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George Bernard Shaw, Langston Hughes, Walt Whitman

Bernard Shaw, the great critic, playwright, social reformer - and Nobel Laureate. Of all his great characters (Eliza Doolittle, Major Barbara, etc), perhaps the greatest and most easily recognizable was GBS, himself. Beside him are Langston Hughes and Walt Whitman: Hughes remains relatively unknown, although he has been called the most significant black writer of the 20th century. (His writing I particularly like because I love jazz and Hughes' poetry captured the feel of it.) Hughes is next to Walt Whitman, which would have delighted him - Whitman, his idol. (One of mine, too - it's Whitman's love of life, his love of America, his large spirit, his generosity. Well, read Leaves of Grass, and see if you don't agree.)

Oscar Wilde, Tom Stoppard, Shakespeare (a bust of), James Joyce (pictured next panel)

Wilde was another must. Wit. Poet. Playwright. There he is, stage centre, wowing the crowds. (And Whitman, too, whom he made a point of meeting on his American tour). All of this before the fall when his friends, and we, deserted him. And then, to the right, rather natty!, James Joyce - the self-exiled Dubliner who published only masterpieces. (With his great novel, Ulysses, Joyce is even said to have 'reinvented prose'.) As for Tom Stoppard, ever since his play, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, I've been a great fan. So much so I decided, out of appreciation and for fun, too, to put him right up there with three of his own heroes (and characters!) - Wilde, Joyce, and Shakespeare.

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James Joyce, Archie, Doris Lessing, Russell, Charles Dickens, Edward Lear

For all of us who read The Golden Notebook when it first came out, Lessing has been and remained a seminal figure. (A fellow cat lover, I have even let her hold - or try to - our horrid undeserving cat, Archie.) Near her is Charles Dickens, another must. He is giving a dramatic reading from one of his many great novels. (Unfortunately, nobody appears to be listening, not even Archie.) And, finally, our beloved Edward Lear. He is here in a favourite suit Toad, himself, would envy. Lear, of course, created some of the most famous limericks (and illustrations) in all literature. And he is drawing - you!

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Keeper, Charlotte Brontë, Flossie, Toni Morrison, Salman Rushdie, Angela Carter

I had to have at least one Brontë, didn't I? The cruel choice for me being between Charlotte and Emily, with Charlotte finally winning the day. More easily identifiable. Plus, I decided, Emily would probably have hated being up there in the public eye, whereas Charlotte, if off by herself, might have quite liked it. (Not that both Emily and Anne aren't represented, however; Emily's faithful bull mastiff, Keeper, is at Charlotte's feet, along with Anne's Blenheim spaniel, Flossie.)

Toni Morrison. Like six others in the Writers' Gallery, a Nobel Prize winner. But what really tipped the balance in her favour wasn't that she is a woman (all right, pc) and, yes, black (pc) but that a friend once interviewed her and (will I never learn to be objective?) said she was wonderful. And on that basis alone, I am also letting her hold my brother Charlie's book, The Good, the Bad, and the Homely. (Is this nepotism? Yes.)

Salman Rushdie and Angela Carter. I have to admit all that business with the fatwa did weigh with me; it's just not on. Plus the fact that Peter really wanted Salman Rushdie in, his distinctive features a painter's delight. As for Angela Carter: a unique voice. Plus, I love her essays. And then, once again, I have to admit to a lack of total objectivity: she died too young. Not fair. (She is shown with Salman Rushdie because they were good friends and because both loved fantasy. Indeed, one of Angela Carter's best-known stories, The Company of Wolves, is a sort of take on Red Riding Hood - that's why she's wearing that big red cape - and Salman, himself, does not look unlike the Big Bad villain.)

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Jane Austen, George Eliot, and Virginia Woolf

The famous trio, couldn't leave them out, even had I wanted to (and I didn't): Jane Austen, brilliant writer of social comedy, on the left; Virginia Woolf, the master of the psychological novel, on the right; and the bridge between them, George Eliot. (Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf are looking down at us; I'm afraid they're chewing us over, ready to spit out the bones. While George Eliot, rather more compassionate!, is looking over at the solitary Charlotte Brontë.)

W. B. Yeats

Just to Virginia Woolf's right, wearing his usual pince-nez and arty tie. He's the wonderful young lyric poet whose poems we would all eventually be quoting. In his spare time, he also led the Irish Renaissance and founded Dublin's famous Abbey Theatre. (For all this, Virginia Woolf is purposefully ignoring him, probably afraid he'll invite her to his other interest - a séance.)

