sketchypages

35. The House on the Borderland: The original influence on Lovecraft and other weird fiction writers amongst many others, William Hope Hodgson is a towering figure in horror, fantasy and science fiction which he intertwined so effortlessly, especially in this book. He was a poet, a bodybuilder, a stunt biker, a personal trainer, notably applied rough restraints to Houdini before serving as a Lieutenant in World War I, during which he was unfortunately killed. 

This story served as a departure from the Gothic fiction of his time, and creates a more realistic, personal experience and even appreciation of the sublime in the pastures of horror and absurdity.  The framing device of a lost manuscript/diary is very well done. Of this book, Terry Pratchett said, “the Big Bang in my private universe as a science fiction and fantasy reader and, later, writer.” 

 36. Patternmaster and 37. Wild Seed: Octavia E Butler’s Patternmaster series details a history involving magic/mind control continuing from the Ancient Egyptian period to a far future. The first book published in this series, Patternmaster (though the last in the chronological order), is set in the future where the human race is divided into mind controlling “Patternists”, mutes (humans without powers) and Clayarks (sort of a hybrid animal). It is a bildungsroman story of a patternist as he grows and fights for his position in the social hierarchy. The story has a lot of interesting ideas, but it is not too well presented, and definitely doesn’t show what Butler is capable of, as a writer.

Wild Seed, on the other hand, was probably written at her peak. Her portrayal of slavery is unfeigned and not scattered with mawkish sentimentality. It discusses the ethics of bio-engineering, power, racial and gender based animosity, along with the idea of what it is to be human when you have so much power. Doro is perhaps one of the scariest people you will meet in fiction, and I only wish there was more of his internal monologue.

38. Her Smoke Rose Up Forever: This is a collection of science fiction and fantasy stories by the remarkable James Tiptree Jr. It touches upon issues such as the nature of perception, feminism, psychology, and biology as Tiptree Jr goes about breaking down the boundaries between inherently “masculine” or “feminine” writing. The stories are a wistful, tragic commentary on humanity and are moving, harrowing, thought provoking, sceptical, charming and sometimes miniatures of a more monumental narrative.

“Houston, Houston, Do You Read?” is one among them that starts off as a tale of the most absorbing, terrifying feeling of the smallness of humans (for they are lost in time and space) and our ineptitude when faced with the universe, which itself would make a fascinating movie. But, the story then proceeds in an unexpected direction, despite us knowing that Tiptree Jr is bound to make a commentary on gender roles.  

The very alien narrative voice of the spider Moggadeet in “Love is the Plan the Plan is Death”, gives us a melancholic, almost submissive account of the mindlessness of humans as we follow the path of endless reproduction, without anthropomorphizing the alien too much, thus preserving the terrifying sad outlook but giving us a sympathetic character. 

The prose is brilliant, challenging, compelling and imaginative.

“...The living, dying tumult mounts, fountains into culminant light. Its billion tormented fragments take on intenser being; it leaps as a great beast above the ravenings of its Adversary. But it cannot shake free, for the force of its life is Death, and its strength is as the strength of the deaths that consume it, its every particle is propelled by the potency of the dark Assailant. In the measure of its dying, Life towers, triumphs, and rolls resistless across the planet that bore it...”

39. Sleight: Kirsten Kaschock’s Sleight is about a rigorous avant-garde theatre called “Sleight” which combines elements of dance, architecture, acrobatics and voice. It is very much an experimental prose novel that distances us from the exact nature of the art form by using vaguely familiar words. I think this distancing is a little overdone as one finds it difficult to care about the characters described like they were almost absent. Although it is original, I felt it could have been very impressive but for the somewhat sluggish nature of the whole story.

40. Three Moments of an Explosion: Stories: This short story collection of China Mieville’s has got all the wonderful elements of what makes him such a fine writer. Monsters, floating icebergs, walking oil rigs, fake trailers, commentary on society, politics, academia, and his memorable prose.

The collection is quite varied, so you’re bound to find more than one story that you will remember for a long time. For me, it was the final story in the collection called “The Design” which is period piece set in Glasgow and involves scrimshawing. Not only is it weird and absorbing but it concludes in an unlikely, tear-jerking manner.

