000 words or so and edit them. Then I’ll go for a walk and think about what I’m going to do next. When I come back I’ll just type it up – I’ve already written it in my head. I try and write 3,000 words a day, in the afternoon. It’s quite hardcore. Everyone writes in very different ways. Philip Ardagh, the fantastic children’s author, said on Twitter a while ago that writers can’t tell you how to write, all they can tell you is how they write. That’s so true.
What’s the last great book you read?
I finished reading Everything Under by Daisy Johnson the other day and I was totally blown away by it. I felt like I was swallowed up: you are there in that world, it’s utterly immersive. I loved it and I can’t wait to read what she does next.
What books are on your bedside table?
It’s a massive pile. I just started reading Sweet Sorrow by David Nicholls. I’ve got The Song of the Lark by Willa Cather and The Box of Delights by John Masefield, which I was flicking through the other day because I needed some comforting. I’ve got Victorian Lady Travellers by Dorothy Middleton and The Fantastical Adventures of the Invisible Boy by Lloyd Alexander. I’ve got Greenvoe by George Mackay Brown, the most extraordinary writer from Orkney, and Small Island by Andrea Levy, and Katherine Rundell’s Why You Should Read Children’s Books… which is just delicious. Then Henry Mayhew’s London’s Underworld and The Deathless Girls by Kiran Millwood Hargrave, an origin story of Dracula’s brides, which is delicious as well. I told you it was a tower.
Were there certain books or authors that made an impression on you as a kid?
I loved The Animals of Farthing Wood by Colin Dann. Roald Dahl, obviously, and CS Lewis. Maybe I should confess this – I never got the religious stuff in Narnia at all until I was much older. My favourite Narnia book is The Magician’s Nephew, like all right-thinking people. The Dark Is Rising by Susan Cooper… It’s not a very diverse list: I just read whatever was in the library or at home.
Is there a book or an author that you return to more than any other?
Not really, it changes all the time. I will read anything. There is a word for it, when you’re addicted to words [glossophilia]. When I was a kid I would happily read the back of the cereal packet.
• Bearmouth by Liz Hyder (illustrations by Yeti Lambregts) is published by Pushkin Press (£12.99). To order a copy go to guardianbookshop.com. Free UK p&p over £15
