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My Bookshop Backstory by Tom Rowley · Jul 4, 2026

The joys of a book binge

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Tom Rowley · My Bookshop Backstory by Tom Rowley

I’VE HAD A HOLIDAY ROMANCE. His name is Lachlan Kite, and, like any good summer fling, there are so many ways in which he’s unsuitable. He’s married, for one, albeit somewhat unhappily. He’s a spy, with a flexible approach to the truth and a troubled past that keeps returning to haunt him. Oh, and he’s fictional. None of that has tempered my obsession.

As a reader, I tend to be promiscuous, hopping from author to author, alighting on whatever catches my eye. A meaty book about AI one week, a crime novel the next.

This is a helpful habit for a bookseller to cultivate. Customers are forever asking what I’ve been reading recently, and it’s useful to have something up my sleeve to recommend that suits that particular reader’s tastebuds. (I do have blind spots, such as fantasy, but luckily Darby, our bookshop manager, keeps me well supplied with excellent suggestions there.)

I think this approach means I read a greater quantity of books as well as a greater variety. I love history, but a chapter a night of a 500-page tome packed with statistics is probably quite enough. Useful, then, to be able to dip into a character-led work of literary fiction on the side.

Or sometimes I’ve read a few too many heavy novels in a row. Something short and sweet (The Fortnight in September by RC Sheriff, say, or A Month in the Country by JL Carr) serves as a palate cleanser to get me ready for the next course.

The last few weeks, though, I’ve rediscovered the joys of a binge. I took Icarus 17, the newly-released fourth instalment of Charles Cumming’s Lachlan Kite series, away with me, fully intending to dip into it before moving on to other proofs, mostly “worthier” literary fiction that I felt I really ought to read.

Box set

But Kite pulled me in and wouldn’t let me go. Having started at the end, I quickly raced back to the beginning, devouring Box 88 before gobbling down its sequels, Judas 62 and Kennedy 35. Colleagues raised their eyebrows as they saw yet another home delivery order coming into our website from me. Why was I having the next instalment sent up to me in Northumberland when I could have been combing through any manner of proofs for September that I’d taken with me?

Partly, it’s the writing. Thrillers are thrilling, and Cumming masterfully employs all the usual tricks. Short, pacy chapters abound, as do cliff-hangers and tantalising flashbacks. The premise – that Kite works for Box 88, an off-the-books joint venture between MI6 and the CIA, a secret world within a secret world – is neat.

So too is the way each book yo-yos between the present day and Kite’s early career, affording the reader a window into the birth and growth of a spy and Cumming plenty of scope to mine interesting moments of real-life history and politics for the plots.

But it’s also about how comforting it is to allow yourself to sink fully into a different world. A series immerses you, and holds you there, in a way that only the most exceptional standalone novel can match. In my case, I also felt the comfort of rediscovering an old friend: in my early twenties, I raced through the entire back catalogues of Robert Harris and John le Carre, but – until recently – have rarely read thrillers since.

So take this as permission, if you need it, to put that worthy book you feel guilty about not reading to one side and pick up something you truly fancy, perhaps re-embracing a genre you’ve left behind. (There’s lots to tempt you in our summer guide. And if it’s spy fiction you’re after, start with the first in Cumming’s series, Box 88.)

Just beware: you may be gone some time.

Whatever you choose, happy reading!

Tom

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