Róisín Lanigan's Desert Island Books
Featuring Róisín’s favourite love story and the book she discovered thanks to Whoopi Goldberg...
Irish writers have long been flavour of the month, and their grip on the literary canon shows no signs of loosening. There’s this article by literary critic Erica Wagner on why Irish writers are having a moment, while Kate McCusker has also written about how reading voraciously has paved the way for many of them. From literary luminaries like Sally Rooney and Claire Keegan—whose books are both beloved and critically acclaimed—to the next wave of rising stars, the Irish literary scene is thriving. And among the exciting new voices, you’ll find Róisín Lanigan.
Originally from Belfast and now based in London, Lanigan’s work has appeared in The New York Times, the Financial Times, and The Fence, and she’s written two excellent piece for The Guardian, one on main character syndrome, and one how cocaine became cringe. Her Substack, is also well worth a read.
Her debut novel, I Want to Go Home but I’m Already There—a darkly funny ghost story set against the backdrop of the London rental crisis—is out next week. Haunting yet sharp-witted, the novel blends supernatural horror with the all-too-real terrors of mould-infested flats, spiralling rent, and existential dread (been there, done that). It follows Áine, an Irish millennial trapped in a failing relationship and a crumbling apartment, and the novel skewers modern anxieties—doomscrolling, performative adulthood, and landlords who feel more sinister than the supernatural. With biting satire and an eerie atmosphere, Lanigan has crafted a chilling, darkly funny story about feeling stuck—in a home, a city, and a life that no longer fits.
If you’d like a chance to win a copy of this brilliant debut, consider becoming a paid subscriber to my Substack. Each week, members are automatically entered into a draw to win a book by that week’s featured author—including this one.
And now, without further ado, here are the eight books Róisín would take with her to a desert island…
Flowers For Algernon by Daniel Keyes
It takes a lot for something to make me cry, especially when it comes to books, but I read Flowers For Algernon for the first time last year and absolutely sobbed. Keyes initially wrote it as a short story in 1958, but later expanded it into a novel about Charlie Gordon, a developmentally disabled man who is desperate to become smart. He takes part in an experimental procedure meant to increase his intelligence, alongside his fellow test subject, a mouse named Algernon. The book is written in Charlie’s own voice and so the text changes wildly as his intelligence grows and he realises how cruel the world around him can be. Good to cry on a desert island, I think. Not one to be read on a Sunday evening, however. The ending is brutally sad.
I believe in writing without a paywall—but it does take time. If you’re enjoying this post, I’d be so grateful if you considered buying me a coffee. It would absolutely make my day.
Close to Home by Michael Magee
There are plenty of books about Ireland but there are relatively few about west Belfast. The ones that exist are about The Troubles, and it’s not the west Belfast I know so well. Like Michael Magee, I am a Ceasefire Baby, born just before the Peace Process in a place which bore the markers of violence even if not gripped by them anymore. Close To Home, which came out last year captures the between-ness of the place better than I have read it done before. Its protagonist Sean returns back to Belfast after university and feels listless and out of place. The book evokes that mid-twenties listlessness, class anxiety and intergenerational trauma incredibly well, but it also just makes me think of home. And I think even on an exotic island I’d miss the Falls Road.
The Diana Chronicles by Tina Brown
If I’m going to be stuck on a desert island for the rest of my life I want to be surrounded by other Irish women I admire. And there is no greater Irish woman, obviously, than Princess Diana, with whom I am slightly obsessed. I read Tina Brown’s fascinatingly detailed chronicle of her life after devouring Brown’s Palace Papers and Vanity Fair Diaries, and listening to too many Diana-themed episodes of the podcast You’re Wrong About. I abhor the British monarchy, but I think you’re allowed to be a Republican and like Diana.
Letters to a Young Poet by Rainier Maria Rilke
Weirdly the first time I encountered a Rilke quote was in the movie Sister Act 2. Like Lauryn Hill, I took the book out of the library and never looked back. I know people read Rilke at every wedding you’ve ever been to, but there’s a reason for that. His words are really beautiful and heartening and life-affirming. Whenever I’m feeling really dismal—as I probably would whilst stuck alone on an island—I think of the quote from the poem Go to the Limits of Your Longing, which reads “Let everything happen to you / Beauty and terror / Just keep going / No feeling is final,” and I always feel better. Thank you, Whoopi Goldberg.
Rivals by Jilly Cooper
A lot of the books on this list are really depressing, which is just how I like them. But obviously if I’m going to be stuck on an island I want something to cheer me up too. Now look, I haven’t read this. But I have just finished reading the prequel, Riders, and it’s 900 pages long and full of sex and bitch-fights and I feel like that is exactly what I would need to distract myself whilst I burn up into an unrecognisable tiny Irish crisp.
The Orange and Other Poems by Wendy Cope
A few years ago I had cancer and promised myself that when I finished treatment and reached the milestone of being ‘cancer-free’ (five years after finishing) that I’d get myself a tattoo as a present. Horribly clichéd, obviously, but nobody is allowed to tell me so because I’ve been a very brave girl. I chose to get the final two lines of Wendy Cope’s The Orange, on the palm of either hand, so that I can remind myself when I need to that, ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m glad I exist’. I wasn’t actually that familiar with Cope’s other poems when I fell in love with The Orange, but I’ve since fallen in love with those too. I’m very glad they exist.
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
I have read every book Jeffrey Eugenides has ever written—which is not a boast, I just love his writing that much. Middlesex is his longest and so feels the most appropriate to bring as a desert island book. It’s a huge, multi-generational story that tells the tale of Calliope/Cal, an intersex person coming of age in Michigan and Berlin. Along the way the book covers the Balkan War, the Detroit riots and Watergate. Like The Virgin Suicides, it’s heavily influenced by Greek mythology, so it feels dreamy and ethereal whilst also being dense and human and historical, all at the same time.
Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin
Everyone’s bookshelves should have one good love story, and this is the best one you can have. Years ago I went on a date with a man who brought this book with him to the pub as a present because he thought I’d like it. The relationship never went further than date two, but I’ve carted the copy of Giovanni’s Room with me from flat to flat ever since. It’s a beautiful but again desperately sad (I fear I’m bringing too many sad books with me) story about an American man living in 1950s Paris, and chronicling his lost love; a tormented affair with the titular Giovanni, an Italian bartender he meets in a gay bar. I’d like to bring my own copy, please, because it’s heavily annotated with my favourite bits. Nobody is writing yearn books anymore! Nobody is writing stuff like, “if you cannot love me, I will die!” If I’m stuck on a desert island, I want a book that yearns.
