I recently read one of those funny-and-horrifying articles where a woman on Tinder set a rule that any man contacting her had to name five books by female authors he’d read, and details the inevitable massive fail that ensued. And you probably know how the knee-jerk reaction to such an article goes. Educated male smugness followed by, wait, can I definitely do that? So, off the top of my head:
SHIKASTA by Doris Lessing, which I know I’ve mentioned here before — and I could have mentioned five or six other Lessing books, because the woman was a genius, but I have the most personal fondness for this one, because it caught me at the right point in my adolescence and changed my thinking about a bunch of things.
BABY DRIVER, Jan Kerouac. So similar to her father, so different: open and warm in so many different ways, from a darker and more imprisoned generation.
BONESHAKER, Cherie Priest, because that book was a riot.
PALIMPSEST, Catherynne Valente: the woman is an alchemist with language. This book is riddled with perfect alien sculptures of sentences.
THE ALGEBRA OF INFINITE JUSTICE, Arundhati Roy: I’ve read a few of her non-fiction volumes, and this is the title I can currently summon to memory.
(STONE MATTRESS, Margaret Atwood, doesn’t count, because I’m reading it at the moment, but I’m mentioning it anyway.)
And now I’m just sitting here thinking, wow, look how eager I was to prove my reproductive fitness. I’m an idiot. But these are wonderful books that you should read. Good morning.