Category: Literature

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Having it Both Ways with J.D. Salinger

Some will argue that you can’t have it both ways: how can a woman say she is fully in charge of her body and her destiny, and then call herself a victim when, having given a man her heart of her own volition, he crushes it? How can a consensual relationship, as Salinger’s unquestionably were, constitute a form of abuse?

But we are talking about what happens when people in positions of power — mentors, priests, employers or simply those assigned an elevated status — use their power to lure much younger people into sexual and (in the case of Salinger) emotional relationships. Most typically, those who do this are men. And when they are done with the person they’ve drawn toward them, it can take that person years or decades to recover.

Joyce Maynard, J. D. Salinger’s former girlfriend, in the New York Times, September 15, 2013.

Exactly. How do you get to slime someone for not finding you lovable anymore? How do you get to label as an abuser the man you were attracted to because of his influence and fame and importance, as if you had no expectation of anything except his loyalty?

How do you get to destroy someone for taking advantage of your credulousness? I am woman. Hear me roar. See me standing toe-to-toe with men and holding my own, for I am smart and independent and capable of making my own decisions and taking responsibilities for my own actions, except when I want you to think of me as a victim, something I am so ashamed of I will appear on talk shows to discuss it.

Except when you don’t love me any more. Suddenly, you are a bully, and I am the schoolyard wimp. And you weren’t very nice to me. And your rudeness and meanness shall have a label and it shall be called “abuse” and you must be held responsible.

Let us not speak about a young writer flattered and intoxicated with the idea that a relationship with a famous author would advance her own career– that’s not part of the narrative we need to construct here.

And let’s not consider a woman who develops such a relationship with a man and then leaves him devastated, so that “it can take decades to recover”. In Maynard’s universe, it’s only the woman who has anything to recover when a relationship goes sour.

Because I am loveable. I am adorable. I worshipped you and brought you meals and you saw me naked and I indulged some of your dark fantasies and I pretended to be willing because you really loved me but you didn’t. I tried to interest you in my ideas, my talent– I really am a very, very talented person!– and you were bored and annoyed and now I can tell you that I knew, in my deepest heart, that you were jealous, oh yes you were, you felt threatened by my gifts because they were really as good or even greater than yours, and that’s why you rejected me and told me to leave.

Look at me now, on the talk shows, on the booklists, being interviewed, and sometimes they even ask me about my own work and not just about you, or what you are really like, or what you really think.

And more on Maynard and Salinger

There is ambivalence at the heart of this issue. You will sometimes hear feminists defend a young woman who strikes up a relationship with a powerful or wealthy older man. She is empowered. She is asserting her individuality and independence in making unpopular choices. She is in control of her sexuality and able to make intelligent choices based on the options available to her.

So if she inherits all the property, we hear nothing about abuse or exploitive relationships. At least, not from her side.

The Complete Essay in the New York Times

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The Afflicted Audience: the Man-Boy in American Film

What is the mysterious appeal to American writers and directors of the infantile man-child who behaves despicably while drunk and then drinks to forget the consequences of his own behavior and then behaves even more despicably? His nemesis is the man with self-control, who owns things, who keeps an ordered life, and is emasculated by plot developments contrived to reveal his impotence. His redemption is the beautiful ingénue– usually much younger than the hero– who thinks nothing of her own needs and desires and everything of how she must be with this glob of raging emotions.

Paul Schrader, are you there? Robert Zemeckis? David Russell? Did you see “Lawless”? Did you think “Beasts of the Southern Wild” was terrific? It even shows up in a milder, less annoying form in “The Wire”, in the character of McNulty.

We are supposed to believe the hero– say, Wade, in the movie “Affliction”– is somehow more authentic and real and honest, and thus heroic, than the callow, effete self-restrained men around him. His rage is the product of disgust with a corrupt, unjust world. McNulty commits outrageous acts because, we are given to believe, he is passionate about getting drug dealers off the streets and punishing murderers. “The Wire” has the courage to reveal that McNulty is a flawed, narcissistic character– and his girlfriend sees him for what he is.

Most depictions of this type of character would have you believe that these characters are ruggedly handsome and virile and have life to them. The iconic model for this character is Ethan in “The Searchers”. And “The Searchers”, like “The Wire”, had the guts to give an honest picture of the man: he walks off alone at the end, a lingering shot that has become a cliché, and perversely iconic, when it’s really a profoundly tragic moment. This is an irresolvable condition. He can’t experience true love because, almost by definition, anything that appears to be love in this universe tries to possess and emasculate the hero.

