They’re derided as being frothy thrillers bursting with sex and shopping. But for Sarah Hughes, these so-called ‘bonkbusters’ are filled with words of wisdom about friendship and feminism
It was the covers that first drew me in. Four children staring out in fear seemingly trapped behind a window, someone somewhere clearly wishing them harm; a girl with long hair in a Victorian nightdress menaced by a giant red and green plant.
I turned the novels over in my hands in the Edinburgh department store. What were these books? At 12 I’d never seen anything like them. Checking that my parents and siblings were still shopping elsewhere, I settled down on the floor and cracked open the spines. Later I would beg my mum to let me buy them. Bemused, she agreed.
