I wanna be in your gang... - Sue Purkiss

 A week or two ago, I came across an author who was new to me: Philip Gwynne Jones. He writes books set in Venice, where he lives. He's written four or five so far, and I read them all quite quickly. Like other writers whose books are set in La Serenissima, he obviously adores the city, and it's almost a character in itself. He describes the food particularly lovingly - rather like Donna Leon, who's written a long series set there. But he's funnier than Donna Leon; he has a lighter touch. His hero, Nathan Sutherland, is an Honorary Consul, which sounds very Graham Greene. An Honorary Consul, apparently - who knew? - is a voluntary official who helps British citizens when their passports or purses are stolen, or when they get into minor scrapes with the police. In the process of his consular duties, Nathan gets to know an interesting network of people, and finds himself becoming involved in crimes which are much more interesting than his everyday fare. The stories are good, the setting is great - but when I finished the last one, I realised that the regret I felt was for the characters: Nathan himself, hapless but surprisingly good to have around when the going gets tough: Dario, his motorbiking friend, loyal to a fault, who shares with him a passion for Hawkwind and others of that ilk; Vanni, the policeman, a little world weary but very much on the side of the angels, even when they're a little grubby; Federica, Nathan's art restorer girlfriend, straight-talking, funny, sharp, and ridiculously brave; Zio Giacomo, superlative cook and uncle to Fede. It's obviously going to be some time before the next book comes out, and, well - I'm going to miss these guys.

The cast of Call My Agent

The other group of friends I've recently had to wave a fond farewell to was the cast of a TV programme: a French series on Netflix, Call My Agent. It's about an acting agency in Paris. There's Mathias, initially smooth and a tad snake-like (but he grows, he changes!); Andrea, passionate, driven, funny; Gabriel, kind, warm, a bit desperate; Arlette, who's been around for ever and dearly loves her dog, Jean Gabin; Camille, thoughtful, ambitious, caring; Noemie, mad as a box of frogs; wonderful, funny Herve, whose emotions are so close to the surface; beautiful Sophie, who so desperately wants to be an actress that she almost loses sight of what's really important; and Hicham, the handsome and apparently ruthless new boss. There are four series, and I wanted to race through them, but as we drew closer to the end, I had to put off seeing the last episode, because I didn't want to say goodbye.

The first time I remember having this bereft feeling was after reading The Lord of the Rings as a teenager. I hadn't heard of it - I'm not sure where I would have in those days - but came across the middle volume, The Two Towers, in Ilkeston Library. It looked interesting; I borrowed it and was hooked. Then I reserved the first and third volumes and read those. I asked for the whole set for Christmas, and for quite a few years, I re-read them every year.

You know how you can quite clearly remember certain moments? I remember walking along the street - couldn't tell you which one, probably on the way home from school - after finishing the triliogy the first time round, and feeling very sad as it struck me that I no longer had the hobbits for company. I liked the hobbits. They were funny and brave and loved food and had hairy feet, and there was no-one at all like them in my world. I liked the other characters too, but the hobbits were my pals and I felt so sad that I no longer had their company. (You may deduce from this that I was an odd teenager, and you would be quite correct.) 

Remembering this, I thought about two recent favourite series: Elly Griffiths' Ruth Galloway novels, set in North Norfolk, and Colin Cotterill's Dr Siri novels, set in Laos. I don't often re-read books, but I have re-read these, several times. Both eries are funny, and that's one big draw; but the main thing about them is that each has a gang of friends: eccentric, loyal, funny, off-beat. (If you'd like to know more about these two series, see here for Ellie Griffith and here for Colin Cotterill.) I'm not the only one who wants to be part of Ruth Galloway's gang, incidentally; there are lots of us over on Twitter, who avidly discuss how we'd cast a TV series ( Ruth Jones for Ruth Galloway, Richard Armitage for Nelson, David Tennant for Cathbad?) and speculate about whether Ruth will ever, finally get together with Nelson.

As you can see, the characters become very real.

Of course, there are lots of other factors that go into deciding whether a book is a favourite or not. But for me, when it comes to choosing the books I want to return to, certainly one of the most important things is that there needs to be a gang. And it has to be one I really, really want to belong to.

How about you?