Get Free

For women of a certain age (ie ours), author​ Zadie Smith is an object of worship. But what makes her tick?

- Keziah Weir

ZADIE SMITH HAS AN ALMOST UNSETTLING LACK OF PRETENCE. As she sits down across from me at Lafayette in Manhattan’s NoHo – her choice, she lives nearby – there’s no attempt at small talk, no forced laughter just to fill space. She’s reserved; blunt, even. We’re here to talk about her new essay collection, Feel Free, which has been released to wide acclaim, but as for doing press interviews, she says: “No offence; I don’t think anyone relishes it.”

What’s disconcerting about this is that to read Smith’s writing is not only to feel as though you know her, but also as though she knows you. It’s easy to confuse her for the best friend you haven’t yet met. She doesn’t use social media, yet Instagram abounds with more than 20,000 posts hashtagged #zadiesmith by her ardent fans: reposts of glamorous photo shoots; shots of her novels nestled beside mugs of coffee. Mention Smith’s name in a group conversation and at least one person – often young, usually female – will reverently breathe a variation of “I love her”.

Feel Free is Smith’s seventh book since she burst onto the literary scene at the age of 24. Set in the racially diverse north London neighbourhoods in which she grew up, her debut novel, White Teeth (2000), earned her such titles as the “face of multicultural Britain”. Her subsequent novels – The Autograph Man (2002), On Beauty (2005), NW (2012) and Swing Time (2016) – have been both commercial successes and well received by critics. Girls’ Hannah Horvath may have longed to be the voice of her generation, but it feels like Smith really is.