Walter White in “Breaking Bad”.

The secret of the appeal of these characters is in the audience. How often don’t you see a movie in which a cop or soldier or spy– the hero of the story– brutally kills someone– and you don’t mind. You are given “permission” to enjoy the sadism and the violence because the writers and directors always carefully lay some groundwork. We will see the victim kick a dog, spit on a child, rob an old lady, rape a virgin– anything repulsive will do. So when our hero sadistically beats, stabs, and kills the villain, we can enjoy it: he deserved it. Our character is not a psychopath: he is a hero.

In the same way, we are supposed to enjoy the bad behaviour, the outrages, the infidelity, the cruelty of the drunk because he is so damn authentic. He drinks because he has soul, because he feels things intensely, because he has passion– not because he is weak. It’s a reflection on us, the audience. It’s a statement to ourselves: I may look weak, because I’m fat, and lazy, and inactive, and insensitive, but I am actually a raging cauldron of virtue and passion. If some child rapist, drug-dealer, terrorist ever showed up in my neighborhood…. just watch!

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Character Assassination: Joyce Maynard Betrays J.D. Salinger

While watching Miley Cyrus’ pornographic performance on the 2013 MTV awards, I thought about an article I’d read hours earlier, about a new biography of J. D. Salinger by David Shields and Shane Salerno, and about Joyce Maynard who tried to sell letters Salinger had written her when she was 18 and he was 53, which resulted in her moving in with him for a year. Maynard was vilified by some for trying to sell the letters to pay for her childrens’ tuition costs. Peter Norton, he of the famous Norton Utilities (well, famous back in the days of DOS), purchased the letters and gave them back to Salinger, displaying more class than anybody else involved in this celebrity dust-up, including Salinger.

The deal is usually this: you want to sell your book / movie / record by appearing in magazines and on talk shows, you give up your right to privacy. I’m not sure why that is a “deal” but it is. If you seek publicity for personal gain, you don’t seem to have the right to complain if someone tries to take pictures of you topless at a private beach. Or if people camp out in front of your door and photograph you every time you go out to dinner or to get groceries or pick up your child at school. Why is that a deal? Because the “moderates” of the media monster have decided that that is reasonable. The subject celebrity supposedly agrees to this exchange, tacitly, when they agree to some other specified act of publicity.  No– it’s because you seek publicity in order to sell your movie, your book, your recordings, so it’s hypocritical to complain about your privacy being invaded when you have clearly offered it in exchange for money or fame or power.

J. D. Salinger famously became a recluse. He had a taste of fame, didn’t like it, and stopped publishing, and retreated to a very private cabin on a 90 acre property in Cornish, New Hampshire. He built a separate house for his family. He had work to do, even if he wasn’t publishing.  He accepted that he would not sell as many books if he maintained his privacy, and most of the media respected that tacit arrangement.

Jonathan Franzen famously refused to appear on Oprah for the same reason.  Then he changed his mind– at the behest of his publishers– and did appear on Oprah knowing full well the consequences of a deal with the devil: the tabloid fame that follows.

The essential duplicity of Maynard’s action is the decision to expose, for public consumption, very private sexual acts. The obvious question is why. The obvious answer– from a publicist’s point of view– is to tell the truth, or the help other people, or to have closure, or to work through her depression. The real reason, without the slightest doubt, is to evoke sympathy, make money, whether through book sales, the auction of the letters, or personal appearances, and exploit the fame of the person you are exposing.

You may choose to believe Maynard’s rationalizations: I do not. I think it’s bullshit. It is exactly what it looks like and there is never any doubt about what it looks like: you took a very private relationship and splattered it all over the place knowing full well what kind of mincemeat most of the media will make of it by the time they’re through. You behaved a certain way while with Salinger– you kissed him back, embraced him, undressed for him, whatever, consented to intimacy without giving him the slightest indication that you would eventually use that information to sell yourself, to be noticed, to get press, to sell more books, to present yourself as some kind of victim.

