After realizing that my last post ended up getting posted with some scary typos, I just about had a fit. Almost. What's the point in criticizing lists and making your own if crucial information (like the numbers) are shuffled around. (Case in point: Original post complained that Animal Farm was languishing at #1. Excuse me? How is #1 a bad thing? Well, it is when the number is supposed to be 61.) I edited the post, but it seems Blogger wanted to take a few hours to update my revision. Oh well. What's life without the occasional healthy bout of indignation?
Aaaanyway, I've decided that my whole list thing was kind of... impossible. There is so much that was missing from that list, but how could I do anything about it without breaking things down into sub-categories? Sure, the 25 titles are all good, and you should read them, but it's also very safe. Very vanilla. I mean, where were the zombies? Why didn't I include Pride and Prejudice and Zombies? 80% of it was created by Jane Austen's brain. The other 20% offers brains as a snack with your afternoon tea. Doesn't that sound more interesting?
Broad lists are a load of ineffable twaddle. (I didn't make that up.) I'll be honest: I loved Toni Morrison's Beloved, but I'm not in a hurry to pick up Song of Solomon (both on Newsweek's Top 100). I've owned For Whom the Bell Tolls for a few years now, and I still haven't read it--and I love Hemingway. Likewise, I haven't read A Clockwork Orange, Slaughterhouse-Five, or Portnoy's Complaint. Am I missing out? Maybe. Are you missing out if you haven't read Jurassic Park, A Game of Thrones, and Anansi Boys? Maybe. In the end, my brains will taste just as good as yours to a zombie.