[Hodkinson] seeks to draw wider attention to the north of England’s ignored talent, often from working-class backgrounds such as his own, all of which is beautifully illustrated in his moving new memoir ... This might have been a book about success in many ways, but it is sad in more ... A work of triumphs and disasters, No One Round Here Reads Tolstoy ultimately confirms the value of books and reading away from the literature industry. I loved it
No One Here Reads Tolstoy leaps around, keeping to the memoir format but frequently spinning off into entertaining digressions ... Hodkinson avoids the clichés of the 'gritty northern' genre by concentrating as much on the burning inner life of reading as the taxing outer one of getting a living in a series of rapidly altering industries ... He has made one peculiar decision: to interrupt the flow with a separate, italicised narrative strand about his grandfather, John Duffy, who suffered a life-long mental illness. Duffy is a unpredictable and unnerving presence, yet it’s hard to think of a reader who will be as fascinated by the tale as his grandson is. Still, he can be excused.
[Hodkinson] has none of the chippiness afflicting some of the kitchen sinkers; he is not out for revenge. Instead, he’s a dreamer ... I know Hodkinson slightly ... Perhaps that’s why I so enjoyed the way he talks about literature, some negative remarks about one of my own works excepted ... There are vivid character sketches of authors Hodkinson has published ... There is much dark comedy about Hodkinson’s publishing career ... This is a book about the north; it is also about publishing, writing and music, but it transcends its subjects.
The problem, I think, with this volume is that it is actually several books between two covers ... The different sections never quite gel in terms of tone, unfortunately ... By far the best parts of the book involve the experience of reading working class writers ... Latter parts of the book have a tetchy, almost peevish tone ... The material about publishing will interest people interested in publishing ... This is a book in praise of reading.
Opinions will differ about whether Hodkinson is a discerning reader. 'I am not a fan of poetry,' he declares, so half the literary canon is dismissed out of hand ... But then Hodkinson does consider himself unusual, and rightly. For one thing he writes copiously and with as much enthusiasm about pop groups and football as literature. Some readers may be tempted to skip these pages ... A strange thing about the book, viewed as autobiography, is that it omits his personal life ... The one person he does write about at great length, besides himself, is his grandfather ... At all events the often deeply poignant passages about his grandfather are Hodkinson’s most powerful. Otherwise his book is curiously uneven. At its best you want it to go on for ever. At its worst it seems to.
Effusive, entertaining and sprawling (at times to a confusing degree) ... No One Round Here Reads Tolstoy is a frustrating work. It is too long, and Hodkinson admits himself that he can come across as a bit of a pub bore in his endless evangelism not only for books, but also for music and football. There are selfconscious passages of literary criticism, or perhaps less self-conscious than lacking in self-awareness ... Yet every time the book palls, Hodkinson comes up with another diverting and often moving segue.
