#31 Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy by John le Carré

(1974, Sceptre)

“The truth is, if old Major Dover hadn’t dropped dead at Taunton Races Jim would never have come to Thursgood’s at all.”

In the fabulously titled Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, intelligence expert George Smiley – a recurrent le Carré hero – is forced out of forced retirement in order to hunt down a Soviet mole in the “Circus”, the top layer of the British Secret Intelligence Service.

Since we’re discussing spies and secrets, I better make a confession. I have been very naughty. Disgraceful, in fact. I did something I’ve never done before, possibly the worst thing a bookworm/film fan can do. I watched the film adaptation in the middle of reading the book!

I didn’t mean to. Time just sort of snuck up on me – I simply wasn’t able to finish the book before watching the film. (OK, I was able, but I didn’t.)

#30 The Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford

(1945, Penguin)

“There is a photograph in existence of Aunt Sadie and her six children sitting round the tea-table at Alconleigh.”

The Pursuit of Love follows the romantic travails of the beautiful and impulsive Linda Radlett, as viewed through the eyes of her more staid cousin Fanny Logan.

As I expected and hoped, The Pursuit of Love was the perfect thing to read after the exhausting Infinite Jest. Mitford’s signature wit and gift for comedy meant it read like a dream, without flinching from difficult themes.

The novel works on at least three levels – as a character study of a woman more complicated than she might first appear; as a portrait of a dysfunctional upper-class family; and as a a snapshot of life in Europe between the World Wars.

#29 Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace

(1996, Abacus)

“I am seated in an office, surrounded by heads and bodies.”

How important is “readability” in contemporary fiction? Do you think that readability can be in conflict with literary quality and worth?

The above questions are at the heart of one of the most frequently recurring literary “dust-ups” of recent years, as highlighted by Dave Eggers in his 2006 foreword to Infinite Jest, and exemplified by the vitriol surrounding this year’s Bookers.

Personally, I like my books readable, all the way along the literary scale. I think  readability is one of the primary functions of a book. I hate giving up on books, but I will get frustrated with a book that doesn’t flow or is incomprehensible. Different books do different things – sometimes I want trash and pleasure, sometimes I fancy a challenge. Best of all is treasure, when a book offers a great reading experience but also feels life-changing. I tend to think people that exhort difficult books are snobs, much like people who endure horrible-sounding music because the masses won’t “get it”.

#28 The Bottle Factory Outing by Beryl Bainbridge

(1974, Abacus)

“The hearse stood outside the block of flats, waiting for the old lady.”

It’s been said that you must not judge a book by its cover – but I can’t help it. I am highly susceptible to aesthetic appeal (aren’t we all?) and presentation acts as a shorthand to what I can expect inside. I’ve longed for many books simply because they look sumptuous or unusual.

Based on previous covers I had seen, I had been uninterested in Beryl Bainbridge. I had assumed her to be rather oldfashioned and stuffy. Beryl didn’t seem like a very cool name – I associated it with an unattractive, unpleasant and irritating character in The Beano. Then, during my work experience at Little, Brown, relatively soon after her death, I learned more about her and her books, and became taken with the striking style of her recently reissued repertoire. The author herself looked downright sassy in her photo. So I revised my earlier, shallow opinion and especially looked forward to tackling her Apocalypse Book.

#27 Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather

(1927, Virago)

“One summer evening in the year 1848, three Cardinals and a missionary Bishop from America were dining together in the gardens of a villa in the Sabine hills, overlooking Rome.”

Death Comes for the Archbishop was not the novel I expected. Admittedly I wasn’t going on much, apart from the resonant title and alluring, contemplative cover, which conjured a Thornbirds-like romance infused with spiritual conflict. (Which I haven’t read, but have absorbed by way of cinematic reference over the years. Oh Meggie!)

Not that I was disappointed. I’m not sure that Willa Cather could disappoint me. I am now confident that she will always surprise.

#26 My Ántonia by Willa Cather

(1918, Virago)

“Last summer, in a season of intense heat, Jim Burden and I happened to be crossing Iowa on the same train.”

When first published, My Ántonia, the final novel in Willa Cather’s “prairie trilogy”, was considered her masterpiece. Subsequent highly esteemed publications, including AB Death Comes for the Archbishop (coming up next!), redefined it as her first masterpiece.

Like Their Eyes Were Watching God, My Ántonia captures a pioneering spirit, though in an earlier time, with a focus on European immigrants farming in the American West. While this is a topic I knew very little about, it rings with truth, no doubt due to the autobiographical nature of the material, and Cather’s masterful, effortless and mostly unsentimental handling of it. The Bohemian Antonia was based on a real woman, and the stories that comprise the narratives were drawn from Cather’s childhood.

#25 Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

(1937, Virago)

“Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board.”

Books are windows and doors to other worlds, some very similar to your own, others as different as night from day. They are also mirrors, reflecting and offering reflection.

Their Eyes Were Watching God garnered attention and controversy at the time of its publication and is a seminal work in both African American literature and women’s literature. It is also fellow Apocalypse Book author Zadie Smith’s  favourite book, as she so beautifully explains in the introduction to the latest Virago edition. She acknowledges that this is partially because she is a black woman. More importantly, she loves it because Hurston’s skill moves her to say things she wouldn’t say normally, things like “She is my sister and I love her”.

#24 Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell

(1948, Penguin)

“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”

When I first leafed through 1984  a decade ago, during an English literature class, I saw little to encourage me to conquer the book in my own time. I was immensely put off by the “Newspeak”, which gave the dystopian tale a very constructed feel.

So I was surprised to find that 1984 is actually quite accessible. Aside from the chilling Newspeak and rambling passages from a revolutionary manifesto, it is told in a straightforward fashion. I whizzed through it and liked it better than I expected.

#23 Possession by A. S. Byatt

(1990, Vintage)

“The book was thick and black and covered with dust.”

Possession possesses many of the things that I hold dear. There’s mystery and intrigue, realistic romance, “time-travel”, mirroring and an acknowledgment of the fluidity of human sexuality, with epistolary elements, one of my favourite forms of storytelling.

And yet, I could not get through it the first time. I had seen – and thoroughly – enjoyed the film, starring Gwyneth Paltrow and Aaron Eckhart – and snapped up a charity shop copy of the 1990 Booker Prize Winner, expecting I would like it even better. But the story didn’t come to life as immediately as it had on screen, and I grew impatient and a little bored. I set it aside, allowing it to grow as thick (but not quite as black) with dust as the book that prompts the literary puzzle at the heart of Possession.

#22 Catch-22 by Joseph Heller

(1961, Vintage)

“It was love at first sight.”

Well, it might have been for Yossarian and the chaplain, but it wasn’t for me.

I first began to read Catch-22 more than 10 years ago and was quickly put off by the irreverent tone. Yossarian, with his habit of censoring letters and sudden proclamations of love, seemed a highly unbelievable and very broadly drawn protagonist. I couldn’t grasp any semblance of story and feared a sequence of random happenings, each more nonsensical than the last.

Another attempt revealed a cohesive if rather circular-told tale, with the “random” happenings adding up to a rich and intricate whole that can, like the best of books, be interpreted ad infinitum – a critique of war/capitalism, an exploration of sanity/insanity, and so on.