Adele Parks photographed at home in Guildford for The Graduate magazine.Teesside University/Supplied
Just before she turned 30, Adele Parks was beset by a string of tragedies.
“In a year, I lost 11 people. It was really intense,” says Parks of the deaths, which included a colleague who had been murdered and a mother and baby who died from AIDS. “I just felt like my world was collapsing.”
She saw a counsellor – something of a rarity, Parks notes, in northwest England in the late nineties – who imparted two life-changing pieces of wisdom.
“She said the world was always going to have challenges, and the only thing you can do is control your reaction. That’s great advice I’ve kept all my life,” says Parks. “She also said you can preserve your joy by finding something that’s only about you.”
Parks, who had grown up wanting to be a writer but found herself working in a busy marketing role at the consulting firm Accenture, immediately thought of her “scribbling,” the 20 or so notebooks she’d filled with story ideas.
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Her counsellor suggested there might be more to this than just a casual interest – and she was right. Parks spent the next few years carving out “two to three hours two times a week and five hours at the weekend” to write a novel.
On the eve of her 30th birthday, Parks left the result of those snatched hours with the receptionist at Curtis Brown literary agency, essentially cold-calling an agent whose name she’d found in the acknowledgments of a book she’d enjoyed.
Two days later, she returned from a trip to find a message on her answering machine from the agent asking for a meeting. Not long after, six publishing houses got into a bidding war over her book; when it was published in 2000, Playing Away – the story of a woman in her late 20s trying to figure out her place in the world – was an instant bestseller.
A quarter of a century and 24 more books later, including this year’s bestselling Our Beautiful Mess, Parks is one of the world’s most successful authors. (She even received an MBE for services to literature.) The Globe spoke with her about the book, her reading list and how she maintains her relationship with writing.
You’ve sold more than six million copies of your books. Do you ever try to wrap your head around that?
My sister and I went to a Robbie Williams concert in my 30s that had 125,000 people. The book I had out at that particular time had just hit the 125,000-sale point, and I looked around and said to my sister, “I’ve sold this many books.” I remember the goose pimples. We just looked at each other and giggled, because it’s unbelievable. So, the idea of six million books is huge. It still surprises me. When I go into bookshops and see my books, I still point at them. I often go into libraries when I’m overseas, and when I see my books in overseas libraries, that blows my mind.
You’ve written 25 books in 25 years. Is there one that was the hardest to write?
There are a couple. It’s a weird feeling. When I see those books, they make me a bit cross. One was Larger Than Life, my third novel. I remember believing it was finished. My baby was about six weeks old, and we were up one night, and I thought I’d just re-read it. And then I thought, “It’s dreadful.” I literally flung the book in a dramatic moment. Then I had this very difficult situation where I had a six-week-old baby and a looming deadline.
That was a hard year. It culminated in my husband leaving me, so I think we can all agree it was a pretty rotten year. I remember thinking then, “Is this for me?” I was a single mom, and I had to take the baby on tour with me and there was all sorts going on. But, the book then went on to do really well, and I’ve had people say, “That’s my favourite book of yours.”
As with any long-term relationship, how do you keep this interesting for you?
I have changed genres, which helps. I’ve done romantic comedies, social satires, historicals, and then I started moving into thrillers. Secondly, I love it. I suppose it’s still being in love. If you’re in love, it’s easy to find the spark. And every time you meet a reader who’s loved a book, you think, “Okay, it’s worthwhile.”
You’re a big advocate of reading. What’s your current read on the state of reading right now?
It’s not good. I don’t want to say we’re in crisis, but we’re definitely in the amber warning zone.
It’s difficult because we all carry around on our phones an entire world of entertainment. Up until recently, the only form of entertainment was sitting around telling stories, and then eventually getting print stories and then fighting for the right to read. No sooner do we get that than it all disappears and we can all watch Homeland on our phone as we’re commuting.
It’s sad because books offer a very different private dialogue that does not happen with TV or movies or video games. In a very stressful, noisy world, reading is a quiet gift. I’m trying to go out without my phone for several hours and take a book with me. If I’m waiting, I don’t reach for the phone and scroll. I do what I used to do a decade ago, which is reach for my book and read a few pages. I’m finding it very soothing. It’s so much better for taking a pause, taking a breath.
This interview has been edited and condensed.