The guest room at my flat is also a library with wonderful floor to ceiling shelves full to overflowing. Usually going in there is a joy but the other day I felt a little pang of sadness upon realizing that at my current rate of reading even if I live to a ripe old age I’m unlikely to have time to read all those books. That’s not even taking into account that I buy a few new ones every month.
That’s why a New Yorker online essay called “What George Orwell, Henry Miller, and John Waters Taught Me About What to Read Next,” by Maria Bustillos, caught my eye.
Her point was that personal recommendations are the best kind and other than those from your close friends it’s the ones of your favorite authors that count.
Her favorite writers include George Orwell, who was not a snob about literature. He pointed out, “The existence of good bad literature—the fact that one can be amused or excited or even moved by a book that one’s intellect simply refuses to take seriously—is a reminder that art is not the same thing as cerebration.”
He recommended the work of an author with whom I am totally unfamiliar: Ernest Bramah. Bustillos recommends Bramah’s Kai Lung series of novels over his Max Carrados detective series. Oh oh, I feel another book purchase coming on.
Here are three of my recommendations:
The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini, highly entertaining although totally unreliable. I see from the New Yorker essay this one was also on Henry Miller’s list, “The Hundred Books Which Influenced Me Most.” I recommend the Autobiography to any writer who wants to learn story telling from a master. Notice how he keeps your attention: starting a story but delaying the payoff, puffing himself up but once in a while laughing at himself, too, and passing off juicy gossip as news.
The Seven Pillars of Wisdom by T. E. Lawrence, aka Lawrence of Arabia. It’s his account (also unreliable in a places, some say) of leading Arab tribes against the Turks (who allied themselves with Germany) in World War I. If you read it and a bit about the Sykes Picot Treaty, you’ll understand everything about why the Middle East is the mess it is today. It's also beautifully written.
On a lighter note, Sick Puppy or any of Carl Hiaasen’s adult novels (adult as opposed to his books for kids, not erotic). His style is funny and frenetic, his stories set in a Florida being ravaged by big corporations and theme parks, his criminals not very bright and likely to lose a limb or two before the story is over. Perfect holiday reading. Even if you're not on holiday.
Feel free to list a book or two or three that you recommend highly, either in the comments below or via email to me at [email protected]. I know it may drive me to overload those shelves even more, but I’m willing to take that risk!
I love the John Waters quote the essay cites:
“Being rich is not about how many homes you own. It’s the freedom to pick up any book you want without looking at the price and wondering whether you can afford it.”
I remember wondering that a lot of times when I was a student and for a few years afterward. Usually I’d go for the book even if it meant dinner that evening would be another peanut butter sandwich or can of beans.
And now…I’m rich! Well, if we leave first editions and antiquarian books out of the equation.
I hope you’re rich, too.
