I'm Geoff Nicholson, originally and primarily a novelist,
though as the world turns ever more to non-fiction, so inevitably do I.
My two most recent books have been GRAVITY'S VOLKSWAGEN - what I'm pretty sure will be the last in my "Volkswagen Trilogy."
And THE LOST ART OF WALKING, a quirky, personalised non-fiction account of how and why people walk, what walking is, what
it does and what it means. In many ways this has been my greatest hit; loads of publicity, good sales, with a (slightly
different) UK edition, and publication is scheduled South Korea.
I have a novel titled THE CITY UNDER THE SKIN coming out from FSG
just as soon as I can convince my editor that it's about as as good as it's ever going to get.
The best thing anybody ever said about my writing was "Nicholson doesn't just give you what you want, he gives you what you
never even knew existed," That was Lillian Pizzichini writing about my novel Flesh Guitar for the Independent.
The Believer described me as "brilliant and raffish." The Barcelona
Review said, "Nicholson does good sex."
I was born in Sheffield, England, and studied English at Cambridge, then European drama at Essex. I sometimes like to say
I was self-educated at these places, but I suppose the real education was being exposed to some great intelligences and personalities.
J.H. Prynne was my director of studies, and I went to lectures and seminars by the likes of Raymond Williams, Stephen Heath
and L.C. Knights.
I wrote plays, and some TV and radio comedy before
becoming a novelist.
As a freelancer I've written about music for
The Wire, travel for the New York Times and the Guardian, art for Art Review and Modern Painters, design for the Independent,
food for the Daily Telegraph and Gastronomica,
and book reviews for everybody - New York Times, Bookforum, Financial Times, Time Out, San Francisco Chronicle, LA Weekly
et al. I am a Contributing Editor to the LA Review of Books.
People tell me I'm a funny writer,
which I take as a compliment, though I like to think the humour is always in the service of the story I'm telling. I'm not
very good at jokes.
At various points in my career I've been compared (favourably) to
Evelyn Waugh, JG Ballard and Thomas Pynchon. Comparisons, of course, are odious, but these ones I can more than live with.
For reasons that make more sense on some days that others, I currently live in