"The Hobbit" - J.R.R Tolkien, 1937

Love the Lord of the Rings mythology as I do, I have limited patience with Tolkiens' prose - he is every inch the pipe-smoking Oxford don, and all the more grandfatherly in this book for children. Still, once you get into the swing of things it's a cracking yarn.

"The Wind Up Bird Chronicle", Murakami Haruki, 1994

It's easy to point out the pathologically nonchalant lead who appears in each of his books, but this isn't to say that Murakami is incapable of devising characters - in fact, I think this is where his strengths lie. Whilst describing other people, the prose is utterly electrifying, but elsewhere, frustratingly slow. Two thirds of the way through, this book was in danger of outstaying its welcome, but suddenly it picked up. I think I prefer him in shorter bursts.

"Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows" - J. K. Rowling, 2007

In the face of an object of worldwide hysteria, it's tempting to pick holes and find fault, which I've instinctively done with all the Potter books. Truth be told, Rowling isn't the tidiest writer on the planet, and she could certainly use an editor...but, this is missing the point somewhat...

...she is a remarkable storyteller, completely wrapped up in the telling of a story and I like that in a writer. What I also like is when characters that I think I have a handle on surprise me, or others that I was always rooting for finally blossom.

My A Level English Lit. teacher said she was always a bit sad when she finished reading Jane Austen books, because she felt as if she was saying goodbye to a large group of friends - whilst I don't quite feel the same about Harry Potter, after reading seven books of their lives, it's easy to semi-realise them.

Lots of fun though Potter is, it's by no means perfect. "...Deathly Hallows" is consistent with the rest of the series, even down to those annoying bits of padding inbetween significant events. In some of the longer tomes, my reading has been interrupted by my brain shouting "Get on with it!" That said, the only real problem I have with this book is that the ending feels rushed - after really getting to know these characters it's a bit of a disappointment to not have certain things resolved after the closing scenes - even though it's cheesy beyond palatability, David Edding's epic Belgariad sequence gives us the chance to warm down and say "goodbye."

Never mind - this is a really good ending to a well sustained and honest series. Thank goodness it's finally over.

"Serve it Forth" - Mary Frances Kennedy Fisher, 1937

This brief history of gastronomy, from ancient Egypt to 1930's America, is laced with anecdotes, observations and recipes "like birds in a tree." It's absolutely fascinating, helped no end by the fact that Fisher is a brilliant writer and observer, able to vividly depict a waiter, restaurant or period of history with as much gusto as she can an intriguing dish.

Unfortunately, she is of the school of thought that English cooking is a grey, mushy, sorry state of affairs. Were I able to contact her, I'd point her in the direction of Orwell's "In Defence of English Cooking" (1945), but that's just an exaple of what a cracking read this book is - to want to actually speak to the author and say "me too!" or "I disagree, look at this." Brilliant stuff, left me salivating.

"The War of the Worlds" - Herbert George Wells, 1898

This classic, genre defining tale of alien invasion hasn't dated well in some places. The prose is rather stuffy, full of seemingly unnecessary details, and not all of the science stands up to scrutiny.

What makes it interesting is the way in which mankind deals with the situation visited upon him - herein, to the 21st century reader, lies the true horror, now that alien invasion is pretty passe and certainly unlikely from this solar system.

Wells' admiration of Darwinism is apparent in many sections of the book, to the extent where it would almost be unpublishable if certain phrases were included. Sometimes, Wells isn't so much apologising for the subjugation of "savages" by the "civilised" as saying the nature of each makes it inevitable.

This is a significant book, not just because of the genre it spawned, but because of the deeper themes he wrote about, often forgotten in modern versions of the story.

"In Cold Blood" - Truman Capote, 1965

Considered the first "non-fiction novel," "In Cold Blood" documents the mass murder of the Clutter family in 1965, the subsequent arrest the killers and the process of their trial.