It’s Goldman on Lennon, Hersh on Kennedy, Kelly on Sinatra: it’s all the same. And nobody is absolved by saying, oh, they should have known that would happen. If you can’t take the heat…

There is nothing shockingly new about the whole thing: it just throws the issue into sharper relief than usual. I remember Dylan shredding a reporter who asked him if he was a “spokesman” for his generation. No. Are you the spokesman for your generation? You actually felt bad for the reporter, but Dylan learned as well: you can’t win that kind of exchange over the long run, no matter how smart or quick you are.

You are never going to go camp out in someone else’s driveway and go through their garbage.

Some of the writers who defended Joyce Maynard for telling all and selling Salinger’s letters to her remark on how Salinger saw her picture and then contacted her by letter and eventually met her, invited her to live with him for nine months, and then dumped her.

They insist Salinger obviously noticed how beautiful she was.

Hardcover Looking back;: A chronicle of growing up old in the sixties Book

With all due respect, looking at the same picture, I think it more likely he was attracted to her mind.

Maynard was raked by some other commentators for having breast implants, then removing them, and writing about the entire experience in Vanity Fair. If Maynard wants you to believe that Salinger was attracted to her because of her looks– I’m not sure she does– and that there was something wrong with that, why the implants?

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The Pernicious Influence of Joseph Campbell’s Mythological Insights on Hollywood

Firstly, let’s get one thing clear: it’s the influence that is pernicious– not Joseph Campbell, the author.

Campbell argued that all stories are essentially variations of the same basic archetype, the hero sets out on a journey, undergoes some arduous trials, is challenged and almost fails, encounters a mentor or inspiration, re-engages the challenge, succeeds, and lives happily ever after, or dies like Jesus Christ.

All right– I’m playing with that a bit.

Which is not to say that I am particularly dazzled by Campbell’s work. Some people write about him as if no one before him had ever written thoughtfully about the essential elements of tragedy. In fact, the Greeks did, long before Campbell came along, and Shakespeare himself seemed to have the formula down pat.

No, no– my problem is that I don’t like the concept of a “hero”, and even if I did like it, I don’t believe that there is any real-life correspondence to the idea– it’s all fantasy. It’s all usually male fantasy. It’s all sometimes a bit fascist, as in “300”.

It would be more interesting– but far less popular– to identify the delusions the general public demands from hero-worshipping tales.  Firstly, that all other characters must defer to the hero; secondly, that his acts of violence are palatable because it is established that his enemies are unworthy or have sex.  Thirdly, that people worship heroes even though the actions of the “heroes” in real life highlight the deficiencies in the rest of us.

Think about a mother who neglectfully allows her baby in a stroller to roll into the street.  The “hero” sees the baby and rescues it and returns it to the mother.  In the Campbell story, the mother is eternally grateful and worships the hero for his timely act.  In real life, the hero’s action is a rebuke to the mother for her carelessness, something she will not want to highlight or be reminded of.

Real life is far more complex than Campbell’s mythic delusions.

And “Star Wars” is a crappy “B” movie that accidentally became the object of millions of people’s fetishistic enjoyment.  They are happy they get it.  Unlike “A Space Odyssey” and “Blade Runner”, it is immediately comprehensible, and just as immediately ridiculous.

More on “The Hero With a Thousand Faces”.

 

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Shirley MacLaine in “The Apartment”

Did Shirley MacLaine understand why her performance in “The Apartment” was so good?

I don’t know. How do you know what you look like to the people outside your own head? She radiates joy when she finally begins to realize that C.C. Baxter cares more about her than Sheldrake. But then, she radiated joy when Sheldrake paid attention to her too. She is believably unaware of what is readily apparent to the viewer: Sheldrake is using her– he’s never going to leave his wife, whereas C.C. is Jack Lemmon, for God’s sake.

The 1954 movie “Some Came Running” was based on a book by James Jones. At the end of the book. the hero, Dave Hirsh, is killed by a mobster trying to take down his former girlfriend, Ginnie.

Frank Sinatra, that literary genius, insisted that his character could not be killed at the end– no, no– it would be better if Ginnie was killed. Better yet– Ginnie is killed while trying to save Dave. She jumps in front of the bullets. Yeah, yeah, that’s it. He famously quipped– “Let the girl take the shot — it’ll probably win her an Oscar.”

It did.

Geez, Frank, did you ever win a Pulitzer? You should have. You had all of one idea, and it was a bad one, but it made the final cut. My question is: did they deduct money from James Jones’ check– why did they even need him? Give Frank a typewriter and have him write the entire movie– he can do it. He’s a  fucking literary genius.

