A Thank You to the Secret Barrister

Many thanks to Cinto Press and Read Media for this graphic.

There is a particular terror attached to setting a story in the legal world. It’s called lawyers.

Among the guests at our London launch last year were a host of solicitors, barristers, judges and journalists. And while it was lovely to see so many bright, friendly, familiar faces, it did little to assuage my anxiety about Sanctuary. From the outset my chief concern was not how the novel might fare commercially so much as whether it would survive the scrutiny of my eagle-eyed peers.

In the weeks that followed, I held my breath every time I received a message from someone in the profession. Immigration and asylum law changes so quickly that it’s almost impossible to keep pace with every development. But accuracy wasn’t my only concern. I worried whether I’d done justice to the moral complexities of the story, and to the courage and resilience of the people who inspired it.

Sanctuary is, at heart, a serious novel – ‘a furious defence of the voiceless’ as Chris Cleave kindly called it. I hoped it might encourage readers to see migration through a more human lens. But it’s also a mystery, and a satire. Nobody escapes entirely unscathed – not the protagonist, and certainly not immigration judges.*

So when I came across a review in The Law Society Gazette written by an immigration judge, I nearly choked on my croissant.

The review was titled ‘Allegory of Our Age’. My little heart leapt. But then I read the opening line:

‘I recommend this unconventional novel, though as I read it I had my doubts.’

I took another bite of the croissant.

The whole situation suddenly felt beyond surreal. Here I was, in effect, reading a judgment from an immigration judge on the question of whether I could write satirical fiction. I looked around the café. Had someone spiked my pastry?

By the end of the second paragraph, I recovered my breath:

‘It was only when I got near to the end that I appreciated what a good book this is, and indeed one that deserves to be read again.’

Appeal allowed.

Even after that kind review, I wasn’t entirely cured of my anxiety. Then, last week, I read the Secret Barrister’s exceptionally generous words.

My inner impostor insists that SB is kind to a fault – that s/(t)he(y) would find something encouraging to say about even the most dreadful writing. But until further judgment in this case, I’m choosing to ignore that voice.

A heartfelt thank you to the Secret Barrister, to the judge who reviewed the book, to Chris Cleave and to everyone else who has taken the time to read and write about Sanctuary. It means a great deal.

*Lest any real immigration judges feel unfairly targeted, many of the finest, wisest and most compassionate lawyers I’ve worked with have been immigration judges.

Photo from the launch at Waterstones Tottenham Court Road (featuring my wonderful wife, Sarra).