Liosuelo

“Who’s your favorite author?”

This is a dreaded question for me not because I never had one, but because I was never really the type of person to become a fan of any one person and idealize them or put them on a pedestal over other people in their field. When I read books, I get lost in the story, lost in the characters and the world the author builds. Very rarely do I read books that make me want to read everything else that author has written. It is really hard and very rare to find a prolific author with many books I can move through.

Whenever anyone asks that question, I feel pressure to answer in a way that sounds intellectual or culturally appropriate. I feel like I should say a famous Black laureate or someone born in the 1600s who was the first of their kind. But the one name that always came to mind by the time I was in my twenties was Sophie Kinsella. The next was Gloria Naylor, the author of the incredible Mama Day. She was the author of my favorite book in the world, Mama Day, a book I have read at least five times. However, Sophie Kinsella always had a special place because I have read EVERY one of her books, even the books under her real name Madeleine Wickham.

Sophie Kinsella’s books came to me at a time after high school when I needed something different to read. My youth and adolescence were spent reading fairy tales and young adult fiction, and then high school was consumed with mandatory school reading and fitting in book classics I felt I should read to be considered “well read. 

After high school, I needed to pick up reading again as a hobby. I missed it so much. My mom and I already had the habit of going to Barnes and Noble every weekend and buying a few books each. We even had a membership that I used when I was in boarding school away from her. It was a way we stayed connected, but we never read the same books except for the Shopaholic series!!

I remember when my mom first bought it and told me, “Nagiee, you’re going to love this book. The main character is a nut. She is so crazy. It is so funny.” And that’s where the connection began. Sophie Kinsella’s Shopaholic series was my first entry into that style of writing. 

It was funny, British, off the wall, but somehow relatable and realistic. Her books brought a breath of life into this area of my life. We would swap her books back and forth. I would write my mother emails when I was away in college saying, “Mommy, Sophie Kinsella has a new book, you should get it for us.” It was a way we bonded, laughed, and connected.

As an adult, I learned that Sophie Kinsella’s books were considered “chick lit,” not serious, not women contemporary, not literary fiction. And even as I read other popular New York Times bestselling literary fiction authors, people considered prodigies, or books on topics that made me depressed, I always went back to Sophie Kinsella when I needed hope, when I needed to laugh, when I needed to feel good about what I was reading. Her books feel like a close family member.

Authors feel indestructible. They feel larger than life because their stories live on in you and live on past their bodies and their existence. How can they die if their words are still here? That is why Sophie Kinsella’s death does not feel real. It feels like a family member has passed away. Someone who has been inside my home, inside my mind, inside my heart.

Sophie Kinsella left such a beautiful legacy. She left words that will be here probably forever. She will have people laughing for centuries, hopefully. I feel bad for her family, her five kids, her husband, and all the people who knew her in real life. I imagine the joy she brought into their lives, and the type of person she was is evident in her books.

When my father passed away, it was so nice to see how other people related to him outside of his relationship with me. I hope her kids feel solace knowing their mother was an incredible writer and storyteller, and that she gave so many people inspiration when they did not have any. Her life will always be remembered because her words will go on forever, along with the spirit of her that lives in them.

On another personal note, lately I have been feeling plagued with the discomfort of getting older. Hearing that someone like Sophie Kinsella, who lived so fully, did not get to see past age 55 is very sobering. It reminds me that aging is a gift and each year is a gift, because many people do not get a choice when they are diagnosed with a terminal illness. I am trying not to feel guilty for not appreciating getting older. Instead, I feel a renewed sense of purpose and connection to time. It really is a blessing to see another day, another year, another month, especially when you have love to give and offer to the planet.

Anyway, rest in peace, Sophie Kinsella/Madeleine Sophie Wickham. I hope you are okay wherever you are.