Book Preview

How awesome is this? Its MY book! There is nothing like holding your own words in your hands after working so hard for so long. Almost like having kids. Except you can put the book down to pee and there is no screaming. *sigh* Anyway, I as well as Kelly are reviewing my proof as we speak and I am hoping to have some copies for sale before Christmas. However, coinsidering how crazy life has been here, that might be asking too much. Whenever we finish, it will be available in my lifetime. I hope.

A Little Somethin' Somethin'

As you may have read on my facebook, I have recently ordered my proof of my first book (which as already shipped!). I am so excited! I hope to have some available for sale on Amazon and through me before Christmas. Until then, I would like to introduce another story titled, "Fragile." Its decidely un-Austenlike and set in the future as opposed to the past. I started writing it in high school and have fleshed it out bit by bit since then. It centers around a platoon of men fighting in a war over an alien artifact. Before you turn your nose up thinking its all about space fighting and alien invasion, keep your eyes level. There are no aliens, no spaceships, no rayguns. Just men and their story of love and survival in a shitty world of war. Enjoy and please let me know what you think!

Prologue

January 13, 2018

   ‘The Artifact’ had been discovered by a small child. The African sun beat down mercilessly upon the young boy as he played. Sweat trickled down his burning forehead yet he was not fazed having spent his whole life under the sun’s harsh rays. Briefly, he looked up, shielding his eyes, and gazed around as if something ominous had caught his attention. Seeing no sign of dangerous predators, the boy wiped the moisture from his brow and continued with his game. He had played the pirate game many times without success, digging into the dry earth in search of buried gold and jewels his brother told him pirates hid countless ages ago; but today his treasure would be found.
   He had only dug his fourth hole, the dirt soft and easy to break due to the unusual earthquake Kenya had experienced recently. Using his hands as shovels, the young boy scooped the soil from the cracked earth. Dirt sifted through his fingers onto the growing mound beside him. Suddenly, when he was not two feet down, a metallic object cut open his finger. Crying in pain and clinging to his wound, Ankimgie ran to his mother. The cut was not deep, but ever cautious Ankimgie’s mother had the boy show her what had hurt him.
   What she saw scared her to death. She immediately called local authorities. When they arrived, they could not believe their eyes. In no time, word spread throughout the country, and everyone eventually knew what was going on, what had been found.
   A new technology.
   Though not new at all. The metallic box-like object shown blindingly in the sun. The yellow, blue, and reddish colors melted together like an alien oil floating over a puddle. Faded numbers covered the object; only a few remained legible. It was small, about the size of a breadbox, and it appeared scorched along the sharp edges. Time had taken its toll; a million years at least according to future tests. Afraid to remove the object from its current location and risk damage, scientists studied the strange contraption as is. Surprisingly, they were able to open it with little effort. Like opening a safe, scientists unlocked the combination and carefully lifted the top-portion of the object. Inside, it looked like a modern computer with circuits, chips, and diodes. This discovery made the people of Africa, and the world, shudder. A million year old metallic object with twenty-first century–like technology opened the world’s eyes to the possibility of alien life in the universe.
   But they had yet to discover what was locked inside the memory banks of this new device. It was thought that the task would take months, even years, yet it only took two weeks to make one more shocking discovery. The contents, downloaded into a computer, revealed the device’s secrets. It was not an alien computer-like technology left behind by some unknown being, it was our own!
   A probe. Its purpose was unmistakable. The object was built to travel the far reaches of space. But for what purpose?
   The answer was soon unlocked from the disturbingly familiar technology. An unearthing that shook the very foundation every human life on the planet stood on. It was a realization that would ultimately challenge every creationists’ and every evolutionists’ beliefs. A nightmare that would question every scientific discovery ever made.
