Boy, did we ever need escapism like we’ve needed it in the past year and a bit – and for me, there’s no better way to escape than to stick my nose into a good book. Normally I’m too much of a wimp to go hunting down the scary in literature, but a few years back I found myself in possession of We Need to Talk About Kevin, and I’d heard enough about it to be curious, so in I dove. I can honestly say that few books have instilled such joint fascination and terror in me. However she manages it, (I really wish I knew), Lionel Shriver can convey in a handful of seemingly innocuous phrases more menace than any reader should be allowed to access, particularly at bedtime (my favourite reading time). If someone had told me before I opened the book that a young teenage boy could frighten the living daylights out of me, I’d have laughed. I’m not laughing now. Kevin is definitely up there in my top three scariest literary characters. You have been warned. (On the other hand, when you come whimpering out the other end, your Kevin-less real life will seem a heck of a lot less scary than it did.)

In complete contrast, the late British-Irish journalist Pete McCarthy’s wonderful McCarthy’s Bar had me in fits of giggles all the way through. His mission, never to pass a bar with his name on it as he completes his odyssey along the west coast of Ireland, is pure entertainment. Soaked equally in alcohol, affection and charm, it stumbles through the back lanes of Ireland from the Beara Penninsula to Donegal, featuring along the way formidable B&B landladies, high-volume US tourists, local eccentrics and obscure historical monuments, and pubs out of which our hero pleads to be released at four in the morning. The Lough Derg pilgrimage is a particular highlight.

Somewhere between the darkness of Kevin and the comic joy of McCarthy’s Bar lies The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Set in the aftermath of WWII, it takes us from London to the recently-liberated island of Guernsey, where novelist Juliet travels in response to an invitation from a local that piques her interest. Written with a light touch, it depicts an island picking itself up from the horrors of occupation and feeling its way back to happiness. The episodes that flash back to the bleak times are harrowing, but are expertly balanced by quirky endearing characters, and gorgeous depictions of landscape, and a burgeoning romance. Left me with a sad but satisfied smile on my face.

When people ask, and they often ask, what’s the best book I ever read, how can I possibly answer? And yet I do, and the answer never changes. I first encountered Lolita in college, one of the novels on my English Lit course, and it captivated me from the first paragraph. Nabokov’s English is lyrical and marvellous. His depiction of the bored, gum-popping adolescent heroine Dolores/Dolly/Lolita is unforgettable, and his Humbert Humbert as the monster you want to hate but can’t is a masterpiece. Nabokov perfectly captures 1950s small town America (one of my favourite fictitious locations) in all its claustrophobia and apparent serenity. Lolita is the road trip you might dread, but daren’t miss.

As we finally begin to navigate our way out of this upheaval, one thing we won’t want to leave behind is the escapism of books – because let’s face it, pandemic or no pandemic, sometimes all you want to do is turn off the world and step into a story.

The Book Club by Roisin Meaney is published by Hachette Ireland in Trade Paperback and eBook/ €13.99