With this remembrance, that you use the same

I was thinking about book covers again, which continue to fascinate me.  My interest this time was in Rules of Civility, a fairly popular book from last year.  I don't really know anything about the story or author, but I know the hardcover version featured the cover to the right, a woman lounging on a chair, likely from the 1920's, as a man sat beside her, holding a drink.

When I first saw it on the bookstore shelves, I recognized it immediately as the same photo used on the Penguin Classics edition of The Great Gatsby.  Disappointment is all I felt.  While the photo likely fits both books, I guess I had just always assumed that the photo was taken exclusively for the purpose of putting it on the cover of one of the all time great novels.  Never for an instance did I think it was merely a stock photo of the 1920's for use, wherever.  The photo just screams Jay Gatsby and Daisy Buchanan!

Even without knowing anything about Rules of Civility, I know it is no match for Fitzgerald's masterpiece, and therefore is not deserving of sharing the same cover image.  To me, this is as if somebody had slapped Ferrari's bucking horse on a Lada.  Sure, they're both cars from Europe, but never should the two be sharing anything of this magnitude, and never would anybody confuse one for the other.

I think it also says a little about Rules of Civility, or at least its publisher.  A book cover is so important and good ones can be so effective at making people pick a book up, which makes me wonder why a publisher would put so little effort into marketing a new book by simply using a stock photo.  While the same could be said of Gatsby, it is a book that sells itself on reputation alone, and doesn't really need a fancy cover. Having said that, I'm a little disappointed that Penguin would use a stock photo for a book of Gatsby's magnitude.  You'd think there are more than enough photos to go around, and that books needn't be sharing them.

I should but teach him how to tell my story.

    When I first began reading Money by Martin Amis, I felt there was something different about it, but something I couldn't quite put my finger on.  It eventually hit me however, that the book was written in first person.  John Self, the protagonist, is telling his story to me, the reader.  But after quickly going through my first 54 reads from this list, I realized about a third of the books have been first person narratives, including a lot of my favorites too; Brideshead Revisited, The Great Gatsby, and Midnight's Children just to name a few.  First person isn't unique at all.

But Money still seemed to strike me as a little different.  It isn't as if it has been a while since I've read a first person story (notwithstanding the amazing amount of time it took to read The Recognitions); numbers 51 (All the King's Men) and 50 (Red Harvest) were both told in this fashion.  As my reading continued however, I realized that perhaps it was the narrator talking to the reader that had caught my attention, the breaking of the 'fourth wall.'

I think in literature, every first person narrative is, in a way, breaking the fourth wall as we have to assume the narrator it telling the story to the reader.  This isn't always the case of course, as in Portnoy's Complaint where the story, in first person, is being told to a psychiatrist, but usually it is to the reader.  But in Money, the narrator doesn't just break this wall by talking to the reader, rather he engages the reader, asking questions, looking to the reader for approval, and even acknowledging that his words are in a fictional book and being read by somebody.

None of this is really groundbreaking or anything, but it caused me to sit back and think about who was telling the story, or perhaps more accurately, how they were telling the story.  I'll admit I never really paid any attention to narrative mode when reading, but I think that is probably because I don't know a lot about it.  To fix this, I've done a little bit of secondary reading, trying to learn to better appreciate, or at least understand, these different techniques.  This has led me to two conclusions.  First off, I would classify Money as metafiction told in first person.  Second is that I should have taken more English classes in University because I find this all very interesting.

Obviously the point of view is an important part of any writing, and I'm beginning to wonder if this has been one of the things I've been missing in a few of these reads.  Perhaps this is the reason I didn't enjoy certain books that so many seem to love.  If that is the case, I suppose I could count this as another benefit of reading through this list.  Maybe it has been reading books I wouldn't normally touch with a ten-foot pole that has forced me to look deeper into the writing, which in the end will only make me a stronger and more sophisticated reader.  And I don't think that's a bad thing.

Witness the tiring day and heavy night;

I started my 53rd book, The Recognitions, this past weekend and have been reminded of what a burden reading a 1000 page book can be.  At first thought, it shouldn't be a problem, after all, it is only 1000 pages, but when I look at that number, compared to most books the problem is quite apparent.

