Incoming: Aleksander Hemon, James Salter and Emily Berry at the Southbank Centre

Preview: London Literature Festival.

Aleksandar Hemon

Sophie Elmhirst: Not long ago, I met Aleksandar Hemon for lunch in St Pancras station. We spoke mostly about his new memoir, The Book of My Lives, which recounts chapters of Hemon’s life both sides of its central event, when he left Bosnia as a young man just before the siege of Sarajevo (I reviewed the memoir here). In conversation, Hemon roamed widely – from European football to how to teach creative writing. He was most poignantly open on the subject of the final essay in his book, his daughter Isabel. She died as a baby from a rare form of cancer and if you haven’t read it, Hemon’s account – in "The Aquarium" (originally published in the New Yorker) is an almost impossibly frank account of the trauma of losing his daughter. Aleksander will speak on 25 May. Here are four other events well worth checking out.

James Salter

The 87-year-old has just published his first novel for more than 30 years. All That Is is an elegant journey through the life of one man in Salter’s distinct, sensuous prose. He is often cited as the most unsung of the great American writers of the 20th century, or a writer’s writer (Richard Ford is a devoted admirer). 25 May.

John Burnside

Our very own nature columnist will be speaking about bees (a theme which will recurs across the festival - remember Einstein: "If the bee disappears from the surface of the earth, man would have no more than four years to live") and reading from his poems. 27 May.

Heather Philippson and Emily Berry

Two exciting young poets (Berry’s work has been published in the New Statesman here) will read from their work. 28 May.

Tracey Thorn

The singer, one half of Everything But The Girl, talks about her memoir, Bedsit Disco Queen. A fine writer (read her in the New Statesman here), Thorn’s account is witty and personal. 2 Jun.

The London Literature Festival will run until 8 September at the Southbank Centre. You can read the full programme of events here.

Book talk from the New Statesman culture desk.

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Hillary and the Viking: dramatising life with the Clintons

August radio should be like a corkboard, with a few gems pinned here and there. Heck, Don’t Vote for Him is one.

Now is the season of repeats and stand-in presenters. Nobody minds. August radio ought to be like a corkboard – things seemingly long pinned and faded (an Angela Lansbury doc on Radio 2; an adaptation of Charlotte Brontë’s The Professor on Radio 4 Extra) and then the occasional bright fragment. Like Martha Argerich playing Liszt’s Piano Concerto No 1 at the Albert Hall (Prom 43, 17 August).

But on Radio 4, two new things really stand out. An edition of In the Criminologist’s Chair (16 August, 4pm) in which the former bank robber (and diagnosed psychopath) Noel “Razor” Smith recalls, among other memorable moments, sitting inside a getaway car watching one of his fellows “kissing his bullets” before loading. And three new dramas imagining key episodes in the Clintons’ personal and political lives.

In the first (Heck, Don’t Vote for Him, 6 August, 2.30pm), Hillary battles with all the “long-rumoured allegations of marital infidelity” during the 1992 Democratic primaries. Fenella Woolgar’s (brilliant, unburlesqued) Hillary sounds like a woman very often wearing a fantastically unhappy grin, watching her own political ambitions slip through her fingers. “I deserve something,” she appeals to her husband, insisting on the position of attorney general should he make it to the top – but “the Viking” (his nickname at college, due to his great head of hair) is off, gladhanding the room. You can hear Woolgar’s silent flinch, and picture Hillary’s face as it has been these past, disquieting months, very clearly.

I once saw Bill Clinton speak at a community college in New Jersey during the 2008 Obama campaign. Although disposed not to like him, I found his wattage, without question, staggering. Sweeping through the doors of the canteen, he amusedly removed the microphone from the hands of the MC (a local baseball star), switched it off, and projected for 25 fluent minutes (no notes). Before leaving he turned and considered the smallest member of the audience – a cross-legged child clutching a picture book of presidents. In one gesture, Clinton flipped it out of the boy’s hands, signed the cover – a picture of Lincoln – and was gone.

Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue