By Christian Viveros-Fauné
By Miriam Felton-Dansky
By Tom Sellar
By Tom Sellar
By Jessica Dawson
By Tom Sellar
By R. C. Baker
By Tom Sellar
Last spring, we asked a number of writers to name their most favorite obscure book. The piece proved so popular that, well, here we are doing it again. Below, a new batch of scribes and their beloved literary arcana.
David Remnick: Moscow Petushki, by Venedikt Erofeev
The comic high-water mark of the Brezhnev era (or what I hope will one day be known as the Solzhenitsyn-Brodsky era) is Venedikt Erofeev's book, Moscow Petushki. Erofeev's vodka-sodden classic is an account of one broken man's attempt to get from here to there in an era of absolute societal rot. It's the funniest thing in Russian since Ilf and Petrov.
Remnick is editor of The New Yorker and author of Lenin's Tomb
Susan Orlean: I, an Actor, by Nicholas Craig
I was once stuck in Thimphu, Bhutan. I wandered into the only bookstore in the town, where most of the books were in Dzongkha or Hindi, plus a few dusty English-language selections. There, tucked between Bollywood-celeb bios and fly-specked editions of As You Like It, was a slim little book by Nicholas Craig. I had no idea what it was, but it looked interesting and I bought it for the nickel or so that it cost. It turned out to be utterly hilarious, a crazed parody of self-importance and vanity that predated the likes of Steve Coogan and some of Sacha Baron Cohen's finer concoctions.
Orlean is the author of The Orchid Thief
Shalom Auslander: The Trouble With Being Born, by E.M. Cioran
You know how when your friend phones and says he wants to go out, so you're like, "OK," and you get to some pub somewhere, and you sit down at the bar, and he just starts going off on everything—life, mankind, justice, fate—and you're like, "Dude, you're being extremely negative," but then you keep listening because you've already paid for the drinks, and after a few minutes, a cold chill goes down your spine, and you realize, "Oh shit, he's fucking right?" That's what this is like, but for 300 pages.
Auslander is the author of Foreskin's Lament
Robert Pinsky: Caelica, by Fulke Greville
The greatest poet unknown to many readers—comparable in force of imagination to John Donne, an approximate contemporary of William Shakespeare—was an upper-class Englishman with a funny name: Fulke Greville. His sequence of poems, Caelica, begins with conventional-love lyrics twisted and exploded by a mighty and peculiar intelligence. The love poems grow darker as the sequence progresses ("All my senses, like beacon's flame/Gave alaraum to desire"), and in the last 20 or 30 poems, the passion is religious and moral: "You that seek what life is in death/Now find it air, that once was breath."
Pinsky is the author of Gulf Music
Harold Bloom: Little, Big, by John Crowley
A neglected masterpiece. The closest achievement we have to the Alice stories of Lewis Carroll.
Bloom is the editor of American Religious Poems
Joseph O'Neill: Brilliant Orange, by David Winner
A wonderful cultural history of Dutch soccer. Total football; the Jews of Amsterdam; the neuroses of the national team; the shared spatial awareness of Dutch footballers and Dutch visual artists; the wisdom of Johnny Rep—these and other arcana are covered by this breezy classic of soccer writing.
O'Neill is the author of Netherland
Hannah Tinti: The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald, adapted by Nicki Greenberg
I was recently in Australia. While I was there, I heard about a graphic-novel version of The Great Gatsby that had been published by Allen & Unwin, but was apparently banned in the rest of the world—some sort of disagreement with the estate. I was expecting a straight adaptation, but what the illustrator, Nicki Greenberg, did was quite surprising and also wonderful: The characters are not human—they are strange creatures. Nick is some kind of tadpole/lizard/frog; Daisy is an exotic bird/cottonball; Gatsby is a seahorse. The drawings are sepia-toned, and set like photographs on black paper in an album. It is a marvelous reinterpretation of the book.
Tinti is the author of The Good Thief
Stephen L. Carter: In Praise of Idleness, by Bertrand Russell
A collection of essays, all of them written with Russell's usual verve, but the title essay is a tour de force. What he criticized in the age he was describing—in particular, the need for constant stimulation and to be constantly in touch—is applicable all the more powerfully to the present world. Russell believed that leisurely reflection was the key to clear thought. We could use more of both.
Carter is the author of New England White
Ethan Hawke: And There Was Light, by Jacques Lusseyran
One of the most powerful memoirs I've ever encountered. Jacques was a blind, Catholic, 14-year-old leader in the French Resistance, and a concentration-camp survivor. His experience is thrilling, horrible, honest, spiritually profound, and utterly full of joy.
Hawke is the author of Ash Wednesday
Alan Furst: Sad Missions, by Menahem Bader
I have read quite a lot of Holocaust literature, but I've never seen anything like this. Bader worked from Istanbul, and the book is a firsthand account of clandestine and open operations to try and save European Jews, from 1938 to 1945. The author is hard on the Czechs, extremely hard on British diplomats, and hard on politicians in Palestine supposedly working to save Jews, especially Jewish children.