Poetry is a great thing to give a novelist, I think. Very few of the volumes I own are ones I chose for myself. A treasured collection is by Harry Martinson, sent me by a friend and colleague which I'd otherwise never have come across.
Every so often a writer comes along and changes the rules of the game. In travel writing, it was Ryszard Kapuściński: his immersive approach and magical journalism, rich in anecdote and hearsay, married deep knowledge to a lightness of touch. To Rosemary Bailey he was a hero. But what does she make of his travel-writing heirs?