I’m a huge fan of Rooney’s work. But the things I love about her books are not the universal, the relate-able, the newsworthy. It is the way she brings her unique voice, worldview, political ideology and lived experience to the page.

By the time he pulls into the driveway it’s almost midday. Mum’s got the turkey in the oven and the heat has steamed up all the windows, so I have to make a hole in the glass with my sleeve to see. But I know it’s him alright. I can tell by the way he walks up the path and the look on Mum’s face when she opens the door.

He placed the rusty knife by the cutting board and slipped on a pair of rubber gloves. A brown body with two yellow hands. He picked up the knife again and with a sharp thrust pushed the blade into the gut of the fish. She looked away, expecting blood to gush like water, but the board was clean, the white belly of the fish hanging open like a toothless smile.

As time went on, and I remained out of a job, I turned on email alerts, began checking my profile daily, and then twice daily. Soon enough I was spending hours each day trawling the site. I had time – I was anxious and broke. In my desperation, LinkedIn seemed to hold the answers, if only I looked long and hard enough.