Best books ever written?

[Martin Aigner]

I´ll be in vacation soon and might need some good literature. Any good suggestions? (Not counting 2+2-books /images/graemlins/smile.gif )

My favorite books I´ve ever read are:

Mr. Vertigo (Paul Auster)
Pope Joan (Donna W. Cross)
A Widow for one Year (John Irving)

and for those who understand german I strongly recommend to read

Tiger fressen keine Yogis (Helge Timmerberg)

Best regards

Martin Aigner

[brad]

hey tigers like a little meat on them bonez /images/graemlins/smile.gif


something happened, joseph heller, worth a read imo

[andyfox]

Portnoy's Complaint: funniest thing I ever read when I read it.

Ragtime: I remember loving it intensely when I first read it.

Heart of Darkness: Continues to blow me away every time I read it.

Mark Twain's Autobiography: My favorite. Simply wonderful.

[Wake up CALL]

If you have any affinity for science fiction try reading The End of Eternity by Isaac Asimov. I read it every 5 years or so and always enjoy it. Here is a review. (http://www.sfsite.com/10b/ee91.htm)

[ACPlayer]

The most interesting novel I read recently is Life of Pi (Yaan Martell) and a hangover from the 2.5 years I spend in S. Africa is any of of Coetzee's books.

[andyfox]

As I have said, I spent some part of every year at the farm until I was twelve or thirteen years old. The life which I led there with my cousins was full of charm, and so is the memory of it yet. I can call back the solemn twilight and mystery of the deep woods, the earthy smells, the faint odors of the wild flowers, the sheen of rainwashed foliage, the rattling clatter of drops when the wind shook the trees, the far-off hammering of woodpeckers and the muffled drumming of wood pheasants in the remoteness of the forest, the snap shot glimpses of disturbed wild creatures scurrying through the grass—I can call it all back and make it as real as it ever was, and as blessed. I can call back the prairie, and its loneliness and peace, and a vast hawk hanging motionless in the sky, with his wings spread wide and the blue of the vault showing through the fringe of their end feathers. I can see the woods in their autumn dress, the oaks purple, the hickories washed with gold, the maples and the sumachs luminous with crimson fires, and I can hear the rustle made by the fallen leaves as we plowed through them. I can see the blue clusters of wild grapes hanging among the foliage of the saplings, and I remember the taste of them and the smell. I know how the wild blackberries looked, and how they tasted, and the same with the pawpaws, the hazelnuts, and the persimmons; and I can feel the thumping rain, upon my head, of hickory nuts and walnuts when we were out in the frosty dawn to scramble for them with the pigs, and the gusts of wind loosed them and sent them down. I know the stain of blackberries, and how pretty it is, and I know the stain of walnut hulls, and how little it minds soap and water, also what grudged experience it had of either of them. I know the taste of maple sap, and when to gather it, and how to arrange the troughs and the delivery tubes, and how to boil down the juice, and how to hook the sugar after it is made, also how much better hooked sugar tastes than any that is honestly come by, let bigots say what they will. I know how a prize watermelon looks when it is sunning its fat rotundity among pumpkin vines and “simblins”; I know how to tell when it is ripe without “plugging” it; I know how inviting it looks when it is cooling itself in a tub of water under the bed, waiting; I know how it looks when it lies on the table in the sheltered great floor space between house and kitchen, and the children gathered for the sacrifice and their mounts watering; I know the crackling sound it makes when the carving knife enters its end, and I can see the split fly along in front of the blade as the knife cleaves its way to the other end; I can see its halves fall apart and display the rich red meat and the black seeds, and the heart standing up, a luxury for the elect; I know how a boy looks behind a yard-long slice of that melon, and I know how he feels; for I have been there. I know the taste of the watermelon which has been honestly come by, and I know the taste of the watermelon which has been acquired by art. Both taste good, but the experienced know which tastes best. I know the look of green apples and peaches and pears on the trees, and I know how entertaining they are when they are inside of a person. I know how ripe ones look when they are piled in pyramids under the trees, and how pretty they are and how vivid their colors. I know how a frozen apple looks, in a barrel down cellar in the wintertime, and how hard it is to bite, and how the frost makes the teeth ache, and yet how good it is, notwithstanding. I know the disposition of elderly people to select the speckled apples for the children, and I once knew ways to eat the game. I know the look of an apple that is roasting and sizzling on a hearth on a winter’s evening, and I know the comfort that comes of eating it hot, along with some sugar and a drench of cream. I know the delicate art and mystery of so cracking hickory nuts and walnuts on a flatiron with a hammer that the kernels will be delivered whole, and I know how the nuts, taken in conjunction with winter apples, cider, and doughnuts, make old people’s old tales and old jokes sound fresh and crisp and enchanting, and juggle an evening away before you know what went with the time. I know the look of Uncle Dan’l’s kitchen as it was on the privileged nights, when I was a child, and I can see the white and black children grouped on the hearth, with the firelight playing on their faces and the shadows flickering upon the walls, clear back toward the cavernous gloom of the rear, and I can hear Uncle Dan’l telling the immortal tales which Uncle Remus Harris was to gather into his books and charm the world with, by and by; and I can feel again the creepy joy which quivered through me when the time for the ghost story of the “Golden Arm” was reached—and the sense of regret, too, which came over me, for it was always the last story of the evening and there was nothing between it and the unwelcome bed.

[Wake up CALL]

That must certainly be the longest single paragraph ever written by Mark twain, or Andyfox for that matter. /images/graemlins/smile.gif

[KJS]

Two of my favorites happen to be written by Ukranians:

Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
Death and The Penguin by Andrey Kurkov

I also love 2 books set in Africa:

Sheltering Sky by Paul Bowles
A Burnt Out Case by Grant Green

If you want one really really long book to take up your whole vacation, but not that it will bother you, I like:

The Brothers K by David James Duncan

Have a great time,

KJS

[John Cole]

I know which one tastes better, too.

Great excerpt, Andy.

[Cyrus]

Books written by that guy Anonymous must be the best. I see them everywhere, even in places where they normally don't sell books, like gas stations. The people who buy them are the most serious types I have ever seen.

[brad]

neverness, david zindell, must for sci fi fan.

rest of his books so so

[nicky g]

Mr Vertigo? You crazy, man. That's not only Auster's worst book, but THE worst book ever written. I've heard Timbuktu is worse again but I gave up reading him after Mr Vertigo.

[nicky g]

Agree with you on the two Ukranian books, they're both brilliant. I'll definitely look up the other ones.

[nicky g]

5 best books ever written:

Moby Dick
Walden
Underworld (Don Delillo)
The Unconsoled (Kazuo Ishiguro)
The Sun Also Rises

my 5 favourite/most reread books (slightly different):
The Unconsoled
The Sun Also Rises
Homage to Catalonia (Orwell)
The Secret History (oh c'mon, it's great)
The Catastrophist (Ronan Bennett)

[Martin Aigner]

Funny, I really liked it a lot. I´ve read almost everything written by Paus Auster (but the poems this is). I really loved Mr. Vertigo. Timbuktu isn´t nice, but I don´t like the ending. If you want to give Auster another try you might go for his autobiographie "Hand to Mouth". On the other side, I liked it, so you might hate it too /images/graemlins/wink.gif

Best regards

Martin Aigner

[Martin Aigner]

[ QUOTE ]
hey tigers like a little meat on them bonez /images/graemlins/smile.gif

LOL. You might be right. Now I understand the book a little better /images/graemlins/smile.gif

Thanks to all for your suggestions. I´ll go to amazon and hope they got some of these books here in europe.

Best regards

Martin Aigner

[andyfox]

The paragraphization is Twain's. He dictated his autobiography, I don't know whether he had anything to do with the layout.

[Boris]

oh gawd. I tried to read it. he just sounded very angry and cynical. one long rant. no where near as good as Catch-22.

[brad]

ok.

if you like sci fi though i guarantee youll like neverness /images/graemlins/smile.gif

[Ralle]

Here are some great books:

On the Road by Kerouac
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Garcia Marquez
Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency by Adams
1984 by Orwell
The Lord of the Rings trilogy by Tolkien
Foundation trilogy by Asimov