Also worthy of note is “Four Final Orpheuses”, where Mieville offers four possible answers to the question often asked by academia and readers of Greek myths, “Why did Orpheus turn around to look?”  

Quite a few of the stories are experimental, and some don’t work so well, but most of them do. It felt as though China Mieville was using the medium of short story to see how far and wide he could push himself in style and his already striking imagination.

41. Fallen Victors: Jonathan Lenahan’s debut novel is gritty, violent and has got some interesting characters. It is not without some touching moments, and the character driven plot lends itself well to a mature audience as each of the characters meditate on themes of trust, selfishness and politics.

42. The Street of Crocodiles: Bruno Schulz’s dense and atmospheric language transcends translation and that in itself is an incredible feat in a book that is infested with metaphors, both uncommon and common. It swings in and out of irrealism, providing us with glimpses of his multiple possible alternative worlds that are as vivid as they are scary. 

Somewhat semi-autobiographical, The Street of Crocodiles is a post-facto reflection of Schulz on his childhood in Poland and, more so, on his time with his father. He brings inanimate objects to life through his eccentric metaphors and baroque language. It is a delightful collection of surreal, dreamlike short stories.

“From the dusk of the hallway, we stepped at once into the brightness of the day. The passers-by, bathed in melting gold, had their eyes half closed against the glare, as if they were drenched with honey. Upper lips were drawn back, exposing the teeth. Everyone in this golden day wore that grimace of heat—as if the sun had forced his worshipers to wear identical masks of gold. The old and the young, women and children, greeted each other with these masks, painted on their faces with thick gold paint; they smiled at each other's pagan faces—the barbaric smiles of Bacchus.”  

43. Lavinia: Lavinia is a character from “The Aeneid” who has a significant say in Virgil’s epic but barely appears in the poem save for one memorable occasion when her hair catches fire. Ursula K Le Guin, in this odic and imaginative addition to Virgil’s poem, gives Lavinia a voice that Virgil did not. The narrative is very self-aware, almost as if Lavinia knows that she only exists textually and lives through Virgil.

It is compelling, original, insightful and a seamless fabric woven into Virgil’s world.

44. The Fifth Head of Cerberus: Gene Wolfe is one of the finest authors alive. Admittedly, he is not easy to read but The Fifth Head of Cerberus is a good place to make yourself familiar with his allusive prose. It is a collection of three different stories, so vastly different that you will see the clever connection between the three perhaps only at the end or in a re-read or even a further re-read. That is not to say that he tries to be too clever. It is the incredible subtlety, that of telling a story from the point of view of someone belonging the fantastical world (it’s a bit surprising that not more fantasy is like this, rather than having omniscient narrator. It seems like an obvious way to go about telling or showing something that is alien and difficult to understand. An example of such work is the Codex Seraphinianus) that makes us try to figure out what’s going on, and we eventually do, when the whole story is told. 

The book is named after the first novella in it, “The Fifth Head of Cerberus”, which is a coming of age story of a narrator called “Number Five”, as he looks back on his life and the person he murdered. Much of the world is introduced slowly to us. For instance, rather than saying, “Hey, here is a mechanical man!”, Gene Wolfe would introduce the said mechanical man by making allusive references to his heavy footfall, or the metallic creak of his knees, or the inability of the mechanical man to sit, and the portrait of the mechanical man is thus slowly revealed. 

The second novella, “‘A Story’ by John V Marsch” shifts to an ancient past and to a sister planet. It is a western and gives vague hints of the predecessors of the people in the first and the last novella. There’s a more obvious commentary on colonization here. 

“V.R.T”, the third novella, is probably my favourite as it tells the story of an anthropologist in the form of his diary which is read by a disinterested police officer. 

There are other symbolisms and meditations on identity and oppression, which Wolfe in his typically tragic-Catholic perspective examines deeply.

