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The novels listed here were enormously important to me when I was a boy and a young man. Fiction means little to me now, but at the time, it was my life. These books shaped my view of the world. I recommend them for you, too. Look Homeward, Angel, by Thomas Wolfe. A bit maudlin, but intensely felt. And no one's better than Wolfe at writing extended rhapsodies to the pure sensory fullness of this world we're in. Siddhartha, by Hermann Hesse. A fictionalized life of the Buddha. If you're an otherworldy sort, you'll probably enjoy this. If you're not, you just won't get it. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, by Ken Kesey. His personal life was a mess, but Kesey's book was a magnificent achievement, simply as a work of the imagination, and as a novel with a form that matched its subject matter. The Ring Trilogy, by J.R.R. Tolkien. Probably the most fully imagined imaginary world in fiction, and a noble tale of duty, courage and self-sacrifice as well. Jampot Smith, by Jeremy Brooks. A bildungsroman of sorts. The Tarzan books, by Edgar Rice Burroughs. These are trash, not even brain candy. But God they're great, if you can just silence your inner critic and enjoy them on their own terms. Lord of the Flies, by William Golding. I read at least a dozen of Golding's books, but this was the strongest. A great read for teenagers. On the Road, by Jack Kerouac. What can I say about this book? It's probably the only thing he wrote that's worth a damn, but it more than makes up for all his other crap. This book didn't just shape me. It shaped an entire generation. It's as American as anything ever written, and utterly original at the same time. The novels below here came later in my life. Most of them aren't appropriate until you're at least in your twenties. A Rebours, by J-K Huysmans. A perverse tale of a degenerate man. Light Years, by James Salter. Hypnotically beautiful writing. Nothing happens, but the writing is gorgeous, gorgeous. And Salter truly understands the logic of human relations. Anything else by Salter is worth reading, too. Under the Volcano, by Malcolm Lowry. A very painful read. It also contains the best descriptions I've ever read of inner states. Language isn't usually good for that sort of thing, but Lowry succeeds at it. Lowry deserved the Nobel for this book alone. One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Magic. Anything by Larry McMurtry. The man's just a natural writer. I've been reading him for twenty-five years, and may just go on reading him for another twenty-five. This is one of a handful of writers whose books get passed around the family, hand to hand. Long may he live. Anything by Elmore Leonard. Master of his domain, Leonard is the god of the crime novel. The only writer I've ever seen who even comes close is Carl Hiassen. |