[Hodkinson] seeks to draw wider attention to the north of England’s ignored talent, often from working-class backgrounds such as his own, all of which is beautifully illustrated in his moving new memoir.

No One Here Reads Tolstoy leaps around, keeping to the memoir format but frequently spinning off into entertaining digressions.

[Hodkinson] has none of the chippiness afflicting some of the kitchen sinkers; he is not out for revenge. Instead, he’s a dreamer.

The problem, I think, with this volume is that it is actually several books between two covers.

Opinions will differ about whether Hodkinson is a discerning reader. 'I am not a fan of poetry,' he declares, so half the literary canon is dismissed out of hand.

Effusive, entertaining and sprawling (at times to a confusing degree).