45. Excession: The fifth book in the Culture Series, Iain M Banks has definitely been given more freedom with his prose here by his editors who found his early drafts of his previous books too “purple”. The Culture is a post-scarcity, somewhat anarchist galactic economy, where technology is so far advanced that human sciences and artificial intelligence are treated at the same social level. Most of the administration and planning is done by “Minds”, a high form of artificial intelligence.

This book is more about those Minds than the other books in the series, and the conversations between them in the form of signals is absolutely enthralling, funny and engaging. As a perfect black-body sphere appears out of nowhere in the Culture, the Minds are faced with moral and ethical dilemmas on how to best make use of that.

Amidst this huge galactic crisis is also a tragic love story which, despite being absolutely insignificant in the simple fact that human affairs are so unimportant and quaint when compared to the grand scale of dilemmas faced by centuries-old Minds, is nevertheless moving because Banks weaves it so effortless into the greater fabric, with intelligent exegesis on gender, love, individuality and companionship.  

I would recommend reading Consider Phlebas, the first of the series, before you get to this excellent work.

46., 47. and 48. The Borrible Trilogy: It’s a sad reflection of Thatcher’s Britain and the atmosphere during the early 80s that this excellent heartfelt fulmination of classes in society by Michael de Larrabeiti was pulled out of print. Borribles are small children who’ve run away from home, are faced with a society that is neurotic about them and are ultimately “Borribled”. They eventually wake up with pointed ears and live for hundreds of years as children, wherever they can, stealing whatever they need to survive and having nothing to do with money, making their own rules and proverbs.

Thus, both in the structure of the books and in the nature of the protagonists, de Larrabeiti derides materialism. Across the three books, there are ruthless bloody adventures that offer no comfortable escapes for the reader. It takes a little while for the commentary to get going, but you eventually get to appreciate the dirty, ragged, brave and confrontational little adventurers. 

Each and every Borrible needs to earn his or her name, which has something to do with the adventure he or she undertakes. This is a wonderful, mongrel London, with its counterculture and subversive dwellers. Michael de Larrabeiti provides a stage for great camaraderie and a heart-wrenching, throat-tightening narrative of the endearing Borribles who refuse to be the sheep in society. These books are as relevant now as they were back then.  

49. A Tale of Two Cities: I feel Charles Dickens is often misrepresented as having written dusty old boring stories with excessive morality. I think this is unfortunate. And it certainly isn’t the case in “A Tale of Two Cities”, with the prose being very artistic, lush and beautifully capturing a wide range of characters, their peculiarities, varied social classes and politics. He portrays both sides of the French Revolution and depicts the aristocrats and the poor in both a sympathetic and disdainful fashion. It’s mostly up to the reader to make his mind up about the madness and violence, and how much of a sacrifice is worth a change in the society. Dickens’ frequent motifs of resurrection perhaps betray what he felt about the slippery slope of a revolt. It is a dark story and if certain characters appear to be too virtuous, I believe the purpose of this was to show that the aspiration of being better is itself a major step for humanity, rather than to drill morality into our minds. That is an important point and this is an important book.

50. The City and The City: The final book in this list is actually a re-read of China Mieville’s The City and The City in preparation for a radio book interview where I had the pleasure of briefly talking to him. I have already spoken this book a few years ago. To add to that, I can now say that I see the influence of Bruno Schulz’s surrealism on the prose, having read the Polish writer’s work recently.

It was odd that James Naughtie kept referring to this book as an allegory in the interview, even when China Mieville insisted that it wasn’t!

Here part two of the reviews. Please find part one here.

16. Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West: This book is based on historical events that took place in the 1850s, on the Texan Mexican border, surrounding the Glanton gang and its depravities as they massacred their way across the west. A fourteen year old  known as "Kid" stumbles upon this nightmare, the violence is gratuitous, relentless and eventually exhausting as it breaks the reader's spirit (not in a bad way), as Cormac McCarthy wrings one out to dry in the bleak bleak west. It is a marvellous subversion of the western in that it strips it completely of the romanticism and heroism, but is true to its solitude and barrenness. I would have liked more character development (apart from the Judge), and I wished McCarthy had written the novel in the same manner he portrayed the Judge.

