In the years that have since passed since I bought my first edition of Chocolat (from a branch of the now defunct HMV no less) I have devoured most of her back catalogue, from Five Quarters of the Orange, to the lesser known Sleep Pale Sister, and there are few authors whose prose I love, and whose plots I hold in such high esteem as those belonging to Harris. A novel that was instrumental in my love for literature, it not only whet my appetite for the sort of evocative writing that Joanne Harris has honed to perfection, but too for all things French. It’s hard to believe that Chocolat – a book that I love with such a passion that I have bought copies many times over, from bookshops in Paris to Sydney and beyond – was published in 1999 twenty years ago now.
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