William Faulkner

A literary giant in America and particularly in the American South, which in some ways he invented. Almost as famous as his books is his Nobel Prize acceptance speech - beautiful, lyrical, uplifting. Faulkner is shown here in his riding kit (he liked that) and holding a wee dram (he liked that, too). Like Virginia Woolf, he is also trying to ignore someone, in this case, his old friend (and rival), Ernest Hemingway. Not that Faulkner doesn't admire Hemingway's writing, he does (The Sun Also Rises, a landmark) but all Hemingway's macho posturing, very trying!

Samuel Beckett text is contained in the next panel

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Samuel Beckett (previous panel), Dorothy Parker, Ernest Hemingway

What Joyce was to the novel and Eliot to poetry, Beckett was to the theatre: powerful, innovative, hugely influential. (Aren't we all, by whatever personal definition, Waiting for Godot?) Beckett is shown as he was on the National Theatre poster, stage centre, back to us, observing but not observable. Currently being observed are Dorothy Parker and her friend, 'Papa' Hemingway. I included Parker, that archetypal New Yorker, because she somehow transcended her era (her name even now personifies trenchant wit, disenchanted love) and because, frankly, both Peter and I thought a 1920s' flapper might liven up the Writers' Gallery! Hemingway, of course, was always a must. For all the mock-heroics, he much deserved his Nobel Prize - the innovative but eloquent simplicity of his prose style setting a standard rarely equalled. George Orwell. One of my heroes. The novels, of course (does anyone not know Animal Farm? Or 1984?), although it's his essays I really love - the humanitarian thread throughout. (Here Orwell is shown trying to catch a book which our cat Russell - that's the black cat above - has just shoved off the upper gallery. Russell is trying to get Hemingway's attention, show him who's really tough.)

George Orwell

One of my heroes. The novels, of course (does anyone not know Animal Farm? Or 1984?), although it's his essays I really love - the humanitarian thread throughout. (Here Orwell is shown trying to catch a book which our cat Russell - that's the black cat above - has just shoved off the upper gallery. Russell is trying to get Hemingway's attention, show him who's really tough.)

Mark Twain, T S Eliot, Robert Louis Stevenson

Mark Twain probably still the best-known - and loved - American novelist. Eliot - one of the 20th century giants ('The Waste Land' considered the first modern poem). Stevenson -my favourite of all the great Scottish writers (and what a life! Almost as great an adventure as his own stories). They are grouped together because Eliot was a great admirer of Huckleberry Finn and wouldn't have missed this chance to meet its author. In addition, both Twain and Eliot were from Missouri, both cat lovers, too. (I don't know who that cat is; he just wandered into the mural.) As for Stevenson, he and Mark Twain had already met, liked each other, spent the afternoon talking in New York's Washington Square -Tom Sawyer meets Jim Hawkins.

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F. Scott Fitzgerald, Emily Dickinson

Fitzgerald the golden boy and the model for the Lost Generation. He wrote what is possibly the best short novel ever written, The Great Gatsby.

(As a visual allusion to the novel, Fitzgerald - like Gatsby, himself - is shown looking out at the green light, forever illusive, at the end of Daisy's pier.) As for Emily Dickinson (the 'recluse of Amherst'), she is just visible over Fitzgerald's shoulder, looking out from behind a bookshelf - the first truly great poet in American history.

Ted Hughes, John Keats, Wilfred Owen

A trio of English poets. Ted Hughes of the dark good looks and voice, one of our best Poet Laureates. He is shown (perhaps too patently obvious, forgive) holding Sylvia Plath's powerful work, Ariel - both Hughes and Plath, whether they would or no, modern icons. Seated below is Keats - that bright star! Loved claret, cricket, his friends. And poetry. Of which he gave us in his short life (he died at only 25) such huge wealth. Here, he is talking with a worthy successor, Wilfred Owen, who would have been thrilled at this chance encounter. (Owen died in WWI, also at 25, with a copy of Keats's poems in his pocket).

Alan Bennett

Chosen because he earned lasting affection with the groundbreaking revue, Beyond the Fringe. Because he manages to be both hugely popular and a superb writer. Because from the North. (Is this chauvinism? Yes.) And because I could surround him with four of his greatest fans, the stars of his stage version of The Wind and The Willows -Toad, Ratty, Mole, and Badger.

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