So far, of the 52 books I've read from the list, the average length has been 334 pages, which means The Recognitions is the equivalent of reading three books.  In addition, I've read, on average, 7,200 pages from the list each year, meaning this book will represent about 14% of my total pages read for 2012.  Basically, if every book on the list was this long, I figure it would take me over ten years to finish.

But these 1000 pagers also present a few logistical problems.  Naturally, a 1000 page book is heavy and awkward.  It's difficult to read it in bed for example, as holding it above my head simply isn't very comfortable.  I also can't read it with one hand; which can limit where and when I can read.  And the shear size makes it difficult to take with me where ever I go.  It doesn't fit into a jacket's inside pocket like Gatsby might, and it doesn't go into the seat pocket in front of me very well on the plane.  1000 page books are just all around awkward to read.

But the good news is I've hit the 10% mark!  Let's see, four days to finish ten percent means I should finish this book in forty days, which means I'll be done on...May 7th.  Hmmm...perhaps I need to get some reading done.

You must translate: 'tis fit we understand them.

One of the things that appeals to me about Time's list of 100 novels, is the fact that they are all English-language books.  I don't say this because I have something against other languages.  Nor do I think their books to be inferior or anything like that.  But I am always a little leery of translated books, because I'm not reading the author's words.

If translations and languages worked in a simple, linear form, then this wouldn't be a problem; 'A' in this language equals 'B' in this language.  Of course this isn't the case, and as a result, you could be getting two very different books.  Just as we all interpret a book differently, be it the themes, the characters' motives, anything, it would be impossible for a translator not to do the same thing.  Each translation will be different.

I recently finished reading Funeral for a Dog, German author Thomas Pletzinger's first novel.  I found it to be an enjoyable read, following a journalist, Daniel Mandelkern, and his quest to interview Dirk Svensson, a reclusive children's author.  The book has a couple of different story lines, following each man's past, the present and their interview, as well as the story of Lua, a three-legged dog, who's fate shouldn't be a surprise to the reader.

While I was enjoying the story (it starts out a little slow but the second half was quite engaging), and I was enjoying the characters, both of whom had interesting back stories, I always knew in the back of my mind it was a translation.  I know I should be more open, but I fear that I'm not getting what Pletzinger had intended.  When Daniel thinks of himself as Nick Carraway, interviewing Svensson's Jay Gatsby, I couldn't help wonder if Pletzinger originally referred to a notable German novel instead of a staple of American fiction.

I also wonder how much of the word play and language was 'lost in translation.'  I was recently talking to someone about this, when they mentioned there was a line in The Little Prince, which in French read, "tu n'est pas un champion, tu est un champignon."  While it is clever in French, the English translation of "you're not a champion, you're a mushroom" doesn't necessarily carry the same meaning.  It simply cannot be translated without either losing the pun or losing the meaning.

Of course this isn't paramount to the enjoyment or appreciation of the book, but it was something I was always thinking about, and perhaps always distracted by, to some small degree.  This doesn't mean I will shun non-English books because of this, and am sure I will be reading more foreign works in the future.  But it is why I will always prefer to read an English book over one written in a different language.

A goodly house: the feast smells well;

I've nearly finished my 37th book, The Sportswriter, with only a few dozen pages left.  I'm still not sure what I think of it as a book.  There are times when I'm mesmerized and can't put it down, and there are times I find it drags a little.  But all in all, it's one I'm enjoying, even though it doesn't really have anything to do with sports.

It has also provided me with two links to other books on The List, which for some reason I find really interesting.  I don't know why, but it seems odd or funny to me, that a book from a list of great books, would mention other books from the same list.  It first happened in The Corrections, when one of the characters was reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.  In The Sportswriter, Frank, the protagonist, is asked how long it has been since he read The Sun Also Rises.  He doesn't recall, but figures it's probably been quite some time.  For me, I read it last September, #17 on my list.  Later on in the novel, Frank is listening to the radio, where a feminist announcer is reading dirty passages from Tropic of Cancer, my 10th read. If I had never read this book, I wouldn't really know what he was talking about.  I suppose, in a way, I can thank The List for making me a little smarter.  Or maybe just a little more aware.

While reading The Sportswriter I have also continued my plan of reading a non-fiction book at the same time.  Yesterday, I was able to finish A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway.  Another book that mentions The Sun Also Rises, but I guess that's to be expected.  The book is really an account of Hemingway's time in Paris in the mid-20's while he was working as a foreign correspondent for the Toronto Star Weekly.

