Every parent has those moments where they look at their child and think, 'There's a demon in those eyes and no one can see it but me!

The sound of the pages turning was the sound of magic. The dry liquid feel of paper under fingertips was what magic felt like.

People are locked up in all sorts of ways.

I was not exploiting any real individual's story in writing ROOM, of course I was aware that my novel, by commenting on such situations, would run the risk of falling into those traps of voyeurism, sensationalism and sentimentality.

Once I spent a whole day there, a blade of grass in each hand to anchor me to the warm earth. I watched the sun rise, pass over my head and set. Ladybirds mated on my knuckle; a shrew nibbled a hole in my stocking while I tried not to laugh. Such a day was worth any punishment.

I'm finding that success is way more time-consuming than failure ever was.

I'm very interested in how idealistic young people can get caught up in all sorts of systems of extreme belief, you know, whether it's cults or whether it's suicide bombers.