   Blueprints. There were blueprints for building a human being, namely, genetic codes and anatomical data.
   DNA.
   Inside a million year old newly found artifact.
   In the heart of Africa: the very place where modern man was said to have originated. Suddenly, it made unimaginable sense.
   We were not born: we were built.
   But built by whom? And why? A probe mimicking our own Voyager spacecraft was found to be our beginning. This colossal scientific breakthrough would mean millions to whoever deciphered its origin.
   But whom did it belong to: the American scientists who better understood it, the Kenyan government whose country it was found in, or all of mankind? The argument triggered a dispute between the two countries. The United States saw ‘The Artifact’ as an opportunity to study life. Extensive research needed to be done, according to scholars. On the other hand, Africa viewed the find as a meaningful religious icon, which should remain intact and kept in a museum or church. Thus, the anger began to boil. Peace talks at the United Nations commenced and all the countries in the world debated what should happen with this huge discovery in the small city.
   What officials did not yet realize was that ‘The Artifact’ had another affect on those who came in contact with it.
   People were getting sick. The young boy who first found the craft, Ankimgie, had fallen ill almost immediately. His mother and the first few officials on the scene soon followed. The symptoms began with lesions and progressed to chronic sickness. Doctors who examined the ill were unwavering in their diagnoses, however impossible the fact may be.
   Four scientists, African police and the boy and his mother had a disease of unknown origin. Before doctors’ very eyes, the infected deteriorated at an alarming rate. Their bodies were so distorted by the time they finally died that they were barely recognizable as human.
   Now the struggle for possession became a deadly game against time. This problem had to be solved quickly before more people fell sick. The probe had to be contained, and the only way to accomplish this was for America to have control. Voices rang out from both sides louder then ever. Because of the major health threat pending against many innocent people, the UN was ready to allow the United States to investigate in order to save lives. But before any decision could be made, the unthinkable occurred.
   The first shot was fired on a Wednesday. No one really knew or would confess who shot first, but within an hour, a small field on the outskirts of Machakos was littered with the bullet-riddled bodies of both Africans and Americans. A Kenyan terrorist group calling themselves the Black Lions broke through a protective barrier around ‘The Artifact’ and took it hostage. The group demanded that the United States relinquish control over the device or else the Black Lions would unleash its contents onto the unsuspecting populace. Acting under their religious beliefs, the group cited grievous offenses that America had committed toward Africa’s people, dating back to the time when slavery was an American institution. Their arguments were extremely persuasive with the citizens of the outlining areas of Machakos, and soon the Black Lions’ influence spread to other parts of Kenya and Tanzania. Public outcry sided with the ideals of ‘The Artifact’ liberators, as some began to call them, and the governments of the two countries were soon pulled into the web of supporters. By overwhelming demand, Kenya and Tanzania soon publicly announced their support of the Black Lions.
   Three days later, the American President declared war on Kenya and Tanzania. Diplomacy with Africa had failed, and there was nothing anyone could say that could persuade the terrorist group to surrender ‘The Artifact.’ The Black Lions acted under the full protection of the Kenyan and Tanzanian governments.
   Within hours of the declaration, thousands of troops of Navy, Army, and Marine soldiers were sent to the front. In a day that would be forever recorded in the history books, the United States touched down on the eastern shores of Africa and raced into the jungle. Two hundred thousand went in, but only one hundred fifty thousand would make it to the other side. The interior, infested with dangerous wildlife and the deadly poisons of arrows shot by expert snipers, would claim the lives of many men and women throughout the duration of the war.

