OU Platform
A snapshot of my bookshelf, by Gemma Bessant
Left to right:
Harper Lee, To Kill A Mockingbird
I haven’t read this.
Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange
Or this.
Martin Amis, The Rachel Papers
Amis’s first novel, about a teenage boy determined to sleep with an older woman before he turns 20. I appreciate a male perspective, as this selection of authors shows.
Wiklie Collins, The Woman In White
Kindly lent to me by fellow Platformer, Yvonne Cook, this is one lovingly tattered copy. Gorgeous to read by the fire in winter. But I confess I rejected it a third in. Excited by discovering a new author, I read up on Collins. Seems Wilkie based the main character in The Woman In White on himself, which I found a bit self-focussed. I also objected to the way mental health was referenced. These might not seem like good enough reasons to give up on a novel, but as I was reading it for pleasure, it was enough for me.
Haruki Murakami, A Wild Sheep Chase
I adore Murakami. I discovered his work in an independent record shop in Cambridge. The first title I read was the arrestingly beautiful Norwegian Wood (further down this list). A Wild Sheep Chase is more his usual style, symbols rooted in fantasy, with a loose grasp on reality. It’s a hard one to follow, this.
Jean-Paul Satre, Words and Nausea
I’ve been a fan of Satre’s existentionalist outlook since I was a teenager. These copies are heavily annotated.
JM Roberts, The Penguin History of the Twentieth Century
The clue’s in the title here.
Hitomi Kanehara, Autofiction
Kanehara’s a young, Japanese author who dropped out of school at 15 and wrote her first novel (further down this list) aged just 21. It sold over a million copies. This is Kanehara’s second novel which some say is an autobiography. I kid you not, I read this in just one sitting on the day it came out.
Charles Bukowski, Post Office
The most infuriating read ever. The main character in this novel, Henry Chinaski, is the laziest, most chauvinistic, jumped-up little prat I’ve ever come across in a novel. It can only be a credit to Bukowski’s skill as an author that I got so drawn in I was actually angered by Chinaski. That said, this too is rumoured to be autobiographical, so Bukowski may have been an unpleasant man himself.
Edgar Allan Poe, The Goldbug and Other Tales
Mysterious horror stories from the late Georgian era. Short enough to read before bed and in one, there’s a woman stuffed up a chimney. What’s not to love?!
Hitomi Kanehara, Snakes & Earrings
A gritty, graphic tale of a love triangle between Tokoyo punks. The first novel by Kanehara and the reason I had my face pressed against the glass of the bookshop the morning Autofiction was released. It was also the book that reignited my passion for reading. There’s something about Japanese fiction that’s more honest and less hesitant than British fiction. Murakami and Kanehara seem to have a refreshingly higher awareness of the human condition than any British authors I’ve come across.
Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
Lent to me by a friend. It’s supposed to be good, but I’ve not read it yet. Palahniuk also wrote Fight Club. It just feels a bit mainstream for my tastes.
Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood
I promise this book will change your perspective subtly but irreversibly. The detail Murakami applies to personal encounters gives otherwise fleeting enormous gravitas. Reading this is like been given new eyes. It’s also a beautiful love story without being twee and nauseating (ref The Time Traveller’s Wife). Again, this is an example of Japanese fiction being graphic, honest and achingly aware of basic human conditions.
Tony Wilson, 24 Hour Party People
The memoires of journalist-turned-promoter, the late Tony Wilson. Having lived in Manchester, and being a muso, I find the Hacienda era fascinating and inspiring. This was a birthday present from a friend.
Jacques Derrida, The Truth In Painting
Don’t read this unless you absolutely have to. I chose it as the focus for me degree dissertation. Derrida’s premise is there is no fixed meaning. In order to communicate this theory without being a hypocrite, Derrida has removed most punctuation, including letter spaces, and shuffled the order around. It’s a dry and painful read, but a seminal work.
A snapshot of my bookshelf, by Gemma Bessant
Left to right:
Harper Lee, To Kill A Mockingbird
I haven’t read this.
Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange
Or this.
Martin Amis, The Rachel Papers
Amis’s first novel, about a teenage boy determined to sleep with an older woman before he turns 20. I appreciate a male perspective, as this selection of authors shows.
Wiklie Collins, The Woman In White
Kindly lent to me by fellow Platformer, Yvonne Cook, this is one lovingly tattered copy. Gorgeous to read by the fire in winter. But I confess I rejected it a third in. Excited by discovering a new author, I read up on Collins. Seems Wilkie based the main character in The Woman In White on himself, which I found a bit self-focussed. I also objected to the way mental health was referenced. These might not seem like good enough reasons to give up on a novel, but as I was reading it for pleasure, it was enough for me.
Haruki Murakami, A Wild Sheep Chase
I adore Murakami. I discovered his work in an independent record shop in Cambridge. The first title I read was the arrestingly beautiful Norwegian Wood (further down this list). A Wild Sheep Chase is more his usual style, symbols rooted in fantasy, with a loose grasp on reality. It’s a hard one to follow, this.
Jean-Paul Satre, Words and Nausea
I’ve been a fan of Satre’s existentionalist outlook since I was a teenager. These copies are heavily annotated.
JM Roberts, The Penguin History of the Twentieth Century
The clue’s in the title here.
Hitomi Kanehara, Autofiction
Kanehara’s a young, Japanese author who dropped out of school at 15 and wrote her first novel (further down this list) aged just 21. It sold over a million copies. This is Kanehara’s second novel which some say is an autobiography. I kid you not, I read this in just one sitting on the day it came out.
Charles Bukowski, Post Office
The most infuriating read ever. The main character in this novel, Henry Chinaski, is the laziest, most chauvinistic, jumped-up little prat I’ve ever come across in a novel. It can only be a credit to Bukowski’s skill as an author that I got so drawn in I was actually angered by Chinaski. That said, this too is rumoured to be autobiographical, so Bukowski may have been an unpleasant man himself.
Edgar Allan Poe, The Goldbug and Other Tales
Mysterious horror stories from the late Georgian era. Short enough to read before bed and in one, there’s a woman stuffed up a chimney. What’s not to love?!
Hitomi Kanehara, Snakes & Earrings
A gritty, graphic tale of a love triangle between Tokoyo punks. The first novel by Kanehara and the reason I had my face pressed against the glass of the bookshop the morning Autofiction was released. It was also the book that reignited my passion for reading. There’s something about Japanese fiction that’s more honest and less hesitant than British fiction. Murakami and Kanehara seem to have a refreshingly higher awareness of the human condition than any British authors I’ve come across.
Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
Lent to me by a friend. It’s supposed to be good, but I’ve not read it yet. Palahniuk also wrote Fight Club. It just feels a bit mainstream for my tastes.
Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood
I promise this book will change your perspective subtly but irreversibly. The detail Murakami applies to personal encounters gives otherwise fleeting enormous gravitas. Reading this is like been given new eyes. It’s also a beautiful love story without being twee and nauseating (ref The Time Traveller’s Wife). Again, this is an example of Japanese fiction being graphic, honest and achingly aware of basic human conditions.
Tony Wilson, 24 Hour Party People
The memoires of journalist-turned-promoter, the late Tony Wilson. Having lived in Manchester, and being a muso, I find the Hacienda era fascinating and inspiring. This was a birthday present from a friend.
Jacques Derrida, The Truth In Painting
Don’t read this unless you absolutely have to. I chose it as the focus for me degree dissertation. Derrida’s premise is there is no fixed meaning. In order to communicate this theory without being a hypocrite, Derrida has removed most punctuation, including letter spaces, and shuffled the order around. It’s a dry and painful read, but a seminal work.