The book catapulted Capote to super stardom, but detractors pointed out disrepancies with regards to fact, or rather criticised fictitious elaboration of contemporary events (that what is published as non-fiction is nothing of the sort) and the moral problem of being so close to those involved, whilst being a novelist writing a novel, rather than a journalist communicating bare facts.

In it's favour, "In Cold Blood" is an astounding piece of writing, evocative, influential and cooly detatched. It's hybrid nature is fascinating, creating a loop where real people are works of fiction, and vice versa.

"Neuromancer" - William Gibson, 1983

Neuromancer created a dense, vivid and believable world, echoes of which are still heard in science fiction today, but it's true legacy is that words like "cyberspace" have entered into common usage.

It’s strangely appropriate that a novel this young can be described as a classic, because Gibson writes about the ways in which technology that advances with increasing speed changes people and their perceptions. In many ways, technology has left his vision behind – it’s funny to read him writing with gravity about “thousands of megabytes,” but I don’t suppose too many people thought in gigabytes back in the eighties.

The tough and relentless prose drops the reader straight into the underbelly of a futuristic Japan, refracted through dream-like imaginings of the technological and economic marvel it may have seemed back then, complete with slang, unwritten codes of conduct and historical allusions. The real art here isn't the wonders of the society he conceives, but in the way the story is told.

"Farenheit 451" - Ray Bradbury, 1953

That the world depicted in futuristic dystopian novels alarmingly resembles our own is almost a given in the genre. What makes Farenheit 451 so striking is the manner in which this world has come about - when considering the apathy, thoughtlessness, ignorance and decadence of the wealthy, well-fed populace, the notion of burning books seems both logical and feasible.

Bradbury acknowledges that such a nightmarish society couldn't come about just because of the tyrannical rule of a few people - such things could not happen at all without the complicity of the people, and the guilty ones are those who did nothing to stop it.

His writing about being bombarded with information and sensation without having time to think about it makes the work more prophetic than those of Huxley and Orwell, and more relevant today than when it was written.

"In Siberia" - Colin Thubron, 1999

I've always been a little wary about travel writing, sneering at the memoirs of someone on holiday, but this is less an account of the writers journey than it is a portrait of the bewildering and complex character that is Siberia.

For the most part, he reserves judgement on the people he meets and the places he visits. This apparent absence of an author entrenches the reader deeper into the dreamlike vastness of this morbidly optimistic country.

He is also careful to avoid disturbing the balance of what he finds - in several instances he is placed in situations where his own culture demands that he acts in a certain way. However, he is all too aware of the position he is in, a lone traveller in a nation that was once at war with the west, albeit cold. Naturally, his prejudices shine through occasionally, and it's interesting to see him both blunder helplessly into and eruditely avoid conflict.

Thubron is a powerful writer, able to seamlessly weave thousands of years of history into characters and places with just a few sentences. Resurgent faith, deep cynicism, earthy vitality, the horrors of this century and thousands before it are succinctly presented. I recommend this to anybody.

"The Big Over Easy" - Jasper Fforde, 2005

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall...

Detective Inspector Jack Spratt of Reading Police Force Nursery Crime Division investigates the murder of Humpty Dumpty. In a world which is home to a variety of characters from folklore and mythology, this could be interesting...but it isn't.

Reading this book is akin to being trapped at a party by an affable man who isn't as funny as he believes. True, there are some nicely executed moments that raise a smile, but too many of these come from the "stinker" variety of jokes. In places it seems as if he's trying to re-write "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?", but the characters he has chosen to include open myriad possibilities for the narrative, which are ignored in favour of a rambling series of pretty weak gags. There is no coherence to his world, and when one thinks about it, very little in the way of depth or imagination.

Moreover, it doesn't even appear to work as a crime story. Conclusions are reached in a flash of inspiration, and whatever investigating goes on is a trudge from A to B, and just when you think it can't get any sillier, the denouement comes gallumphing in.

Despite what some critics say, this book isn't all it's cracked up to be.