* * *

   Within months, almost one hundred thousand people, Africans and Americans, were dead, and the battle for possession of ‘The Artifact’ and the meaning of life on Earth continues to be fought on the soil where it all began. The disease that killed the scientists, police, Ankimgie, and his mother had spread to onlookers at the discovery site, and before they could be quarantined, they had already infected much of the surrounding populace. As near as scientists could figure, approximately five hundred deaths could be conclusively traced to the contagion. However, it was suspected that these numbers would continue to climb along with the war casualties.
   But hope shines bright through the death and turmoil being left in the war’s horrifying wake. As always, love survives. It is the only emotion left for terrified soldiers to hang onto. It flourishes in the hearts of lonely men, away from their homes and families, and keeps them alive when all else seems lost. From the high ranking officer fighting on the battlefield, to the technical supervisor relaying coded messages, and to a dying private in a POW camp, love can never make a man a prisoner. And it is this that keeps them fighting for the truth of their existence.

The Play: The tale of a clever Russian noblewoman

I started writing this story a few years ago. I cant always say where I get my inspiration, and I can't tell you where the idea came for this, but it stems from my love of Russian history. This is a story from the point of view of Ryanna Kostova, a young lady of high birth and, much to her father's distress, unmarried. Mostly because she has a brain and is not afraid to use it. It is set during the 1860s, where quite a bit of Western culture and ideas was spreading throughout Russian. Alexander II, who is best known for freeing serfs and plans for an elected government, was the czar. So, lots of changes with a lot of resistance and a young woman embracing the change amoung a bunch of men who do not. Her father is frusterated, so she makes him a deal, which is revealed in the prologue. This is a very rough draft.  Let me know what you think!

Prologue

            The sun rose once more on another wretched day. Once again I am meant to parade myself in front of one of father’s eligible young men and pretend that to be in his very presence was the single most wonderful experience of my life. But the truth of the matter was that even though I didn’t yet know his name, I knew he would be like all the others that came before him. He would be properly dressed, correct in his opinions, honorable to my father; he would flatter me obsequiously, and he utterly stupid. None of them ever appreciated my intelligent wit, my desire to be heard and respected as a learned mind, or my excellent seat on a horse. Much to my father’s regret, I tested them time and again, giving them my most shocking opinions on marriage, women’s rights, and the general state of the country. And every time they went away with a pitying look at my father and a promise that no man would ever take me as a bride. And my dear father, lord of all he saw, keeper of the house and master of the universe, Ivan Kostov, respected, revered, feared, and one of the last great families of Russia, would sigh and give me a frown while I smiled in triumph. For I always believed above all things that no man really ever loved a woman who wasn’t stupid, and therefore no man shall near me.

            I glanced at myself in my mirror before preparing for the duel of words. Perhaps I was too cruel to them, but if they really wanted to marry me they would love me for my tenacity. It was true I was a great beauty according to the standard ideals: my hair was perfect blackness, my skin creamy white, and my eyes cerulean blue. But it was nothing but decoration for the soul within. I had been tempted to leave my hair unbrushed and skin dirty, but it think I would prefer my father living at present. My gown was correct and in fashion and of a color that was not important but it suited me. I was indeed the perfect vision of loveliness. I turned away to leave before I gagged and was met by my lady. She looked me up and down, nodded her assent that my figure was pleasing, and allowed me to meet my next victim.

            “What is this one called? Not that it matters. I’m sure he will be like all the others,” I asked as I was escorted to the drawing room.

            “I wouldn’t be throwing this one away, mistress. He’s the son of your father’s only friend that doesn’t know you. Tuke is the name.”

            I walked in the room with my head high and readied myself. My father gave me pleading look as I entered. Oh, dear sir, what joy is there in life for me but to make sport of my suitors? There was the young man, elegantly dressed, hair oiled, face clean. Perfect, I am swooning already.

            “Daughter, may I present Leonard Tuke.” My father stepped aside and whispered some threat having to do with spinsterhood in my ear but I confess I did not hear it. I curtsied, he bowed as was proper and expected, and he made some comment about my beauty which I am sure was rehearsed.

            “I understand that your father has an excellent gray stallion?” I began, and I almost lost all composure when the young man choked on his confusion. I went on, amused. “I admit I have been desperate to find an animal that would do my brown jumper justice. Tell me, sir, how does he do over fences? Is he correct in body?”

            “Miss Kostova, I hardly know how to answer,” my eager gentleman said. “This is not a proper subject for ladies.” That was directed at my very red father.

            “I apologize if you are uncomfortable. Let us talk of other things…” I smiled, a little devilishly I admit. “What is your opinion on the rights of women? Do you not feel they should have a voice in government? For my part, I have not heard half so many intelligent things come out of the governor’s mouth as I have from the ladies of my circle.”

            “I believe that a lady with an opinion is a dangerous thing, Miss Kostova. Their minds are infected like a disease and their fragile bodies cannot handle the strain. A woman who reads will fall into mischief and it will lead to her ruin. Leave the thinking to us gentlemen and be safe at home.” Just the response I would expect and I laughed in spite of myself. My father was duly horrified and my suitor pleased with himself. Obviously he had imparted some great wisdom upon me and I should be honored.

            “Do you realize how many dangers there are at home, sir? You could fall down the stairs, burn your hand pouring tea, a spark from the fire could set your dress aflame, not to mention murderous servants lurking around the shadows. No, sir, I prefer to sail upon the sea or ride through the forest at full gallop. A woman would be mad indeed to leave all the fun to you men. And if you think a woman with an opinion ‘dangerous’ then consider your life threatened for I can talk all day.” If only I could convince the man, what was his name? I quite forgot; to remain still long enough for me to capture his expression on canvas, but it was not to be. The poor gentleman’s sensibilities had been insulted to the point of devastation and he would not stay another moment. I was satisfied the meeting was over and so prepared to leave the room, but my father would have none of it.