Really, this book reads just like one of Hemingway's novels with short, too-the-point dialogue, and limited descriptions about settings or surroundings.  Hemingway talks about his experiences in Paris, being what he describes as 'very poor and very happy.'  He talks of the people he spent time with, most notably Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound and F. Scott Fitzgerald.  It is the chapters about Fitzgerald I found particularly interesting.  Hemingway really paints an almost pathetic picture of the writer.  He describes him as a drunk and a  hypochondriac, who has very little self esteem and is basically an all-around helpless human being.  I think of The Great Gatsby and how it is received today and wonder how somebody like the man Hemingway describes, could write such a masterpiece.

#33 - "The Day of the Locust" by Nathanael West

The 33rd book of The List has been read; one third finished, two thirds to go.  It was 18 months ago I started reading these 100 novels and I'm a little behind my desired pace, so I currently should be finishing around April of 2014.  I actually finished my latest book a few days ago, but was out of town and unable to find the time to write anything about it.

The quarter pole book, er...third pole, was The Day of the Locust by Nathanael West, which ended up being so because I was hoping to squeeze in a quick read before going away, thus I wouldn't have to pack more than two books for my trip.  Of course, despite being only 127 pages and the second shortest on the list so far (ahead of only The Bridge of San Luis Rey) I wasn't able to finish it until about halfway through my flight; about two hours too late.

The book is set in Hollywood in the 1930's, and centers around a few fringe players in the movie industry.  Included are Tod Hackett, a wannabe artist who works painting backgrounds for movie sets, and the woman he's after, Faye Greener, an aspiring starlet.  As the story moves along, the two run into many obstacles to ever getting together, meaning Faye has other suitors who are getting in Tod's way.  Most notably is Homer Simpsons (see my previous post), a hapless businessman who Faye uses for money, clothing and shelter, and Erle Shoop, another Hollywood wannabe whose Texan roots lend well to being an extra playing cowboys in the movies.

Of course the book isn't just a novelization of a rom-com, where the a love triangle develops and hilarity ensues.  Rather it is the story of Hollywood and the people who try and fail to make it big in the movies.  Which in reality of course, is almost everybody.  Nearly every character has moved to Southern California, with the hopes of becoming the next big thing, and most of them will stop at nothing to see this dream become a reality.  Faye Greener even goes so far as to say that if she doesn't become a big star, she'll kill herself.  I shudder to think how many people actually lived out this scene.

When I finished reading this book, I had a hard time putting my finger on it.  But it suddenly dawned on me, that my having trouble writing about it, was because I didn't really like it.  It isn't that it was poorly written, but the story wasn't terribly interesting, and the characters, for the most part, weren't that memorable.  In fact, when I look back at it, the only thing that jumps out about it in my mind, was the fact that one of the characters was named Homer Simpson.  I'm sure if Fitzgerald's book was called The Great Simpson, I'd have been able to get over it, and I doubt Homer would be the only thing I remember.

Not only was in not that interesting, it was also slightly depressing and didn't really have any closure at the end.  Now an unhappy ending can be done to great effect, (see Gatsby again) but here it only led me to often lose interest in what was happening.  As for the conclusion, the book just seemed to end for no reason other than West ran out of ink.  Had it not been for the fact that there were only a few pages left, I wouldn't have had any clue I was nearing the end.

But then I begin to wonder, as I always do when I don't really care for a book from The List, did I miss something?  Maybe there is some deeper meaning to this novel, and I'm not savvy enough to pick up on it.  Or maybe I read the important parts when I was sleepy and kind of glossed over them.  But then again, maybe it just wasn't that good of a book.

Having been written in 1939, The Day of the Locust was one of the first books to try and tackle the movie industry.  So perhaps it was a little more cutting edge at the time, exploring such a  glamorous and exciting business.  But today, when the topic has been discussed ad naseum, when there are magazines, books, TV shows, movies, blogs, and facebook groups dedicated to the same thing, perhaps it's impact isn't as profound.



You can read TIME magazine's original review from June 19, 1939 right here.  It's interesting to note that TIME didn't think much of this book in 1939.

