Books I should read

[Noah 26,583]

Hello,

I want to start reading more books, but not the mainstream ones like 40SOG or Harry Potter and everything like that, because I've already read it. 

I want something 'new' and 'fresh'. The Genre doesn't matter, but it should be more adult-y and less childish. It should be something that is timeless and makes you think about life etc.

That's it.

Thanks for your ideas in advance.

XO

[Sizzily 14,543]

The Family Corleone/any books in the Godfather series

The Great Gatsby (you might have already read that )

Fight Club maybe?

[yASSsss 35,510]

 

3 minutes ago, Noahhh said:

I want something 'new' and 'fresh'. The Genre doesn't matter, but it should be more adult-y and less childish. It should be something that is timeless and makes you think about life etc.

 

"Lady Gaga x Terry Richardson" is perfect for u

Spoiler

 

 

[KURUSHITOVSKA 20,442]

1984 for sure, I loved it and it was a school obligatory reading lol. It's the only one I enjoyed.

Also The English Roses by Madonna 

[LePetitGAGABLover 21,234]

These three books changed my life

[CyanLights 15,503]

1 minute ago, KURUSHITOVSKA said:

1984 for sure, I loved it and it was a school obligatory reading lol. It's the only one I enjoyed.

Also The English Roses by Madonna 

Came here to say this, 1984 is my favorite novel. The Glass Castle is also fantastic. 

[Jesse Pinkman 4,660]

I've been meaning to read 1984. Let me make a stop at my library.

[AlexanderLevi2 5,849]

Ethan Frome. It's a quick 90 some pages and we had to read it for school, I fell in love!

 

It has some good themes about complacency, following your heart and consequences.

[Jesse Pinkman 4,660]

3 minutes ago, LePetitMonstr said:

These three books changed my life

YASSSS The City of Ember was incredible.

[Noah 26,583]

3 minutes ago, AlexanderLevi2 said:

Ethan Frome. It's a quick 90 some pages and we had to read it for school, I fell in love!

 

It has some good themes about complacency, following your heart and consequences.

 

4 minutes ago, thatguy said:

Came here to say this, 1984 is my favorite novel. The Glass Castle is also fantastic. 

 

5 minutes ago, LePetitMonstr said:

These three books changed my life

 

6 minutes ago, KURUSHITOVSKA said:

1984 for sure, I loved it and it was a school obligatory reading lol. It's the only one I enjoyed.

Also The English Roses by Madonna 

 

8 minutes ago, Kylo Ren said:

The Family Corleone/any books in the Godfather series

The Great Gatsby (you might have already read that )

Fight Club maybe?

Thanks for the suggestions! 

Hopefully I can check them all out! :heart: 

[Bette Davis 12,742]

This isn't a novel, but I feel like it really helped me start the year out on a fresh note. It's a fast read but really changed the way I view my surroundings and possessions. 

[Juvi 1,639]

do yourself a favor and read any book by Haruki Murakami. it sure is ¿hard? to get into his worlds but it is so enjoyable, especially his short stories "The Second Bakery Attack", "Sleep" & "The Strange Library". These three are available as graphic novels in Germany, so if you understand german, get them, the drawings are beautiful and help get into the world of the story. Two of the stories I named are also in "The Elephant vanishes" a short story collection with 17 Stories that are partly linked to full-length books by him.

[Voltaire 4,531]

What you ought to do, is pick a genre that you love and read some of the "greats" of that genre. There are no shortages of fanatic readers that will compile lists and then other readers will pick them apart: therefore, a lot of quality lists out there.

Examples?

Sci-Fi. Ender's Game is consistently in the top ten. I finally read it. One of the most enjoyable novels I've read. It completely deserves it's position.

Fantasy. The Magicians. It was expanded into 3 books and is being made now into a television program by the syfy channel. One of the freshest examples of "adult" oriented modern fantasy. Loved it.

Humor? Douglas Adams or Terry Pratchett or for the love of all that is holy David Sedaris.

