Reading (not the place in Berkshire)...

I have set myself some reading targets. I'm trying to fill in the missing gaps in my literary knowledge and atone for my reluctance - because I'm a pig-headed beast - to read from the prescribed canon. It may be a bleedin' waste of time but no more a waste of time than reading every playtext that sat on the shelves of my shoddy university (an astoundingly, unexpectedly large collection, I should stress. I have no idea, other than a vague sense of quite liking the fusty smell that oozed from the GB Shaw's, what prompted me to embark on such silliness, although I am able to remember clearly the joy of discovering Orton's The Ruffian on the Stair and Loot) back in the day. I might let you know how I get on. Or I may never mention it again (in which case you can assume that I failed in my task). First, though, I've got to get through some contemporary texts - Coupland's Generation A and, now that The Wire is behind me, the alarmingly weighty David Simon book Homicide and the Simon and Ed Burns'-penned The Corner - and some Japanese fiction that's been loitering for a while (a couple of Mishima's, and Hitomi Kanehara's Autofiction) along with not-so-recent but recent purchases Tom Wolfe's The Right Stuff and Aldous Huxley's Island; all of which are staring at me and teasing my tired eyes from the shelf. English graduate M will also no doubt be relishing the opportunity to ridicule me and ruin my classics reading - should it ever start - with a never ending stream of spoilers throughout my journey!