Notes: There is an odd line in this novel, which goes as follows: "...from a flood in Medicine Hat, Wyoming, to an angry policeman in Moose Factory, Ontario."  Besides being two of the funnier place names around, anybody from Alberta (as I am) can tell you Medicine Hat is here, not in Wyoming.  I have been unable to find any trace of a Medicine Hat, Wyoming, so I'm guessing West must have liked 'Medicine Hat', but thought Alberta was a little too obscure in 1939.  'Moose Factory', by the way, does exist, and is home to former NHL'er Jonathan Cheechoo.

The main character's name is spelt 'Tod', so I didn't misspell it in this post.  However, the edition of this book I read did, having spelt it 'Todd' once, like a normal person would.

As I mentioned, I actually finished this book last Sunday, so I'm already over halfway through number thirty-four, The Sheltering Sky by Paul Bowles.

Second edition: he will print them, out of doubt

I was thinking today about my earlier idea of one day owning all 100 novels. So far, I've checked eight out from the library, borrowed two from a friend, and own a copy of one. I probably won't read 95 of them ever again, but it could serve as a sort of trophy case for having read through the list.

As I day dreamed about the possibilities of owning all 100, my vision became quite clear. A tall mahogany shelf, lined with leather-bound copies of each book, all being embraced by the beam of a single lamp overhead. I think of it as something you'd find in an Agatha Christie mystery, lining the room where the guests all meet to sip brandy and talk about the recent murder. As they discuss who done it, and lightning flashes through the floor-to-ceiling windows, while thunder rattles the lamps which light the room.

Of course I don't have a Victorian-era mansion, and most likely never will. The bookshelf however, still might be a possibility. In order to fill the shelf, I did some on-line research to check the availability of first editions of some of these books. Looking on The Manhattan Rare Book Company website, I was able to find over half the books I've read so far. Unfortunately, as easy as they were to find, it appears they will be equally as difficult to finance. I found a first edition of Beloved, signed by Toni Morrison, for only $600. A first edition copy of Light in August can be had for $6500 and The Great Gatsby for $6800. The most shocking however, was the price of a first edition copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, which can be yours for the bargain price of $17,500!

I've decided to return to the goal of simply having a copy of each book on my shelf, be it the first edition or the 500th edition. They can be paperbacks for all I care.

#6 - "The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald

My sixth book is finished and I'm only three months into the project. Let's see, that's fifty months to finish the list, so I should be done sometime in January of 2014. That seems so far away.

Gatsby is simply put, a good book. I enjoy the story, the characters, the setting, everything. It all seems so real to me when I read it. It's one of those books I just seem to get lost in so to speak. I suppose that is a testament to how well written it is and what a good book it really is. There's no mystery as to why this one is on the list and no mystery as to why it is probably in every English department's curriculum in the country.

The book follows Nick Carraway, a young mid-westerner who has moved to New York to learn the bond business. He rents a house on Long Island, next door to the mysterious and intriguing, and filthy rich, Jay Gatsby.

Unlike many of the other people in Nick's life, Gatsby doesn't come from old money. His money comes from an unknown source, presumably bootlegging, and he is a living embodiment of the 'American dream'; coming from so low to so high in such a short period of time. However, as

Nick becomes closer to Gatsby, he learns of the man's motivations and ultimately his fate, and realizes that being wealthy doesn't necessarily mean being happy. When I read that back, I realize it sounds like I'm describing an episode of "Ducktales," where Uncle Scrooge has to decide between spending time with his nephews or acquiring more gold coins, but you know what I mean. In the end, Nick sees the highs and lows of such a life, and decides that his future doesn't lie in New York, chasing that same dream or experiencing a similarly tragic fate.

The character of Nick Carraway reminds me of Charles Ryder from Brideshead Revisited. They socialize with people of such fantastic wealth, that they consider themselves to be hard up, even poor. Of course both of them have jobs paying close to nothing, yet at a young age have comfortable lodgings, hire cars, stay at hotels, eat at nice restaurants, etc. Apparently wealth is relative to who you are closest to.

It seems strange to learn that this book was one of Fitzgerald's least successful novels. Upon its release, it was critically acclaimed, but performed poorly at the tills. It wasn't until after his death, and a re-release in the early 40's that the book became so very popular and reached the lofty status it still holds today. Fitzgerald never knew the success of Gatsby, and died considering himself a failure as a writer. That speaks to the difficulty in being a fiction writer. Something you work hard at and can be very proud of, doesn't strike the right chord with the public, and you spend your life considering yourself to be a failure.


