Whilst fiction will always be my first and true love, recently I’ve found myself reaching for autobiographical books that a decade ago, I would’ve steered clear from. Back then I was too immersed in my own life to read about other people’s, but slowly, there’s been a shift. Maybe its my age; maybe this age of political unrest means I feel a responsibility to not lose myself for too long in escapism, so I find each moment of fictional abandon needs to be counter-balanced by books rooted in the truth of human experience. And these 3 memoirs did just that.