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Harry Potter and the Critique of Pure Reason

Just so you know…. the original title was “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone”. Yes, “philosopher’s”.

To market this story in a Christian nation, the title had to be changed , to be more appealing to people with high moral standards, faith in God and the bible, and ethics and principles. So they renamed it “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone”.

You might recall that “Jesus Christ Superstar” was marketed in America as a “musical” when, in fact, it is an opera.

Americans don’t like philosophers. They don’t go to the opera. They don’t trust smart people.

But sorcery– that’s cool.

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Identity Theft

Some notes on property rights and identity, from an article in the New York Times, March 28, 2011

Ownership of a person’s identity after death is regulated by the states. Each one does it differently. In New York all such rights expire upon death. So, because Marilyn Monroe was legally a resident of New York State when she died, any one can use her likeness or identity for any purpose.

You can’t use Einstein’s likeness or identity without permission, and without paying a fee.

There is no legal mechanism by which a person who disdained endorsements in his or her own life can prevent others from selling their name or image after death. Too bad Chaplin, Hendrix, Einstein. If Einstein had expressly declared in his will that he didn’t want his face and name to be used to hock automobiles– too bad. It’s like the courts would have nullified his wish.

Guess what– the right of publicity is taxable. So the heirs of a famous person’s property may have to sell those rights simply to pay the taxes on the value of those rights. That seems very wrong. The law essentially seems to require that a person’s good name and image be despoiled.

In fact, that seems repellent. Are the courts actually insisting the government has the right demand the commercial exploitation of deceased celebrities, because, that, in fact appears to be the case. (Unless the tax only kicks in if the property is sold. That actually makes more sense. The Times article was not clear on the point.)

Did you know that it is accepted tenet of will law that a person cannot demand the destruction of property or assets in his or her will?

Well, he or she can “demand it”, but courts will generally rule against it.

 

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127 Hours

Based on Aron Ralston’s book “Between a Rock and Hard Place”. Leaving aside the point that someone who did something unimaginably stupid (tracking off into the back-country without telling anyone where he was going) now commands $30K + to give inspirational speeches, this is a very compelling true story about how Ralston was trapped in a narrow crevice with a large chock-stone rock pinning his hand against the side, for 5 days. He had no cell phone or personal locator, only a small amount of water, and a dull knife. He had not, as I pointed out, told anybody where he was going. [Note Ralston’s not the only failure to cash in on his own stupidity. Click on the line to read about the commander of the Greeneville, who crashed into and sank a Japanese fishing vessel while essentially taking guests on a joy ride.]

As the world knows, Ralston eventually had to cut off his own arm to escape, and was rescued a few hours later by some Dutch hikers. Not much actually happens in the film, other than the obvious, but Boyle imbues the story with stylish flourishes, exploring Aron’s memories and feelings as his predicament becomes progressively grim. It’s well-filmed, at the exact location it happened.

I guess I missed the part where this is an “uplifting” paean to the human spirit– he made a stupid mistake and, like any sentient being, wanted very, very badly to survive, and that’s what the movie shows us. How you morph this into the theme of a speech so that everyone rises and applauds at the end is a mystery to me. We’re supposed to learn that we want to live. We’re supposed to be incredibly pleased that he did something so stupid he had to pay for it with part of his arm. So when you are out there thinking that you just want to die, think of Aron Ralston, and be inspired by his example: you want to live.

For my money, “Into the Wild”, about a not dissimilar situation, has far greater insight into the issues involved, distilled, at one moment, (in the film) into the sadness of Hal Holbrook’s face as he realizes that Chris McCandless is about to do something precisely that stupid. If you missed it– a far, far better film than “127 Hours”– “Into the Wild” is about a young man named Chris McCandless who was a bit of an adventurer (like Ralston) and a non-conformist (he gave away his college money to travel, penniless, around the country, hitch-hiking and camping out), who makes the reckless decision to try to survive on his own in the wilds of Alaska, hunting and fishing, and living off the land. The older adults around him can’t really try to stop him, but they know just how crazy and foolish he is, and they still like him, and try to discourage him.

The difference is that “Into the Wild” offers some thoughts about the idea of just running off like that, taking large risks, without the slightest thought for the loved ones you are possibly leaving behind. “Into the Wild” raises the suggestion that there is something self-centered and willfully naïve about that attitude. We still admire McCandless, and the adults he met on the road certainly found him likable– but that was precisely why his fate was so poignant. It wasn’t necessary. What was the upside to the risk?

