James Swallow: 'The fuel for my book was a slow-burning anger'
The author of Nomad, an espionage thriller for the 21st century, remembers the frustrations that drove him to move on from his career in science fiction
When my thriller Nomad was first published, the questions I was asked most often revolved around inspiration. What drove me to tell this story? What made writing this book the thing I wanted to do?
There were a couple of obvious reasons: I wanted to test myself by writing something outside the wheelhouse of sci-fi and genre tales that has been my home for 30-odd books; and my mother is a big fan of techno-thrillers. On later reflection, however, what became clear to me was that the fuel for my book was a slow-burning anger.
The boy tried to stop Noya, but his effort was weak and half-hearted, as if he couldn’t muster the energy to do it. He moaned as Noya pressed the disc of the stethoscope to his chest. Her other hand moved lightly over the youth’s torso, stubby fingers clad in blue latex probing at his flesh. Each touch got another pained reaction.
The paramedic swore under her breath and bunched a handful of the boy’s T-shirt in her fist, and she bared his chest with another slice of the cutter.
