The most recent one, which I have optimistically called the “absolute last,” stands at 700 entries. From its original iteration of 400 books, it has gone through three subsequent versions, each larger than the last. “The List” as I and a good friend who is also enslaved to its dictates affectionately call it, has turned out to be an ongoing project. (It would be pointless for a person who willingly embarks on such a task to deny being anal, so I won’t even try.) When my labors were done I had a handy tool that in no time at all would make me a genre expert, just like drawing Skippy that time made me into a world-renowned artist. I abhor unevenness and asymmetry, so I added my own selections to round the total up to a nice, even 400. When I was finished I had a list of around 350 books. (On my personal copy of the list, I use a color system to keep track - books I’ve read are printed in red books I own but haven’t yet read are in green books I’ve neither read nor own are in black.) Going through my own books was done gradually over the next week or two. The initial labor of collecting the sources, going through them, and assembling the rough list took all of a long, headache-inducing day, from early in the morning until late at night. It was but a small and fatal step from this realization to deciding that it might be fun and useful to assemble all of those lists from their many sources and then collate them into one Master List, which would entail consolidating duplications and alphabetizing the entries by author I could then go through my library and see which books I owned and which ones I had read (not necessarily the same thing, as any passionate book collector will tell you), and thus have ready-made suggestions for the void following the finishing of one book and the choosing of another, to say nothing of providing one more use for all of that spare money that I have lying around.įun and useful? It turned out to be one of those, anyway - I’ll let you guess which. In fact, it could be considered quite literally insane - but it works for me, and so to help keep the voices in my head under control, I would like to share my madness with you.Ībout ten years ago, while puttering around in my science fiction, fantasy, and horror library, I became aware that I had quite a few books that contained lists of “best” or “essential” books (like David Hartwell’s Age of Wonders, which has an appendix listing “The best 101 SF books since the invention of the field in the twenties”), or that consisted of nothing but lists (with appreciative essays attached), like David Pringle’s Modern Fantasy: The Hundred Best Novels. If the very thought of all the classics and near-classics that you’ve never gotten around to doesn’t make all your courage drain away in an instant and set you fleeing for the hills, never to return, I have a… well, I won’t say a “modest” or “reasonable” proposal, because, as you will see, there’s nothing modest or reasonable about it - it is, rather, unashamedly megalomanic. For many people ( Black Gate followers no less than anyone else, judging from many recent posts), year-end “best of” and “top ten” lists are indispensable tools for keeping up with the best current writing… but what about the vast reservoir of older books? Dart and ouija boards, animal entrails, tarot cards, various dice systems, and the blind recommendations of pimply, pasty complexioned clerks in chain bookstores have all been resorted to by readers desperate for guidance. As we segue (stagger, stumble, reel, crawl, stop-drop-and roll) from winter into spring, we are faced as always with the never-ending question: “What in the world am I going to read next?”Įveryone will solve this dilemma in their own way.
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