Toby Litt's room at Birkbeck College in London is exactly what you might expect of a grown-up Granta Young British Novelist, now a course tutor in creative writing. One wall is completely lined with books. The french doors look out over the rarefied surrounds of Bloomsbury, the comfortable armchairs are dappled with gorgeous early evening sunlight. And yet, taking pride of place on his desk isn't the debut novel of a hot new author or, indeed, a well-thumbed classic. It's The Mammoth Book Of Best British Crime Volume 7, featuring the heavyweights Val McDermid, Colin Dexter, Alexander McCall Smith and - Litt reveals with some pride and not a little bemusement - himself. The same Toby Litt whose other books could be filed under science-fiction, chick-lit or comedy.
"I had a weird idea about a group of women holding up some hostages with their son's plastic guns," he explains, smiling. "It goes horribly wrong but they do it to make a radical middle-class point about violence. I didn't think of it as a crime story, so when I was asked to submit it, I did a big double take. "I'm very pleased to be associated with a book that's called Best British Crime, but I feel a little like I'm being credited with a goal that was actually a deflection."
Litt is being disarmingly modest. Among his nine novels, variously set on intergalactic spacecraft (Journey Into Space) and in the hedonistic world of rock'n'roll (I Play Drums In A Band Called Okay), there have been previous excursions into the crime novel - Corpsing, for example, in 2000. But he laughs that off. "You say that, but I didn't even know that was going to be a crime novel. I wanted to write about the consequences of people being shot, rather than just have the bullet solve the problem, as it tends to do in Hollywood. But I suppose if you start a book with 'a shot rang out', you're essentially going to write a crime novel, aren't you?"
Crime is also the territory for Litt's new book - for starters, it's called King Death and it begins with a human heart tossed from a train. But just as his Ghost Story novel played with supernatural conventions, King Death isn't a classic crime novel. The two people who witness the heart being thrown, Kumiko and Skelton, are in a failing relationship. As the tale shifts between their voices, chapter by chapter, it is as much a love story as it is a hunt across London for the organ's owner.
"I like the built in excitements of genre, but then perhaps I play the scenes backwards or upside down," Litt explains. "And yes, King Death has got this relationship element to it, but I really didn't want to write a flaccid crime novel. With all of my books, I try very hard not to be condescending to the genre. The notion of me 'visiting' crime because it needs improving in some way is awful." So it's probably better to say Litt is playful with genre, rather than dismissive of its cliches. But then, he's always had that mischievous element about him. His books are named in alphabetical order, starting with Adventures In Capitalism and, of course, reaching K with King Death this month. Why? For no real reason other than it enables him to structure his future and gives him a starting point. Of course, a 26-book deal would also be nice.
The fun continued with his membership, alongside Alex Garland and Nicholas Blincoe, of the infamous New Puritans literary movement in 2000; it had a 10-point manifesto banning the use of flashbacks and made-up products or places. He didn't take the idea that seriously: the same year he had great fun inventing restaurants in Corpsing. His inclusion on the 20-strong, once-a-decade Granta Best Of Young British Novelists list alongside Monica Ali, David Mitchell, Zadie Smith and David Peace came three years later, and he said at the time it was better than being pigeonholed for lad lit.
Of all of the authors on that list, Litt is without doubt the most prolific, which has also meant some books have clearly been more enjoyable than others. But it is difficult to be critical of an author who consistently pushes the boundaries of his writing. When he tells me his artistic heroes are Dylan, Bowie, Picasso and Stravinsky because he likes the way they constantly "get away from the previous version of themselves", it makes perfect sense. It's essentially what Litt attempts to do with his novels.
His diverse books are, in a way, a work in progress, a search, perhaps, for the perfect story, or even the perfect genre. Most authors would work on a film adaptation of one of their books - as Litt is currently doing with King Death - with trepidation. But for this 42-year-old writer, there's a higher purpose. "I've always wondered what one of my books would look like if it went through the process of being condensed for a 90-minute film," he says. "Not in terms of casting George Clooney and Julia Roberts, but so I could see where my storytelling has been inefficient. It was quite strange; I had to take King Death to bits for the film but I hadn't actually finished the novel. So my hope - that I would learn storytelling lessons from the screenplay and feed them back into the book - didn't really happen; by that point the story for the film had completely changed."
Still, Litt isn't precious. In fact, he seems to be enjoying such collaborations after years of what he calls "writerly solitude". After being recommended to composer Emily Hall for a libretto, he sent her some poems that could work as singable lines. This summer, they're working on new material for Opera North, in Leeds, and there have already been a number of concerts featuring their work. The man who not only invented a band for I Play The Drums In A Band Called Okay, but even created a discography for them, is finding his own way into the music world after all.
"For me, it's this joyful discovery that I can actually do something in terms of producing music that I really like," he says. "And my bit is the thing I'm best at: words. I don't have to worry about being the singer, being on stage - even sounding original. I gave up on my ambitions of being in bands and making albums when I thought, 'I'll never be as good as Leonard Cohen'. Now I think to myself, 'My lyrics are OK, maybe I could have a go?'"
You wouldn't put it past him. Though for all the myriad experiments into music, literary genres, short stories and film, Litt does run the risk of spreading himself too thin. So when I ask whether there's been a moment in his career where everything has made sense, there's a long pause. "Hmmm, I'm still putting it all together, I think. But The Hare, which is the opening section of Ghost Story, was something where I didn't know whether I was writing for publication or to work out some things about my life and what kind of writer I am. I have the hare's virtues and faults; I'm swift, I leap around madly, I pick fights with my own shadow. It's hard for people to know what I am, and it means people mistrust me - there's a hostility to this shape-changing animal. I was saying to myself, 'This is what you'll have to deal with', and then realising that was fine. If I had to choose an animal to be me, then I'd still choose the hare.