17. Annihilation and 18. Authority: These are the first two books of the Southern Reach trilogy by Jeff VanderMeer. VanderMeer has contributed much to steampunk and weird fiction, but this is a very frustrating series. The first book Annihilation starts out very promisingly, as we are led into Area X, which has been cut off from the rest of the world for ages, and Nature has reclaimed its habitat and changed it to something beautiful, scary, surreal and unpredictable. It is weird, and though there are echoes of Lovecraft and Clark Ashton Smith, it is not haunting enough to draw you in. And the characters themselves seem like placeholders much like the last few seasons of Lost, though I would rather have this book than go through Lost again. 

Authority, on the other hand, just drags and drags as we are introduced to characters outside Area X and the Southern Reach. It takes too long to get to the explanation, which itself is not too compelling. There's the endless description of bureaucracy and some weird mysteries that are not fascinating enough to be left unsolved. I'm not sure if I'm going to read the final book in this trilogy. 

19. Doomsday Book: Extremely repetitive in its narrative, especially in the use of the lavatory paper joke, this book by Connie Willis is about historians exploring the past with the help of a very unconvincing time travelling device. The redeeming aspect of this book is the family during the time of Black Death, and their struggles. The technology of the future was underwhelming, as people incessantly punch the numbers into telephones and find busy signals, and is basically the technology of the 90s shoved into the future, so it doesn't even work as a retro/nostalgic representation. 

Some of the description of the Black Plague might be interesting as an education, but you would rather learn about it elsewhere.

20. Against a Dark Background: This novel of Iain M Banks is not part of his Culture series, and is his first non-Culture science fiction book. It has all the elements that form part of an enjoyable Iain M Banks book: great characters that leave a lasting impression, an exciting adventure, an imaginative world, a convoluted, witty, non-linear construction of the exposition. The plot involves Lady Sharrow, a leader of a complicated combat team and her hunt for the last remaining Lazy Gun, whose effect is random ranging from (for example) an inexplicable wild animal attack on humans to a spontaneous comet impact on a city, a Gun with a certain sense of humour and disdain for humanity. 

There's also a hilariously absurd yet believable religious cult, whose motive, which results in the pursuit of the Lady Sharrow, shall not be expanded on further here for reasons of spoilers. A group of mercenaries, Solipsists, then throw their own absurd wrench in the plans of the cult and that of our adventurers. There is a very wonderful portrayal of meaningful friendships and love, amidst the classic Banks action and technology. The story dragged a little towards the end but overall it is funny, dark and extremely thoughtful.

21. Mr Pye: Mervyn Peake's story of Harold Pye, as he lands on the island of Sark and goes on his crusade for goodness, is a fable that is elevated to dizzying heights by Peake's prose and the way he effortlessly moves back and forth between fantasy and the real, between silly situations and profound moral dilemmas. It is like walking through a maze of opulent description and not knowing whether you will find humorous denouements or horrific ones on the way. And to boot, they can be both and neither. It's one of my favourite books I read this year and it makes me want to visit Sark that much more. There's not much else to say other than that the word Peakesian ought to be in common parlance as much as the word Dickensian.

22. Araminta Station and 23. Ecce and Old Earth: If last year was when I discovered and revelled in Mervyn Peake, this year I applaud and appreciate Jack Vance. These two books are part of the Cadwal Chronicles Trilogy. In this first book, he begins the introductions and complexities of the byzantine aristocracy that was a result of treating the planet Cadwal as a natural preserve. We get to explore this world through the eyes of Glawen Clattuc and others later on, as their view on the world changes based on their experiences. The dialogue is formal and marvellous, and while some might find it unemotional (since very few of us talk in such a way, though I wish more would), this series is a goldmine for those who enjoy and appreciate clever dialogue and intricate socio-political issues. 

The second book, Ecce and Old Earth, carries on well from where the first ended, but it has fewer engaging characters, though several memorable, and some heart-breaking scenes make it just as enjoyable a read as the Araminta Station. I am keen to get started on the final book of this series.