            “Are you determined to be single all your days? You are determined to see this estate pass into ruin under the management of that damn nephew of mine.”

            “I will not marry a man who will not love me. Every man you have brought to me wants a title, a name, the estate, and do not care about the package as long as it is pleasing to the eye. I don’t want to be sold off to satisfy your longing for a male heir. If any of these men saw me in another circumstance they would not look twice at me.”

            “You are my last child, Ryanna. Your brothers are dead, your sister has only daughters, and she is past the age of bearing children. What choice do you have?”

            “None. I am a woman. We have no choice but to marry and produce sons to placate their fathers.” My father sighed and I saw his shoulders drop. He shook his head resigned and to my surprise, took me in his arms.

            “My dearest child, you are the most beautiful girl in all creation. I cannot bear to see you shrivel away unhappy. I do not want to die before I see you married. Please…” Ah, guilt, my father’s last desperate attempt to touch my heart. “There must be some way we can both be satisfied?”

            I had an idea. It could be complicated, but if it worked as it should, my father would see me married and I would be persuaded to be in love. It depended on whether a man could truly find me and love me for my mind, soul, and heart.

            “There is one more eligible bachelor that has not been tainted by your appalling behavior. He is your last chance. I beg you not to disappoint me again.”

            “I will marry this man if you agree to my proposition, Father.”

            He startled and leaned toward me to receive my every word. I hoped he would agree for I knew it would be difficult to convince him.

            “With your permission, I will take the place of a servant in this house. She will be me, and I will be her. If this man finds me, talks to me, loves me for who I am without the name, then I will marry him.”

            My father protested, which was to be expected, but then after much arguing, he assented, which was unexpected, but welcomed.

            “If this is the only solution, then so be it,” he said before leaving me to my thoughts.

                                    _______________

            Nadya was the stablemaster’s daughter. She was my age, twenty-one, but her years cleaning manure and hard labor had left her hair brittle, her skin course, and her features a little too brown for propriety’s sake. But she was perfect for the role. She was sweet natured and I could direct her to act as I saw fit for whatever situation we encountered. My father agreed to my choice but only because he liked his stableman. His opinion of the girl herself was less than favorable, but he was persuaded to overlook her faults and groom her as his daughter. Though I genuinely admired Nadya and loved to hear her idle gossip, secretly my desire to be near the horses and ride without constraint was the chief reason for my choosing her. Selfish, I know, but also to my purpose. The handsome monsieur would have to look past my smell as well as my station to fall in love with me. Was I being overly cruel to my father? Perhaps, but it was not his life we were planning. Had I not a right to determine my own destiny? I thought so, too.

                                    _______________

            The following is an account of what transpired as a result of my brilliant plan. I cannot vouch for any events that took place outside of my presence, but will try to give as accurate description of them as I can and to the best of my knowledge.

Adventures in Publishing

Okay, I finally did it. After years of big talk and no results because I was too afraid of rejection, I have decided to go ahead and publish my Jane Austen inspired book entitled 'The Devoted: A tale of an alturistic young Englishwoman.' What sparked this big move? I can't exactly put my finger on it, but I think the main reason was I came to the conclusion that there's no point in dedicating so much time in putting your heart on a page without sharing it with the world. And maybe even getting a little recognition for it! Sounds lame and maybe a little cheesy, and maybe I'm just tired of Chase nagging me to go for it, but I admit I am pretty excited about the prospect. Even if the only person who buys a book is my mom :)
So here's how it went down. It actually wasn't too difficult. A quick google search and some research and I picked Createspace.com, which is affliated with Amazon. Sure, its not big time, and its basically self-publishing, but its free and it offers professional services. Which I can't afford. But that's okay because its not required. Seriously, you open a new title, fill in some blank spaces, download a template, set a price, and viola! They assign an ISBN and have great ideas for marketing. I've designed a cover and am working on a final edit before downloading the text and ordering a proof. Its amazing at how easy it is, and I don't have to worry about recieving a rejection letter. BIG plus! The book can be offered for sale on Amazon, or I can buy copies to sell wherever...like my coffee shop :)
So, since I intend to publish 'The Devoted,' I will not post any more chapters of that particular book here because I am mean ;) I've actually changed what has previously been posted anyway, so what you may have read is not even the final draft. And one day when I'm famous, you could say you've read my never before seen work in progress. And you'll be soooooo cool.
Or not.
I wont leave you story-less. I'll start posting chapters of my non-JA story entitled 'Fragile.' Its completely different, so wipe the slate clean. Until then...