Excerpt of David Sedaris from Naked:

Spoiler

Chipped Beef

I’m thinking of asking the servants to wax my change before placing it in the Chinese tank I keep on my dresser. It’s important to have clean money — not new, but well maintained. That’s one of the tenets of my church. It’s not mine personally, but the one I attend with my family: the Cathedral of the Sparkling Nature. It’s that immense Gothic building with the towers and bells and statues of common people poised to leap from the spires. They offer tours and there’s an open house the first Sunday of every October. You should come! Just don’t bring your camera, because the flash tends to spook the horses, which is a terrible threat to me and my parents, seeing as the reverend insists that we occupy the first pew. He rang us up not long ago, tipsy — he’s a tippler — saying that our faces brought him closer to God. And it’s true, we’re terribly good-looking people. They’re using my mother’s profile on the new monorail token, and as for my father and me, the people at NASA want to design a lunar module based on the shape of our skulls. Our cheekbones are aeronautic and the clefts of our chins can hold up to three dozen BBs at a time. When asked, most people say that my greatest asset is my skin, which glows — it really does! I have to tie a sock over my eyes in order to fall asleep at night. Others like my eyes or my perfect, gleaming teeth, my thick head of hair or my imposing stature, but if you want my opinion, I think my most outstanding feature is my ability to accept a compliment.

Because we are so smart, my parents and I are able to see through people as if they were made of hard, clear plastic. We know what they look like naked and can see the desperate inner workings of their hearts, souls, and intestines. Someone might say, “How’s it hangin’, big guy,” and I can smell his envy, his fumbling desire to win my good graces with a casual and inappropriate folksiness that turns my stomach with pity. How’s it hanging, indeed. They know nothing about me and my way of life; and the world, you see, is filled with people like this.

Take, for example, the reverend, with his trembling hands and waxy jacket of skin. He’s no more complex than one of those five-piece wooden puzzles given to idiots and school-children. He wants us to sit in the front row so we won’t be a distraction to the other parishioners, who are always turning in their pews, craning their necks to admire our physical and spiritual beauty. They’re enchanted by our breeding and want to see firsthand how we’re coping with our tragedy. Everywhere we go, my parents and I are the center of attention. “It’s them! Look, there’s the son! Touch him, grab for his tie, a lock of his hair, anything!”

The reverend hoped that by delivering his sermon on horseback, he might regain a bit of attention for himself, but even with the lariat and his team of prancing Clydesdales, his plan has failed to work. At least with us seated in the front row, the congregation is finally facing forward, which is a step in the right direction. If it helps bring people closer to God, we’d be willing to perch on the pipe organ or lash ourselves to the original stainless-steel cross that hangs above the altar. We’d do just about anything because, despite our recent hardships, our first duty is to help others. The Inner City Picnic Fund, our Annual Headache Drive, the Polo Injury Wing at the local Memorial Hospital: we give unspeakable amounts to charity, but you’ll never hear us talk about it. We give anonymously because the sackfuls of thank-you letters break our hearts with their clumsy handwriting and hopeless phonetic spelling. Word gets out that we’re generous and good-looking, and before you know it our front gate will become a campsite for fashion editors and crippled children, who tend to ruin the grass with the pointy shanks of their crutches. No, we do what we can but with as little fanfare as possible. You won’t find us waving from floats or marching alongside the Grand Pooh-bah, because that would only draw attention to ourselves. Oh, you see the hangers-on doing that sort of thing all the time, but it’s cheap and foolish and one day they’ll face the consequences of their folly. They’re hungry for something they know nothing about, but we, we know all too well that the price of fame is the loss of privacy. Public displays of happiness only encourage the many kidnappers who prowl the leafy estates of our better neighborhoods.

When my sisters were taken, my father crumpled the ransom note and tossed it into the eternal flame that burns beside the mummified Pilgrim we keep in the dining hall of our summer home in Olfactory. We don’t negotiate with criminals, because it’s not in our character. Every now and then we think about my sisters and hope they’re doing well, but we don’t dwell upon the matter, as that only allows the kidnappers to win. My sisters are gone for the time being but, who knows, maybe they’ll return someday, perhaps when they’re older and have families of their own. In the meantime, I am left as the only child and heir to my parents’ substantial fortune. Is it lonely? Sometimes. I’ve still got my mother and father and, of course, the servants, several of whom are extraordinarily clever despite their crooked teeth and lack of breeding. Why, just the other day I was in the stable with Duncan when…

“Oh, for God’s sake,” my mother said, tossing her wooden spoon into a cauldron of chipped-beef gravy. “Leave that goddamned cat alone before I claw you myself. It’s bad enough you’ve got her tarted up like some two-dollar *****. Take that costume off her and turn her loose before she runs away just like the last one.”

Adjusting my glasses with my one free hand, I reminded her that the last cat had been hit by a car.

