Here are the five best books I've read in 2011. None of them were published in 2011. The list is in no particular order.
The Burnt-Orange Heresy by Charles Willeford. I like noir and love art-world nonsense. This great book, suggested to me by Sean Craven at a dinner at Raleigh's (RIP), combines both. The best part is that almost nothing happens for most of it. There are pages of narration about the world of art criticism, the history of a mysterious artist, and some grousing about Florida and TV dinners and whatnot, and then the tension ratchets tremendously when a critic dares try to paint a picture. Fantastic.
Cyclonopedia: Complicity with Anonymous Materials by Reza Negarestani is a ferocious anti-novel about the Middle East and its existence as a living being. There's only the whisper of a plot—most of the book is made up of a series of scholarly articles on the occult, rat-dominated ecologies, oil, Lovecraftiana, military tactics, Jihad, and ancient Middle Eastern history, all leavened with continental philosophy and poststructuralism. "For a long time now the magnetosphere, this ultra-ancient cocoon around the planetary body, has enriched the earth's tellurian insurgency, telling the earth forbidden stories from the Outside, teaching it how to reach immanence with the Sun, and ultimately completing the hatching process of its inner black Egg, or the treacherous Insider" is a not atypical sentence. There are no typical sentences.![[info]]()
ryan_howse suggested it back in September.
The Book of Man by Barry Graham. I bought this at The Twenty-Five Cent Store, which is an annex of Rasputin, a couple of months ago. I picked it up because Graham had a book coming out from PM Press (which was also good), and because it took place in Glasgow and I've been on a kick for that since the summer. I was blown away by this 1994 book. It's the sort of thing you're either into or you're not—a novel about not-very-successful artists, and poverty, and learning how to live. Basically, a book that the average loudmouth science fiction fan would complain about—"None of the characters are likable and they're all whiny losers!"—in the spare moments between eBay bids for this item:
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Well, I friggin' loved it.
The Sot-Weed Factor by John Barth. I actually got this book back in 2008, from the curb, days before I left Somerville for California, but I didn't pick it up until I had to make a cross-country flight followed by a transatlantic flight. This 700+ page parody of a historical novel is utterly hilarious, and learned, and chockful of plot gymnastics. There is a cast of hundreds, but most of them are just one man in disguise. There's a several-page insult match that looks like this:
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and one million whores, all of whom are working either for or against one Ebenezer Cooke, Poet and Virgin! Take a week off from work and read this one.
War With the Newts by Karel Čapek. A co-worker insisted I read this one. I foolishly resisted for some time and hate myself for hesitating even for a moment. Semi-intelligent newts are found in one small lagoon. A wily captain clears out the sharks and trains the newts to fetch pearls. Then a newt syndicate opens up, as does a newt futures market. Popular culture is overwhelmed by the presence of this slave-species. Then, as the title says, there is a war. This book is from 1936 and combines straightforward narrative with news clippings, business meetings, technical discussions, radio broadcasts and other such strategies and a brilliant auctorial intrusion that we'd easily call postmodern had the book been written, you know, fifty years after it actually was. If you love SF, this is a book for you.
The Burnt-Orange Heresy by Charles Willeford. I like noir and love art-world nonsense. This great book, suggested to me by Sean Craven at a dinner at Raleigh's (RIP), combines both. The best part is that almost nothing happens for most of it. There are pages of narration about the world of art criticism, the history of a mysterious artist, and some grousing about Florida and TV dinners and whatnot, and then the tension ratchets tremendously when a critic dares try to paint a picture. Fantastic.
Cyclonopedia: Complicity with Anonymous Materials by Reza Negarestani is a ferocious anti-novel about the Middle East and its existence as a living being. There's only the whisper of a plot—most of the book is made up of a series of scholarly articles on the occult, rat-dominated ecologies, oil, Lovecraftiana, military tactics, Jihad, and ancient Middle Eastern history, all leavened with continental philosophy and poststructuralism. "For a long time now the magnetosphere, this ultra-ancient cocoon around the planetary body, has enriched the earth's tellurian insurgency, telling the earth forbidden stories from the Outside, teaching it how to reach immanence with the Sun, and ultimately completing the hatching process of its inner black Egg, or the treacherous Insider" is a not atypical sentence. There are no typical sentences.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=87.5)
ryan_howse suggested it back in September.The Book of Man by Barry Graham. I bought this at The Twenty-Five Cent Store, which is an annex of Rasputin, a couple of months ago. I picked it up because Graham had a book coming out from PM Press (which was also good), and because it took place in Glasgow and I've been on a kick for that since the summer. I was blown away by this 1994 book. It's the sort of thing you're either into or you're not—a novel about not-very-successful artists, and poverty, and learning how to live. Basically, a book that the average loudmouth science fiction fan would complain about—"None of the characters are likable and they're all whiny losers!"—in the spare moments between eBay bids for this item:
Well, I friggin' loved it.
The Sot-Weed Factor by John Barth. I actually got this book back in 2008, from the curb, days before I left Somerville for California, but I didn't pick it up until I had to make a cross-country flight followed by a transatlantic flight. This 700+ page parody of a historical novel is utterly hilarious, and learned, and chockful of plot gymnastics. There is a cast of hundreds, but most of them are just one man in disguise. There's a several-page insult match that looks like this:
and one million whores, all of whom are working either for or against one Ebenezer Cooke, Poet and Virgin! Take a week off from work and read this one.
War With the Newts by Karel Čapek. A co-worker insisted I read this one. I foolishly resisted for some time and hate myself for hesitating even for a moment. Semi-intelligent newts are found in one small lagoon. A wily captain clears out the sharks and trains the newts to fetch pearls. Then a newt syndicate opens up, as does a newt futures market. Popular culture is overwhelmed by the presence of this slave-species. Then, as the title says, there is a war. This book is from 1936 and combines straightforward narrative with news clippings, business meetings, technical discussions, radio broadcasts and other such strategies and a brilliant auctorial intrusion that we'd easily call postmodern had the book been written, you know, fifty years after it actually was. If you love SF, this is a book for you.