Brave New World Indeed

So, my first foray into the world of betterment through reading was with "1984" followed by "Brave New World." Way to jump into the deep end, eh? Holy Jesus on a stick. My idea was to read a couple of books with a similar idea: a glimpse into a possible future. Two very different, yet equally frightening futures. Starting with "1984."
Written in 1949 by George Orwell, "1984" explores a future where there exsists only three major "countries" of people living in fear and apathy. In Oceania, which basically consists of Western Europe, UK, and parts of North America, the citizens are presided over and watched by "Big Brother," an omnipitent overseer that knows all, sees all, and is all. Every movement must be controlled or risk suspicion of nonconformity; every movement, every expression, even their thoughts. History continually changes in order to fit the authorities version of events, and the vocabulary drops "unnecessary" words constantly, dumbing down the English language word by lost word. This is Orwell's horrifying vision in a nutshell. And it is indeed effing scary to think that really we are not that far from this reality. Obviously the whole "Big Brother" always watching is already prevalent...can we say webcams, surveilance, and the like? A person can hardly sneeze without someone in the next county saying "bless you." In respects to our society "dumbing down," reality shows anyone? In a time where people like the Kardashians and desperate houswives are emulated by our children, its no wonder a person thinks twice about letting their kids watch the crap on tv. Who wants their little girl influenced by these trashy hoes? "Mommy, I want that leather bustier with the chains! Mommy, I want big hair and make-up! I want it NOOOOOW!" Its no different than the two minutes of hate whipping the citizens of 1984 into a frenzy of emotions that is almost beyond their control until they're throwing fits and objects at each other. Everyone should read "1984" as a warning that this could happen to us if we're not mindful. The most shocking and disturbing part of this book? The last four words. Read it and you'll know what I'm talking about. *chills*
In stark contrast to Orwell's version of the future is Aldous Huxley's "Brave New World." Where "1984" is all about control through hate and fear, BNW removes all independent thought by keeping people in a stupor of pleasure and happiness. Because, if you're happy, why worry? Why wonder about the world, think about science, or turn to God if there is no suffering? Is something is troubling, there is 'soma,' basically a pill that makes it all go away. Think endorphins. Babies are made in a lab under specific conditions to create castes of Alphas, Betas, Gammas, etc with the lower castes performing the menial jobs that is so disgraceful to an Alpha, like maintenance work. But everyone is important and needed to keep the world going round. There is no violence, love, or marriage and words like 'mother' are considered so disgusting its taboo to even speak of them. Children are conditioned for their future rolls through brainwashing and desensitizing. This was the most disturbing for me as a mother; the thought that babies are not held and loved, but programmed. Of course there are upsides to no monogamy; everyone belongs to everyone else. No jealousy, no conpetition for affection, no hard feelings. Awesome, right? Of course, if you are never alone, there is no need to do things like 'think.' Or 'read.' Unless its a book by Ford. That's right, FORD. As in, "Oh my Ford!" I'm not so sure our society could go this route. God forbid people are happy all the time! It seems like a whole lot of effort for a country that is inherently lazy. I would hope that the desire to have a family and love would override any tendancies in this direction. Maybe I'm living in a fantasy land because these things are so important to me. But don't we need a little misery so we can remember how good we have it? Otherwise, if everything's all hunky dory all the time, what's the point of living? You'll meet a 'Savage' who wonders the same thing.
I'm not sure which zombie is worse: the scared one or the 'ignorance is bliss' variety. Either way, "1984" and "Brave New World" are on my 'definately read' list for everyone interested. Not only will you wonder about the future, but you  might learn something about yourself, too.
Until my next few books...

