2011 Reading List

After inviting recommendations from all and sundry then ignoring most of them, I’ve put together my reading list for 2011. Most of these are books I bought a couple of years ago that have remained on the shelf, shunned in favour of newer, more exciting models, but that I’ve always had the intention of reading at some point. I’ve tried to include a range of established and cult classics, contemporary fiction and the odd token non-fiction but as I am a creature of habit, my hallowed triumvirate of Fowles, Nabokov and Capote appear yet again.

As I’m still wading through Pickwick Papers from last year’s list, it’s unlikely I’ll crack into this until February, but here are the chosen titles (in no particular order):

Earthly Powers by Anthony Burgess: I think A Clockwork Orange is one of the greatest pieces of 20th century english literature and was really blown away by Burgess’ inventive command of language, so I am ashamed to say that I have not read any other books of his. At the start of last year I came across this discussion about the best British post-war novel and after reading all of the comments I was filled with giddy excitement and panic about how on earth I’m going to have the time to get through all of these amazing sounding books. Earthly Powers, along with a few more titles below, appealed most to me, but I’m sure others will feature on my reading lists for years to come.

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh: I found the Penguin Classic at my folks’ house, felt ashamed that I have no idea what it’s about apart from posh people in a house, and am set to rectify this knowledge void in 2011.

In Cold Blood by Truman Capote: Even though I enjoyed Music For Chameleons and Breakfast at Tiffany’s, they didn’t engage me to the point that I was shouting praises from the rooftops, yet there’s something about Capote’s writing – sparse but warm, smug but vulnerable – that I admire, and I’m aware that I can’t fully pass judgement until I’ve read one of his most famous works.

Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand: I am mortified that this is the only book written by a lady woman on my list. Perhaps I should throw in some Jodi Picoult to balance it out, or play dumb on the Evelyn Waugh front like Anna Faris in Lost in Translation. It comes recommended from a friend of a friend whose literary opinion I hold in high regard, so I’m excited about embarking on this mighty tome. It’s not unlike a brick in size, and may come in handy when fending myself from street urchins, seeing as my rape alarm was left at Kabul Airport after it went off and people thought I had an explosive device on my person, or when stranded in a tree-less, cold place in need of fuel.

The Rotter’s Club by Jonathan Coe: I think this was a throwaway choice in a 3 for 2 purchase at a reputable book chain. I feel as though I’ve heard good things about it but can’t remember who or where.

Pale Fire and The Original Of Laura by Vladimir Nabokov: I should give preference to The Original of Laura seeing as it’s remains unread from my 2010 book list, but Pale Fire is simply far easier to carry around, so I’ll probably go for that one first. My love for Nabokov leads me to question whether or not it would be cruel to name a child Vladimir. And while we’re at predictable book choices, I have also included The Ebony Tower by John Fowles, as it’s yet another of his titles that I want to cross off my list. Hopefully it’s better than Daniel Martin.

 

Troubles by J.G. Farrell: I don’t listen to the Guardian books podcast half as often as I should do, but I really enjoyed their discussions about the 2010 Lost Man Booker Prize, and was intrigued to read this book even before it was crowned winner. I’m not often too bothered by book prizes but there’s something about the celebration of previously ‘lost’ books that I find quite special.

It’s Only A Movie by Mark Kermode: Yes, he has big hands and even bigger opinions, but I’m a fan of the Kermodian rant. His annihilation of ‘Sex and the City 2’ was a true joy to behold, not least because he started off by saying he wasn’t going to let himself get annoyed, like the parent who’s ‘not angry, just disappointed’, but then continued to release some gloriously unhinged wrath about the corpulent pig dogs and the crass depiction of class within the film. I don’t always agree with him – I found his reviews of ‘Skeletons’ and ‘Mary and Max’ particularly lacking in substance – but I am regularly impressed by his passion for films, so I’m looking forward to reading this. Hopefully it won’t just be non-stop praise for The Exorcist.

A Passage to India by E.M.Forster: Another one of my many glaring gaps of literary knowledge that I intend to fill in 2011.

Faith in Fakes by Umberto Eco: I first encountered Eco when I read an extract of Travels in Hyperreality, known originally as Faith in Fakes, when I was at U.A.B in Barcelona. We were studying England, England by Julian Barnes, a book which I enjoyed far more than any critics seemed to, and Eco’s essay about America’s fascination with, and indeed reliance on,  fake entities such as waxwork reconstructions of the last supper, or plastic pirate models over-compensating for humans dressed as pirates in Disneyland, was the perfect accompaniment to Barnes’ story. I hope the whole book, and not just the section from it that I read, proves to be as interesting an examination into human consciousness and our ability to suspend disbelief.

The Annotated Alice by Lewis Carroll and Martin Gardner: Another find at my parents’ house, although the pages are thick and crusty after a water pipe burst near a book shelf. This looks like a really interesting study of Carroll’s classic Alice stories, with his text on one page and Martin Gardner’s commentary on the other, and Tenniel’s brilliant illustrations thrown in for good measure.

A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry: In recent years I’ve heard many people of all ages rave on about this book. I’ve been told it’s marvellously moving and depressing. I’m looking forward to reading it.

Under the Volcano by Malcolm Lowry: Yet another from the aforementioned article about British post-war novels, and one that I’ve read about more recently in a list of the best boring books – this apparently is not a bad thing.

The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick: I do not consider myself a sci-fi aficionado, yet I adore Kurt Vonnegut, Margaret Atwood’s recent works and the Hitchhikers’ Guide books (OK, they’re more sci fi comedy but let’s not be pedants about it), plus I was really intrigued by the film version of ‘A Scanner Darkly’. This book seems as good a starting point as any for the author with the unfortunate surname.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro: Echoing my treatment of Anthony Burgess, I adored The Remains of the Day and firmly believe it to be one of the best uses of the narrative voice within 20th century literature, yet I’ve not got around to reading any other works by Ishiguro. Seeing as a film adaptation’s coming out that I’m unlikely to see but will inevitably read reviews of it filled with plot spoilers, this is going to be the first book I read post-Pickwick.

 

Something Leather by Alasdair Gray: This author seems like a total dude. Lanark and A History Maker were both insanely intriguing, and I picked this book up for about 20p in a charity shop near Elephant and Castle 3 years ago, so I should really try to read it at some point soon.

Alan Partridge: Every Ruddy Word by Steve Coogan, Armando Ianucci, Peter Baynham and Patrick Barber: I received this for Christmas a few years ago, and after watching a few repeats of Alan’s Travel Tavern days over the recent festive period I was filled with complete admiration for the creators of this show. Plus, I discovered from Stewart Lee’s book last year how much I love reading transcripts of comedy shows, so this will keep me chirpy later on in the year when the days start getting shorter and darker.