From the first time I met Leo Robson back in 2006, it was patently clear he was destined to write a successful novel.
Leo was the editor of The Warwick Boar, the campus newspaper, presiding over Editorial Board meetings with a lively, energetic authority and sharp, sometimes sardonic, wit.
Whatever the opposite of a “snoozer” is, Leo was it. An early-rising, late-sleeping conscientious writing machine. His dancing was frenzied, but his prose was precise.
I recall observing a meeting between the Aussie scribe Clive James and Leo after a talk at Warwick Arts Centre, which was akin to the passing on of the pen to a protege who clearly impressed him.
While I had been holding out for a homage to Yorkshire cricket, based on the life of his father, British journalist David Robson whose own book ‘The Owner’s Mother Loves My Stuff’ came out recently, instead we have a “fresh and original debut about family, friendship and love.”
Leo’s writing style, honed studying Latin and Film at the University of Warwick, has — like the rakish writer himself — always been lean and a little staccato.
His articles, editorials and criticism — published from the New Statesman and New Yorker to the FT — are always brimming with facts and flair. Much like his shabby chic hair.
Do buy the book in multiple copies here:
https://www.hachette.co.uk/titles/leo-robson/the-boys/9781529428193/
I know we aren’t meant to judge a book by its proverbial, but this one has a colourful and attractive cover.
I look forward to dipping into it.