24. The Drowned World: No doubt that this was one of the first works of post apocalyptic fiction where a character is enraptured by the chaos around him. No doubt also that it is wonderfully escapist in an almost depraved kind of a way. And there is no doubt that J.G. Ballard's work is very distinctive and his painting of the Drowned World is so surreal and at the same time believable that it almost makes this a good read. But, the characters are dull, unengaging, and some of the depictions are racist. It probably didn't age well and felt like it belonged to an audience from colonial times and not to the new wave of science fiction which Ballard undoubtedly influenced.

25. The Dying Earth: Jack Vance’s Dying Earth, which is the first collection in the Dying Earth series, is a collection of some chilling, meaningful, heart-breaking stories set in an undefined future of the Earth where the sun is dying and magic is a remnant of some labyrinthine and abstruse combination of mathematics and science. The magic is thus quite uniquely presented to us. The prose is very decorative and its verbiage untamed, as such reflecting the world around it and giving us the feeling that it comes from it. It’s hard to pick one from the collection of stories that stood out. Maybe Liane the Wanderer for its chilling tone.

26. Eyes of the Overlord & 27. Cugel Suga: Since I’m on the subject of the Dying Earth, I may as well cover two other books which are set in the same world. Commonly known as the Cugel's Saga, it follows the rogue wayfarer, Cugel, as he undertakes many adventures and misadventures, meets and swindles magicians, women, pretty much anything human and alien, and reaches his goal, only to lose it through his selfishness, only to gain it again through his opportunism and so forth. Cugel is an aesthete, picaresque classic anti-hero who could have been part of Dickens’ world. In that sense he is not unlike Fafhrd or the Gray Mouser but far less likeable. 

It is refreshing to see an author not repeating a blueprint of a successful book and take risks with the character and the plot to the point of almost telling the same story again twice but not quite. A recurrent theme, though, is religious intolerance and the dogma of faith. However, this is not overstated. The second book is much darker than the first and the ending is unexpectedly moving.  

28. To Kill a Mocking Bird & 29. Go Set a Watchman: I’m glad I read these two back to back as it provided me an insight into Harper Lee’s growth as a writer. It felt to me that Go Set a Watchman was an early draft of To Kill a Mocking Bird. I suspect it was the book that Lee wanted to write, as it paints a more unflattering yet more realistic picture of the community in those times and asks more questions and presents more ethical dilemmas than the book that was published all those years back. Those who have questioned the sudden change of character in Atticus Finch perhaps have had a gap between the readings of the two books, for Atticus has been more romanticized as the years have gone by and To Kill a Mocking Bird is somewhat of a fairytale, and fairytales do have that effect on the memories of our favourite characters. It appeared to me to be a more complete view of Atticus from an older Scout who’s involved in a larger society than the younger one. 

To Kill a Mocking Bird is a better book in its structure, its consistency of prose and the juxtaposition of gothic themes with those of innocence, but Go Set a Watchman interrogates the racial injustice and social views more keenly and perhaps portrays them more accurately as well.

30. Xorandor: It is remarkable that Christine Brooke-Rose has been so overlooked and so underappreciated for so long. Perhaps it’s the relentless prioritization of realism over experimentation and estrangement. Brooke-Rose was a lost opportunity for literature, much like Ann Quin, to find other ways of capturing and expressing what is otherwise inexpressible or numinous (religious or otherwise), surely one of the aims of literature. 

This book, Xorandor, the story of a stone and its influence on people, is an experimental novel that delves into the Cold War tensions, and tries to portray emotions through the computer language of COBOL. It’s witty, clever, moving and gently touches upon gender roles, philosophy, life and consciousness, and it must have taken certain nerveless chutzpah to make such an uncommon book.

 31. The History of The Runestaff: Michael Moorcock's four part fantasy series is combined into this one book. It is a very straightforward fantasy book with a very straightforward plot. The only interesting bit being the inversion of good/bad guys from World War II, i.e. making a German the main hero of the saga. The flow of the story is very choppy, predictable and dated.