In short: if you saw and admired “127 Hours”, please, please get yourself a copy of “Into the Wild” (2007), and think a lot about the differences.  “Into the Wild” shows you what happened– like “127 Hours”– but it has a lot more wisdom to offer.

“127 Hours”, like “Slumdog Millionaire”, is a film that tries to give you the feeling that you’ve been through a bracing, intense, authentic experience, without having to actually have the authentic experience.

Which is not to say that watching an enlightening film enlightens anybody:  really awful discussion IMDB.

Why is there no name for this syndrome of young men who admire the courage, the grace, the beauty of self-immolation?  But we know about them.  That’s where we get our killers from, whenever we need an army.

FYI the scene with the two girls at the idyllic pool in the cavern… yes, pure Hollywood. Didn’t happen. But you probably didn’t need to be told that, right?

In a film that is otherwise quite respectful of reality, I guess the producers couldn’t resist. I’m not sure I blame them entirely.

They also couldn’t resist going a little over the top at the end… you’re desperate, damnit! You’ve been trapped for five days! You think of your dear mother! So you push yourself on and on but your body gives out and you collapse! You’re delirious. Look delirious. More delirious!…

Or the audience won’t get it.

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Sophie’s Choice

“Almost no one knows — including Sophie and Stingo — that Nathan is schizophrenic.” From the Wikipedia entry on “Sophie’s Choice”.

The question is, if no one knows that Nathan is a schizophrenic, how does anyone know he is a schizophrenic?

First, I do want to make it clear that I think “Sophie’s Choice” is a fine book by a fine author. But I find this little episode silly. We’re supposed to give knowing nods to each other, aren’t we? Ahhhh! He’s a schizophrenic! No wonder. We were fooled because he was self-medicating.

In fact, Nathan has just been labeled. Nobody has to prove that he is anything now: he has a label. That is sufficient. A label is what you use when you can’t be troubled to find any specific facts or evidence for your belief. [In an unusually contrived episode of West Wing, that could only have been written by a writer with an unnatural dependence on his therapist, “Noel”, Josh Lyman is similarly glibly labeled as “PTSD”.]

So how would you know if it’s true– if you were a character in this fiction. How would you know if Nathan is a schizophrenic? Author William Styron needs the label for dramatic tension so he glosses over the question.

Is there some tattoo somewhere on his body that tells the discerning acquaintance: schizophrenic? No– some person with a degree on his wall, who may be a genius or an idiot– we’ll never know, for both of them have an equal chance of getting the degree (the Nazi party was full of degrees)– this person, by virtue of society’s capitulation to the pseudo-sciences, has decreed: Nathan is a schizophrenic.

You can lock him up now. Anything he says in his own defense is to be regarded as further proof of his insanity. The more justly he becomes angry at your attempts to pigeon-hole him, the crazier he is. But no one may question the sanity of the man with the diploma on his wall. He has science on his side. He had the audacity to give the first label, thereby shifting the burden of proof on the labeled. Nathan is deprived of the presumption of sanity.

If only it was science, or something, anything more credible. In my view, most of what passes for “psychology” is a religion in drag; it’s a religion that tries to hide it’s assumptions behind a veil of mangled statistics and manipulative language that always manages to give a plausible answer to the wrong question.

There is no greater arrogance in the entire world than to sit in judgment of another person’s sanity. Anyone who would do this should get his head examined.

And if only Nathan had had the foresight to get his diploma first– he, also, was a genius– he could have decreed his brother as delusional instead of the other way around. Just imagine the scene in which the brother informs Stingo that Nathan is insane. Imagine, if you will, that Stingo has been told in advance by Nathan that the brother is delusional: the scene would work perfectly, and the brother would come off as no less creepy, least of all for inviting a perfect stranger to secretly report to him on the private activities of his brother.

So the lesson is this: be the first to get your diploma, so that you can deem all those who offend your prurient sense of good order and propriety insane.

The power of labels. Stingo is too naive to actually question whether a label means anything. He assumes that psychiatrists have some magical powers that allow them to reduce the sum of a person’s behaviors to a syndrome which, like all good labels– including the star of David– shall subsequently determine the context in which all other behaviors are regarded. Nathan’s rage at an unjust world– a world with lynch mobs, or HUAC, or the inquisition, or Salem’s magistrates, or a KGB — around every corner– is the result, say the doctors, of his schizophrenia.

