The house is eccentric and comforting, full of brightly painted walls (royal blue, turquoise, pale mint), rows upon rows of books, open fireplaces and hardwood floors covered in paisley rugs. “She’s the most spoiled dog in the world.” “Don’t buy her tragic heroine look,” Perry whispers. She lives in a terraced house in Norwich with her husband of 18 years, Robert Perry, a former police officer, and their pets: cat Margery Kempe (named after the medieval mystic “because she’s white and from Norwich”) and whippet Janey Morris (named after the Pre-Raphaelite embroiderer, muse and wife of William Morris). I’ve come to interview 38-year-old Perry, the Essex-born novelist who found herself in the literary limelight when her second novel, The Essex Serpent, became a No 1 bestseller. We don’t have a ghost, which I think is very unfair.” “I know that creaking noise sounds like we have a ghost,” Sarah Perry says, leading me into her living room, “but it’s actually my husband stripping Anaglypta from the walls.
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