FAIL

I know, I am the worst blogger ever. There really is no excuse considering its been over a YEAR since I last posted. Oh, wait, didn't I have a baby or something? Right. Anyway, I have vowed to keep everyone up to date on all the creepy little details of my life and continue to post chapters of my finished book. I would also like to invite everyone to follow me on my journey of self culturalizing (is that even a word?) by reading TIME's 100 best novels from 1923-present and NY Times top 100 novels ever! Join me! We will be well read and awesome together! Here are the full lists cross-referenced for duplication:

A - B

The Adventures of Augie March (1953), by Saul Bellow

All the King's Men (1946), by Robert Penn Warren

American Pastoral (1997), by Philip Roth

An American Tragedy (1925), by Theodore Dreiser

Animal Farm (1946), by George Orwell

Appointment in Samarra (1934), by John O'Hara

Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret (1970), by Judy Blume

The Assistant (1957), by Bernard Malamud

At Swim-Two-Birds (1938), by Flann O'Brien

Atonement (2002), by Ian McEwan

Beloved (1987), by Toni Morrison

The Berlin Stories (1946), by Christopher Isherwood

The Big Sleep (1939), by Raymond Chandler

The Blind Assassin (2000), by Margaret Atwood

Blood Meridian (1986), by Cormac McCarthy

Brideshead Revisited (1946), by Evelyn Waugh

The Bridge of San Luis Rey (1927), by Thornton Wilder

C - D

Call It Sleep (1935), by Henry Roth

Catch-22 (1961), by Joseph Heller

The Catcher in the Rye (1951), by J.D. Salinger

A Clockwork Orange (1963), by Anthony Burgess

The Confessions of Nat Turner (1967), by William Styron

The Corrections (2001), by Jonathan Franzen

The Crying of Lot 49 (1966), by Thomas Pynchon

A Dance to the Music of Time (1951), by Anthony Powell

The Day of the Locust (1939), by Nathanael West

Death Comes for the Archbishop (1927), by Willa Cather

A Death in the Family (1958), by James Agee

The Death of the Heart (1958), by Elizabeth Bowen

Deliverance (1970), by James Dickey

Dog Soldiers (1974), by Robert Stone

F - G

Falconer (1977), by John Cheever

The French Lieutenant's Woman (1969), by John Fowles

The Golden Notebook (1962), by Doris Lessing

Go Tell it on the Mountain (1953), by James Baldwin

Gone With the Wind (1936), by Margaret Mitchell

The Grapes of Wrath (1939), by John Steinbeck

Gravity's Rainbow (1973), by Thomas Pynchon

The Great Gatsby (1925), by F. Scott Fitzgerald

H - I

A Handful of Dust (1934), by Evelyn Waugh

The Heart is A Lonely Hunter (1940), by Carson McCullers

The Heart of the Matter (1948), by Graham Greene

Herzog (1964), by Saul Bellow

Housekeeping (1981), by Marilynne Robinson

A House for Mr. Biswas (1962), by V.S. Naipaul

I, Claudius (1934), by Robert Graves

Infinite Jest (1996), by David Foster Wallace

Invisible Man (1952), by Ralph Ellison

L - N

Light in August (1932), by William Faulkner

The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (1950), by C.S. Lewis

Lolita (1955), by Vladimir Nabokov

Lord of the Flies (1955), by William Golding

The Lord of the Rings (1954), by J.R.R. Tolkien

Loving (1945), by Henry Green

Lucky Jim (1954), by Kingsley Amis

The Man Who Loved Children (1940), by Christina Stead

Midnight's Children (1981), by Salman Rushdie

Money (1984), by Martin Amis

The Moviegoer (1961), by Walker Percy

Mrs. Dalloway (1925), by Virginia Woolf

Naked Lunch (1959), by William Burroughs

Native Son (1940), by Richard Wright

Neuromancer (1984), by William Gibson

Never Let Me Go (2005), by Kazuo Ishiguro

1984 (1948), by George Orwell

O - R

On the Road (1957), by Jack Kerouac

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1962), by Ken Kesey

The Painted Bird (1965), by Jerzy Kosinski

Pale Fire (1962), by Vladimir Nabokov

A Passage to India (1924), by E.M. Forster