 32. Wuthering Heights: There is so much shrieking in this book, that one may as well call it "Shrieking Heights". No, I'm being facetious. I liked this book. Though nowhere near as much as I loved Jane Eyre. Yes, it's hard not to compare one with the other. The themes, the characters, the setting have the same Bronte essence to them. Whereas the tension in Jane Eyre is subtle and about to burst, it is very obvious what is happening in Wuthering Heights. It is thus not always an easy read, since the emotions of the characters are so on the surface and you are left wanting to take a breath. That approach to tension succeeds for the most part, but is not as engaging as what Charlotte accomplishes in Jane Eyre. 

Emily Bronte, though, with Wuthering Heights, gives us a very eloquent portrayal of the storm that is Heathcliffe, and the bitterness harboured by the various characters here.  

33. Last Call: My enjoyment of this book was likely to have been stymied by my lack of enthusiasm for most card games. Like many of Tim Powers’ novels, Last Call features a complicated magic system, to explain various historical events involving the development of the Las Vegas casinos and the life of the mobster “Bugsy” Siegel. The central magic here revolves around some tarot cards, and certain individuals use them to gain power. In this setting, the legend/myth of the Fisher King is interposed along with snippets of T.S Elliot’s Wasteland, perhaps a little too bizarrely for my taste, and in the latter case is a little too contrived. 

Given this backdrop, the outcome and the finale of the story is rather predictable. It is an interesting read nonetheless and Tim Powers is the master of building intricate alternate histories that are very well researched, consistent and enjoyable.

34. More Than Human: It’s almost impossible to say much about this book without giving the central plot away. Theodore Sturgeon fabricates a science fiction classic that depicts loneliness and tries to figure out what it means for a living being to be complete. There are layers of deep meaningful psychology here about humanity, loneliness, companionship, love and our evolution as a species. 

The prose is lush and lovely and fits the tone of the book. More Than Human does what a lot of fine science fiction is capable of, makes us see ourselves for what we are and ponders what we can become.

 Part Three to follow.

Books provide one with such a colourful counteroffence against life's drudgery or its disconcerting machinations. To this end, I have embarked on reading as many books as I could this year. 

Part One:

1. Helliconia Spring: The first book in this monumental trilogy, for it is indeed a monumental pursuit by Brian Aldiss to capture the workings of the planet Helliconia, part of a binary planet system, the rise and fall of its civilisation over more than a thousand years, as the seasons on the planet last for centuries.

The planet of Helliconia is in a binary star system where it orbits one sun Batalix every four hundred days and another much larger, older sun Freyr every 2,500 years or so. Many of the inhabitants are unaware of this fact, as such a seasonal change that happens over a millennium is not easily documented, and if it is, such knowledge is either lost or becomes part of a myth.

It is not difficult to see where one may have difficulty with getting through this book, since the central character is the planet and as such the characters seem trivial and unengaging, for their time on the stage in the epic nature of the world they live in is so limited. One may feel a bit distanced by this. 

Nevertheless, it is a glorious geographical, biological, anthropological exploration of this quite imaginative earth-like setting. 

2. Wyrd Sisters: I've been basing my sojourn through Terry Pratchett’s Discworld on this excellent map of suggested reading order. I'm currently following the “witches” and “death” storylines. 

 Wyrd Sisters, if I'm not wrong, gives us the first proper introduction of Nanny Ogg, an alpha witch who serves as a counterpoint to the more pragmatic Granny Weatherwax, especially with her ribald humour. I didn't find Magrat, the third of the "sisters", as engaging as the other and missed the vivacious Eskarina of "Equal Rites" who I felt belonged here more than Magrat. 

The humour doesn't feel as fluid or effortless as in some of the other Discworld novels, and if you're well accustomed to references to Macbeth and Hamlet, you will see the jokes coming. Nevertheless, it's enjoyable. 

3. Ubik: This is one of the most compelling books I've read this year. Phillip K Dick is the master of pulling the reality from under you just when you think you've figured out where you are. The book presents you with a juxtaposition of two worlds and challenges you to figure out which one, if any, is real, not just by depicting the characters’ frustrations but also through cleverly placed clues and advertisements of a fictitious product called Ubik. I am fascinated when the tension in a book stretches like a rubber band through simple dialogue, without relying on needless complicated effects. I do hope they do not make a movie out of this.

