- Ender's Game, by Orson Scott Card (Because my sister described it using the two magic words: characterization and symbolism).
- Empire Falls, by Richard Russo.
- American Pyscho, by Bret Easton Ellis (But only if I can find a copy without a movie cover. I hate movie covers.)
- New England White, by Stephen L. Carter.
- The Abstinence Teacher, by Tom Perrotta.
- The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, by Junto Diaz (which has been championed by Kelly at Big A Little A for Chasing Ray's You Should Read This award category).
- His Illegal Self, by Peter Carey. (Did anyone read Theft? Because it's the second most satisfying book I read last year, the most satisfying being Special Topics in Calamity Physics, which had this really unexpected vigilante twist. I love vigilantes. I know they're kind of scary, but. Yeah.)
But observe: all of these books were written by men! How did this happen? Help!
2 comments:
I KNOW!!!! I often find that even though I devour chick-lit like it's so much... delicious non-specific foodstuff, all of my "smart" books, and most of my favorite books were written by stupid old men. That said: Hotel World by Ali Smith-- nominated for the Booker Prize approx 2002-- a little different, but damn is it interesting.
I seem to remember recommending some non-fiction written by a seminal, late-1800s American feminist... *cough* *cough*
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