Play It As It Lays (1970), by Joan Didion

Portnoy's Complaint (1969), by Philip Roth

Possession (1990), by A.S. Byatt

The Power and the Glory (1939), by Graham Greene

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1961), by Muriel Spark

Rabbit, Run (1960), by John Updike

Ragtime (1975), by E.L. Doctorow

The Recognitions (1955), by William Gaddis

Red Harvest (1929), by Dashiell Hammett

Revolutionary Road (1961), by Richard Yates

S - T

The Sheltering Sky (1949), by Paul Bowles

Slaughterhouse Five (1969), by Kurt Vonnegut

Snow Crash (1992), by Neal Stephenson

The Sot-Weed Factor (1960), by John Barth

The Sound and the Fury (1929), by William Faulkner

The Sportswriter (1986), by Richard Ford

The Spy Who Came in From the Cold (1964), by John le Carre

The Sun Also Rises (1926), by Ernest Hemingway

Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937), by Zora Neale Hurston

Things Fall Apart (1959), by Chinua Achebe

To Kill a Mockingbird (1960), by Harper Lee

To the Lighthouse (1927), by Virginia Woolf

Tropic of Cancer (1934), by Henry Miller

U - W

Ubik (1969), by Philip K. Dick

Under the Net (1954), by Iris Murdoch

Under the Volcano (1947), by Malcolm Lowry

Watchmen (1986), by Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons

White Noise (1985), by Don DeLillo

White Teeth (2000), by Zadie Smith

Wide Sargasso Sea (1966), by Jean Rhys

"Ulysses," James Joyce

"A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man," James Joyce

"Brave New World," Aldous Huxley

"Darkness at Noon," Arthur Koestler

"Sons and Lovers," D. H. Lawrence

"The Way of All Flesh," Samuel Butler

"Henderson the Rain King," Saul Bellow "U.S.A." (trilogy), John Dos Passos

"Winesburg, Ohio," Sherwood Anderson

"The Wings of the Dove," Henry James

"The Ambassadors," Henry James

"Tender Is the Night," F. Scott Fitzgerald

"The Studs Lonigan Trilogy," James T. Farrell

"The Good Soldier," Ford Madox Ford

"The Golden Bowl," Henry James

"Sister Carrie," Theodore Dreiser

"As I Lay Dying," William Faulkner

"Howards End," E. M. Forster

"Point Counter Point," Aldous Huxley

"The Secret Agent," Joseph Conrad "Nostromo," Joseph Conrad

"The Rainbow," D. H. Lawrence

"Women in Love," D. H. Lawrence

"The Naked and the Dead," Norman Mailer

"The Maltese Falcon," Dashiell Hammett

"Parade's End," Ford Madox Ford

"The Age of Innocence," Edith Wharton

"Zuleika Dobson," Max Beerbohm

"From Here to Eternity," James Jones

"The Wapshot Chronicles," John Cheever

"Of Human Bondage," W. Somerset Maugham

"Heart of Darkness," Joseph Conrad "Main Street," Sinclair Lewis

"The House of Mirth," Edith Wharton "The Alexandria Quartet," Lawrence Durrell "A High Wind in Jamaica," Richard Hughes

"A Farewell to Arms," Ernest Hemingway

"Scoop," Evelyn Waugh

"Finnegans Wake," James Joyce

"Kim," Rudyard Kipling

"A Room With a View," E. M. Forster "Angle of Repose," Wallace Stegner

"A Bend in the River," V. S. Naipaul

"Lord Jim," Joseph Conrad

"The Old Wives' Tale," Arnold Bennett "The Call of the Wild," Jack London "Tobacco Road," Erskine Caldwell "Ironweed," William Kennedy

"The Magus," John Fowles

"Sophie's Choice," William Styron

"The Postman Always Rings Twice," James M. Cain

"The Ginger Man," J. P. Donleavy

"The Magnificent Ambersons," Booth Tarkington

Minus what I've already read:

Animal Farm, Atonement, Beloved, The Great Gatsby, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, 1984, On the Road, Slaughterhouse Five, To Kill A Mockingbird, A Room with A View, and The Call of the Wild (not many relatively I am sad to say)

And I am left with...lots of books!!!

So let's better ourselves through reading together. Turn off the TV, iphone, computer (after reading this blog of course). Settle down on the couch, grab a glass of wine, and crack open a great book with me. Then we'll discuss. Ready...

GO!