4. The Picture of Dorian Gray: Oscar Wilde's sole novel is a brilliant exploration and depiction of aestheticism and its consequence on one's own identity. Apart from allusions and references to Tannhäuser and Faust, the book also presents the superficial natural of the society through Lord Henry and others, and their influence on Dorian. As Lord Henry points out, "there is something terribly enthralling in the exercise of influence", thus teaching a lesson in individualism that is as relevant now as it was then. 

The homoerotic theme underlying the book was definitely a reflection of Wilde's own life, though how much of it was an attempt to philosophically justify his lifestyle, rather than it being part of his own wider aestheticism and refined culture, is a little unclear since Wilde was constrained by the homophobic society he lived in. Perhaps, it was a bit of both. 

6. Brothers Karamazov:  “There is one other book, that can teach you everything you need to know about life...it's the Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, but that's not enough," said Vonnegut of Dostoevsky's last novel in Slaughterhouse-Five. I think perhaps, it can be said, if it doesn't teach you, it definitely talks about almost everything you need to know. But it is Dostoevsky talking, and he is very passionate here, so it's worth listening to him, and he is hardly a bad teacher.

Ivan Karamazov is perhaps Dostoevsky's finest creation. Despite Dostovesky leaning towards one way more than (in the end) the other in the conflict between faith and doubt, he nevertheless scrutinises both rigorously. The nature of the Russian society as it battles or tries to reconcile itself with the influence from the West is also a fascinating discussion in the book. Maybe less Dickensian than his other books, the influence of Dickens on the prose is definitely present in the manners and idiosyncrasies of the characters, and it may be more fascinating to read it in Russian, despite the no doubt stellar translations of Pevear and Volokhonsky. More about the translations here.

7. Trigger Warning: Short Stories and Disturbances: This third collection of Neil Gaiman's short stories is quite diverse, ranging from homages to Gene Wolfe, Holmes, Dr Who, Ray Bradbury, to his usual terrifying stories (Click-clack the Rattlebag, my gosh!), and in my opinion, a successful online experiment that is "A Calendar of Tales". In the introduction, Gaiman tells us a little about the origins of each of the 24, and this itself is interesting!

For those of you who enjoyed American Gods, there's Black Dog where Shadow finds himself in a pub, and in rather scary, fun little adventure, perhaps on his way to American Gods 2.  I loved Sleeper and the Spindle, as well the illustrations by Chris Riddell. Though I never took to Dr Who, I found “Nothing O'clock” interesting. The collection also includes a story which would have an accompanying piece for a fashion article on David Bowie.

A thoroughly enjoyable collection.

8. The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch: This is one of Phillip K Dick's first works to explore religious themes apart from the usual ones he delves into like reality/unreality and philosophy. It's difficult to talk about much of the plot without giving away elements that will spoil the story, save to say that it has to do with dreams, drugs, escapism and a more realistic take on what was offered to us by Nolan's Inception. But the similarities end there as Dick asks more profound questions such as "When does someone stop being human?". It is a little more incoherent than some of his other books, and is perhaps less enjoyable than “Ubik” or “Do Andriods Dream of Electric Sheep?”

9. Lolita: I finally got around to reading Nabokov's classic. I didn't think it was brilliant but I did think it was very good. I guess the conflict between morality and aesthetics is one for us and not for Humbert Humbert. However, this makes him less interesting and somewhat predictable despite him being an unreliable narrator. I thought there could have been more exploration on society's view on morality versus that of an individual. It's obvious Nabokov loved words as showcased by his clever word play, but I'm not sure I agree with the opinion of the majority who say that it gave the book a beauty that was not deserving of the shocking content it within. I didn't find H.H charming enough or interesting enough for that. Instead for me, it gave an insight into H.H, not to sympathize with him as such but to understand that he was flawed and not insane (that is not to say he didn't have mental issues) and agree with some of the issues he raises about the inadequacy of the simplicity of some psychiatry.     

10. Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch: I loved this book. Quite often pop culture references in satires make you want to read/watch the original rather than read/watch the satire. That is to say, the satire just becomes a weak apery. In Good Omens, every such reference fits in really well with the narrative or its mood and doesn't feel contrived. Neil Gaiman's dark depiction of the Four Horsemen not only balances the other funny parts, but in a curious way adds to it, as we ask ourselves the very interesting question, "How much free will do demons, the Anti-Christ have?"  

Oh, and I'm Sure Agnes Nutter appreciated the Bohemian Rhapsody.

Very witty, very British, very brilliant.

 11. A Clockwork Orange: I think the language in this book (Nadsat) adds a lot to the whole setting. Yes, it serves as a distraction from the shocking scenes, but is also mesmeric and vague and alludes to the political setting around it. It felt a little odd in the film, but works excellently in the book, since Alex is a teenager and the Russian-Cockney-Malay hybrid fits the profile of the teenagers whose perorations have echoes of Shakespeare.

The final chapter brings the story around to a neat character conclusion, unlike the movie which I felt was driving the whole point of free will a little too ardently. It is a dark and compelling read.

12. Ringworld: There is no denying that Larry Niven's multiple award winning Ringworld is a major work in the field of science fiction literature. It is an amazing concept, that of a gargantuan ring-shaped structure encircling a star, particularly since it’s backed up by much scientific research by the author. An artist would find it quite fascinating depicting the perspective in such a world, and perhaps even puzzling. Please Google Ringworld art only AFTER you've read the book. The sole disappointment was the characterisation, which I found perfunctory, especially the female characters. Furthermore the idea of "breeding for luck" was very unconvincing to say the least. The world itself is very engaging, but the book on the whole with its rather forgettable characters makes me not too keen to go back to its sequels.

 13. In Cold Blood: It's quite amazing how Capote manages to keep the narrative tension throughout the book, even when the nature of the crime and the destiny of the characters is known to us in advance. Much of this is established through a complete character study of the two antagonists as well as the Clutter family, thus giving us an insight into the effect of the killings both on the murderers and the different people in the Holcomb community. Capote was apparently given unprecedented access to the case and the people involved. The veracity of the book, will of course, come into question, since no one can really confirm the actual internal monologues of the characters and some Kansas residents have questioned the re-created dialogue saying that they were misquoted or mischaracterised.  In what he coined a "non-fiction" novel, Capote's writing style feels impartial for the most part and factual while not sounding like a simple report. 

14. Iron Council: I felt this was best of the novels set in the Bas-Lag world created by China Mieville. I am in the minority though. It's generated mixed reviews due to its overtly political (leftish) tones, and the general radical nature of the characters. What is missed is that it is a love story, and Mieville's commentary on the nature of love is one of the finest I've read. It's a western, it's dark, cynical in its prose as well as the plot, and nearly a third of the book is a flashback. The prose is less baroque than Mieville's usual style and more along the lines of Cormac McCarthy's powerful, tight cadence. It's not for everyone, even for people who loved “Perdido Street Station” and “The Scar”. It's less fantastical, adventurous, grandiose and thrilling than either but is perhaps more complete than both, for it is very insistent, insistent in the relentless pursuit of the Iron Council towards their goal, insistent on the militia's pursuit of the Iron Council, insistent in its bleak outlook, and is so good, that the ending that is brought about by Mieville, despite being bizarre and peculiar, is nevertheless germane as anything else wouldn't have felt true after one's latter anamnesis of the book.

15 The Invisible Man: The original invisible man, the one that spawned many many stories and movies in this genre, has actually, as I recently learnt, as its substructure Plato's "Ring of Gyges". There's a classic conflict between the society and the individual, between collective good and scientific progress as a result of self-alienation. The struggles of the Invisible Man are very vivid, as H.G Wells portrays the difficulty of being invisible and inconspicuous at the same time as he shows us that the two need not necessarily go together. He also shows how a simplified scientific theory has the ingredients to make a harrowing story and this is interesting because a lot of books and movies are overburdened by complicated science that tries to justify its presence. Here, the science is just the backdrop, like an opening move in a game that it then leaves for more important players.