You can read Time magazine's original review from May 11th, 1925, and possibly the shortest book review of all time, here.
I'm not sure what I'll be reading next, so that probably means another trip to the library, to see what I can find.

Yes; 'tis the list

I don’t read as much as I used to. And when I do, it tends to be non-fiction, usually books about World War II, or baseball, or politics. I've never really made a point of reading any 'great' novels, and when I do pick up a novel, it tends to be on the fluffier side. I think the last novel I read was The Da Vinci Code. It was fun and enjoyed it, but let’s face it, it isn't very deep.

I recently cam across a list from Time Magazine, of their “100 All TIME Novels.” The list, selected by two of Time’s book reviewers, selected the 100 best English novels, which were written from 1923 to present. In the case of this list, 'present' was 2005, and 1923 is the year Time began publishing. When I first read through the list, something struck me; I haven’t read very many of the books that were on it. I’d heard of most of them. Actually, make that I’d heard of quite a few of them, and I’d heard of some of the authors on them, but I hadn’t necessarily heard of their books. Then there were quite a few that I’d heard of or seen the movies, but either hadn’t read the book or was unaware that it was originally a book. The plain and simple fact was that I’d read six of the novels on the list. Six out of one hundred, critically acclaimed books. I’ve been to six hockey games in the last month. I’ve probably seen all 160 episodes of Seinfeld six times each. I guess it’s fair to say, I haven't been the literary type for the past few...decades.

I’ve decided to do something about this though, and as you might have guessed, I’m going to read all 100 novels, and see how it goes. Some of them, I can’t wait to read; while others the idea of reading them fills me with ennui that one generally experiences at an insurance seminar. I’m sure none of the books on this list will be bad per se, but I’m sure that I’m going to like some more than others; make that much more than others. Only time will tell I guess.

The list itself is only in alphabetical order. The 100 books are not ranked or grouped by genre or anything else. It is just a list of 100 great books. Since they aren’t in any order, I’m not going to read them in any order either. I think I’ll just read them as I come across them or as I think of them. I don’t know.

So far, the six I’ve read are:

Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell
The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Lord of the Flies by William Golding.

You can probably deduce from this short list how I ended up reading these books; in school as part of some mandatory reading. This was the case for Gatsby (Grade 12), Mockingbird (Grade 11) and Lord of the Flies (Grade 8). I read the Narnia book when I was about 10 years old, and it was possibly the first novel I ever read on my own. The last two books, Nineteen Eighty-Four and Catcher in the Rye , I read out of my own volition. And this is what kind of confuses me; I thoroughly enjoyed both of them, so much that I've read Nineteen Eighty-Four several times, but haven't read much fiction since then, over ten years ago.

For the purpose of this experiment, for lack of a better word, I’ve decided to read all the books on the list, including the six I’ve already read. I’ll admit that, although I enjoyed Gatsby, I don’t remember much about it. I only remember that I enjoyed it. So, here, without further ado, are the 100 All TIME Novels, according to Time Magazine.


The List:

