The New York Magazine has a list.
I’ve read none of them, which is okay, not disgraceful. But I have four of them and still haven’t read them, which is shameful. Like too many book lovers I know, I buy far more than I actually read, which does afford the serendipitous pleasure of discovering something wonderful in your own cupboard that you’d forgotten you had, but also takes up much space at home, and leads to rather low savings. (“Holiday in Europe? Not this year, darling, I have, um, novels to read.”)
Anyway, no more blogging this evening, I think I’ll go read a book or something. Garrumph.
(Link via email from Gautam John.)