The New York Times recently published a list of “The Best Books of the 21st Century”

and they got a lot of nice (and some snippy) publicity for it. The list was compiled from

the choices of over 500 writers, critics, celebrities, and maybe some real people too.

This was quickly and efficiently followed by another list, this from the comments and

offerings of Times’ readers. 

Since I don’t read a lot of new fiction, aside from a few primarily genre authors, I didn’t expect to have read many of these titles. And I was right. From the original “experts’” list, I had read exactly one of the 100. That’s a solid 1%.  That one book was LINCOLN IN THE BARDO, which I had read only at the insistence of a casual friend.

As I expected, I did a little better on the Readers’ list. Four of 100 (4 sweet %). These were: LINCOLN IN THE BARDO (again), HAMNET, 11/22/63, and THE DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY.

I’d love to say that I’m going to make a strong effort to read all those other unread modern books, going to take a lot of those folks’ suggestions. But I’m not. Frankly, while those may be wonderful books, genuine classics-to-be, they just don’t seem interesting to me. Call me doofus, I don’t care. I already have a couple of shelves of unread books to conquer. Plus I’m sure there will be more from Stephen King, Michael Connelly, John Sandford, Nick Hornby. Those are my 21st century books. So, thanks Times, but I’m good.