It's strange that, to my mind, there's no other modern novel that compares with Oscar and Lucinda by Peter Carey. As far as I know, to everyone else, it's a good novel but it's one of quite a few good novels. For me, there's nothing else like it. Most modern literary fiction leaves me flat for some reason. Some of the older modern classics - like A House for Mr Biswas, some of Patrick White, some of R K Narayan - come close.
There's a sense of perfection with really good books. You can't rank them. Once they've broken into that realm of literary sublimity, comparisons are meaningless. I know people do rank novels, but it doesn't really make sense. I think it's very personal actually. We like novels that speak to us. Are you seriously going to compare Emma, Wuthering Heights, David Copperfield, The Possessed. Why? Is it a competition? Not really. There's always room for greatness. Greatness makes space for itself.
When you have a party do you rank every one of the potential guests and have a cut-off mark beyond which people don't get invited? I know that's how I always plan social functions, and things are always optimal at my parties.
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