“She did it on purpose,” my mother said. “It was her only way out, and you drove her to it with your bullshit about eating prime rib with the Kennedys or whatever the hell it was you were yammering on about that day. Go on now, and let her loose. Then I want you to run out to the backyard and call your sisters out of that ditch. Find your father while you’re at it. If he’s not underneath his car, he’s probably working on the septic tank. Tell them to get their asses to the table, or they’ll be eating my goddamned fist for dinner.”

It wasn’t that we were poor. According to my parents, we were far from it, just not far enough from it to meet my needs. I wanted a home with a moat rather than a fence. In order to get a decent night’s sleep, I needed an airport named in our honor.

“You’re a snob,” my mother would say. “That’s your problem in a hard little nutshell. I grew up around people like you, and you know what? I couldn’t stand them. Nobody could.”

No matter what we had — the house, the cars, the vacations — it was never enough. Somewhere along the line a terrible mistake had been made. The life I’d been offered was completely unacceptable, but I never gave up hope that my real family might arrive at any moment, pressing the doorbell with their white-gloved fingers. “Oh, Lord Chisselchin,” they’d cry, tossing their top hats in celebration, “thank God we’ve finally found you.”

“It ain’t going to happen,” my mother said. “Believe me, if I was going to steal a baby, I would have taken one that didn’t bust my ass every time I left my coat lying on the sofa. I don’t know how it happened, but you’re mine. If that’s a big disappointment for you, just imagine what I must feel.” While my mother grocery-shopped, I would often loiter near the front of the store. It was my hope that some wealthy couple would stuff me into the trunk of their car. They might torture me for an hour or two, but after learning that I was good with an iron, surely they would remove my shackles and embrace me as one of their own.

“Any takers?” my mother would ask, wheeling her loaded grocery cart out into the parking lot.

“Don’t you know any childless couples?” I’d ask. “Someone with a pool or a private jet?”

“If I did, you’d be the first one to know.”

My displeasure intensified with the appearance of each new sister.

“You have how many children in your family?” the teachers would ask. “I’m guessing you must be Catholic, am I right?”

It seemed that every Christmas my mother was pregnant. The toilet was constantly filled with dirty diapers, and toddlers were forever padding into my bedroom, disturbing my seashell and wine-bottle collections.

I had no notion of the exact mechanics, but from over-hearing the neighbors, I understood that our large family had something to do with my mother’s lack of control. It was her fault that we couldn’t afford a summerhouse with bay windows and a cliffside tennis court. Rather than improve her social standing, she chose to spit out children, each one filthier than the last. It wasn’t until she announced her sixth pregnancy that I grasped the complexity of the situation. I caught her in the bedroom, crying in the middle of the afternoon.

“Are you sad because you haven’t vacuumed the basement yet?” I asked. “I can do that for you if you want.”

“I know you can,” she said. “And I appreciate your offer. No, I’m sad because, ****, because I’m going to have a baby, but this is the last one, I swear. After this one I’ll have the doctor tie my tubes and solder the knot just to make sure it’ll never happen again.”

I had no idea what she was talking about — a tube, a knot, a soldering gun — but I nodded my head as if she and I had just come to some sort of a private agreement that would later be finalized by a team of lawyers.

“I can do this one more time but I’m going to need your help.” She was still crying in a desperate, sloppy kind of way, but it didn’t embarrass me or make me afraid. Watching her slender hands positioned like a curtain over her face, I understood that she needed more than just a volunteer maid. And, oh, I would be that person. A listener, a financial advisor, even a friend: I swore to be all those things and more in exchange for twenty dollars and a written guarantee that I would always have my own private bedroom. That’s how devoted I was. And knowing what a good deal she was getting, my mother dried her face and went off in search of her pocketbook.

Anyways, there are too many books to recommend because there are so very many directions you may be wanting to read in. If you have any specific ideas, let us know! I went through a non-fiction phase for a while, so maybe you'd be wanting something like that too. Enjoy reading, there are no mistakes within a book that's been read.

 

[Haroon 49,685]

One of the best books I've ever read, I've read it like 3 times over the past 12 years and I'll definitely read it again in a few. As I've grown I've been able to appreciate more of it with each read - definitely give 'Memoirs of a Geisha' a shot!  

Another one of my favourites is 'A Clockwork Orange'. It's got a whole load of its own slang which can take some time to understand but its shocking how it makes sense eventually. To make things easier (which I did) you can purchase a version with a glossary of terms anyway  

[Prismatic 4,789]