Or maybe it’s the only sane reaction to a world gone mad. To a world that shows no signs of learning from it’s mistakes. From a world that still embraces the passions of the mob.

[Upon re-reading this, it has occurred to me that someone might say, well, would you rather Nathan be allowed to do whatever he wants, including harm himself or others? That’s always the rejoinder, isn’t it? If you dare to challenge social orthodoxy, then you’re responsible for bad things that happen, even though these people never take responsibility for the failures of their own ministrations. So, just to clarify for the easily confused: no, I’m not advocating that people do nothing. I’m just saying that we often use labels to avoid grappling with complexity, and, in many cases, to justify drastic actions that end up doing more harm than good.]

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Kitty Cat: Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenin”

“The Shcherbatskys consult doctors over Kitty’s health which has been failing since she realizes that Vronsky did not love her and that he did not intend to propose marriage to her, and that she refused and hurt Levin, whom she cares for, in vain. A specialist doctor advises that Kitty should go abroad to a health spa to recover. ” From the Wikipedia synopsis of “Anna Karenin” by Leo Tolstoy.

“Anna Karenin” is allegedly the greatest novel of all time. Well, on some lists. “The Brother’s Karamazov” is often at the top of the list, and so is “Ulysses” by Joyce, and Flaubert’s “Madame Bovary”, and “In Search of Lost Time” by Proust.

So Kitty needs to go to a spa to recover. That, in essence, is the problem I have with Anna Karenin. The whole book is about extremely privileged people committing stupid acts and then having nervous breakdowns and scooting themselves off to a spa or an estate somewhere to “recover” from their awful, horrible, traumatic experiences. It’s sounds like a Russian “Gone With the Wind”. We all want to be rich and privileged just so we can have such beautiful crises.

In the film “The Last Station”, Sophia, Tolstoy’s wife, is informed that Tolstoy has run away from home. Yes, he did, at 80, fed up with his wife’s nagging him about giving her the copyrights to his books. There are a lot of terrible flaws to this scene that are emblematic of the entire film.

Firstly, Sophia immediately becomes hysterical and tries to throw herself into the pond. But you thought, he just left on a train, right? And she’s been married to him for 30 years, right? It’s simply hard to believe in that reaction. Dramatically, that moment cries out for a few moments of “what do you mean he left on a train? Where to? Why didn’t he tell me?” You would expect some annoyance on her part, rather than this immediate, overwhelming despair.

She really does throw herself into the pond and sort of drowns. It’s a silly scene. It’s not like she picked some lonely time and place where no one was likely to rescue her. Her family and friends haul her out and turn her on her side, but she hasn’t swallowed any water and doesn’t vomit, and then, later, she reacts comically when she is told that Tolstoy was merely concerned about her. You do wish that someone would grab her and shout, “don’t be pathetic!” Send her to a spa.

I started reading Tolstoy again because of a reference by Philip Yancey, and because of the recent movie “The Last Station”, which, by the way, is as melodramatic and overwrought as “Anna Karenin”.

“Vronsky, embarrassed by Karenin’s magnanimity, attempts suicide by shooting himself. He fails in his attempt but wounds himself badly.” Wikipedia Synopsis.

Is this tragic or comic? When I first read this novel back in the 1970’s, I thought it was gloriously, beautifully, astonishingly tragic.

Now, I find it a bit ridiculous.

My personal list of the best novels ever written?

1. Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoevsky)

2. Brothers Karamazov (Fyodor Dostoevsky)

3. Beautiful Losers (Leonard Cohen)

4. The Stranger (Albert Camus)

5. The Pearl (John Steinbeck)

6. The Castle (Franz Kafka)

7. Animal Farm (George Orwell)

8. Huckleberry Finn (Mark Twain)

9. Slaughterhouse Five (Kurt Vonnegut Jr.)

10. Anna Karenin (Leo Tolstoy)

But don’t put too much weight on my list: literature is not American Idol. There is no point to this competition, except perhaps to draw peoples’ attention to great books.

“Wolf Hall” by Hilary Mantel is also a great book. So is “Life of Pi”.

More uptodate:  Jonathan Franzen’s “The Corrections” and David Foster Wallace “Infinite Jest” and “Brief Interviews with Hideous Men”.