1. The Adventures of Augie March (1953), by Saul Bellow
2. All the King's Men (1946), by Robert Penn Warren
3. American Pastoral (1997), by Philip Roth
4. An American Tragedy (1925), by Theodore Dreiser
5. Animal Farm (1946), by George Orwell
6. Appointment in Samarra (1934), by John O'Hara
7. Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret (1970), by Judy Blume
8. The Assistant (1957), by Bernard Malamud
9. At Swim-Two-Birds (1938), by Flann O'Brien
10. Atonement (2002), by Ian McEwan
11. Beloved (1987), by Toni Morrison
12. The Berlin Stories (1946), by Christopher Isherwood
13. The Big Sleep (1939), by Raymond Chandler
14. The Blind Assassin (2000), by Margaret Atwood
15. Blood Meridian (1986), by Cormac McCarthy
16. Brideshead Revisited (1946), by Evelyn Waugh
17. The Bridge of San Luis Rey (1927), by Thornton Wilder
18. Call It Sleep (1935), by Henry Roth
19. Catch-22 (1961), by Joseph Heller
20. The Catcher in the Rye (1951), by J.D. Salinger
21. A Clockwork Orange (1963), by Anthony Burgess
22. The Confessions of Nat Turner (1967), by William Styron
23. The Corrections (2001), by Jonathan Franzen
24. The Crying of Lot 49 (1966), by Thomas Pynchon
25. A Dance to the Music of Time (1951), by Anthony Powell
26. The Day of the Locust (1939), by Nathanael West
27. Death Comes for the Archbishop (1927), by Willa Cather
28. A Death in the Family (1958), by James Agee
29. The Death of the Heart (1958), by Elizabeth Bowen
30. Deliverance (1970), by James Dickey
31. Dog Soldiers (1974), by Robert Stone
32. Falconer (1977), by John Cheever
33. The French Lieutenant's Woman (1969), by John Fowles
34. The Golden Notebook (1962), by Doris Lessing
35. Go Tell it on the Mountain (1953), by James Baldwin
36. Gone With the Wind (1936), by Margaret Mitchell
37. The Grapes of Wrath (1939), by John Steinbeck
38. Gravity's Rainbow (1973), by Thomas Pynchon
39. The Great Gatsby (1925), by F. Scott Fitzgerald
40. A Handful of Dust (1934), by Evelyn Waugh
41. The Heart is A Lonely Hunter (1940), by Carson McCullers
42. The Heart of the Matter (1948), by Graham Greene
43. Herzog (1964), by Saul Bellow
44. Housekeeping (1981), by Marilynne Robinson
45. A House for Mr. Biswas (1962), by V.S. Naipaul
46. I, Claudius (1934), by Robert Graves
47. Infinite Jest (1996), by David Foster Wallace
48. Invisible Man (1952), by Ralph Ellison
49. Light in August (1932), by William Faulkner
50. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (1950), by C.S. Lewis
51. Lolita (1955), by Vladimir Nabokov
52. Lord of the Flies (1955), by William Golding
53. The Lord of the Rings (1954), by J.R.R. Tolkien
54. Loving (1945), by Henry Green
55. Lucky Jim (1954), by Kingsley Amis
56. The Man Who Loved Children (1940), by Christina Stead
57. Midnight's Children (1981), by Salman Rushdie
58. Money (1984), by Martin Amis
59. The Moviegoer (1961), by Walker Percy
60. Mrs. Dalloway (1925), by Virginia Woolf
61. Naked Lunch (1959), by William Burroughs
62. Native Son (1940), by Richard Wright
63. Neuromancer (1984), by William Gibson
64. Never Let Me Go (2005), by Kazuo Ishiguro
65. 1984 (1948), by George Orwell
66. On the Road (1957), by Jack Kerouac
67. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1962), by Ken Kesey
68. The Painted Bird (1965), by Jerzy Kosinski
69. Pale Fire (1962), by Vladimir Nabokov
70. A Passage to India (1924), by E.M. Forster
71. Play It As It Lays (1970), by Joan Didion
72. Portnoy's Complaint (1969), by Philip Roth
73. Possession (1990), by A.S. Byatt
74. The Power and the Glory (1939), by Graham Greene
75. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1961), by Muriel Spark
76. Rabbit, Run (1960), by John Updike
77. Ragtime (1975), by E.L. Doctorow
78. The Recognitions (1955), by William Gaddis
79. Red Harvest (1929), by Dashiell Hammett
80. Revolutionary Road (1961), by Richard Yates
81. The Sheltering Sky (1949), by Paul Bowles
82. Slaughterhouse Five (1969), by Kurt Vonnegut
83. Snow Crash (1992), by Neal Stephenson
84. The Sot-Weed Factor (1960), by John Barth
85. The Sound and the Fury (1929), by William Faulkner
86. The Sportswriter (1986), by Richard Ford
87. The Spy Who Came in From the Cold (1964), by John le Carre
88. The Sun Also Rises (1926), by Ernest Hemingway
89. Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937), by Zora Neale Hurston
90. Things Fall Apart (1959), by Chinua Achebe
91. To Kill a Mockingbird (1960), by Harper Lee
92. To the Lighthouse (1927), by Virginia Woolf
93. Tropic of Cancer (1934), by Henry Miller
94. Ubik (1969), by Philip K. Dick
95. Under the Net (1954), by Iris Murdoch
96. Under the Volcano (1947), by Malcolm Lowry
97. Watchmen (1986), by Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons
98. White Noise (1985), by Don DeLillo
99. White Teeth (2000), by Zadie Smith
100. Wide Sargasso Sea (1966), by Jean Rhys