A powerfully atmospheric and lucidly written study of metaphysical evil and the power of place.

The definitive work of fantasy in that it apparently has no roots beyond the boundless realm of Peake’s own imagination.

This is not literature, it is a whole mythology. So vast is Tolkein’s achievement, that despite countless imitators, he stands alone.

Some have called JCP self-indulgent, and perhaps he is, but as with jazz, it’s all for the better.

As sprawling as the metropolis it eulogises and a testament to the significance of all it contains.

A benign vision of the Nietzschean superman, celebrating the potential of humanity for spiritual change.

A more optimistic realisation of Machen’s vision than many of his works, exquisitely written as always.

Another Decadent masterpiece, neatly summing up the contradictions and attractions of both that movement and Wilde’s own aestheticism.

The first ‘psychological’ ghost story, revelling in an ambiguity far more unnerving than the supernatural.

Kerouac’s least indulgent novel, and thus for all the ideal of spontaneous prose, the best at capturing the wide-eyed optimism of the Beat Generation.

All Powys’ favourite themes united in a colossal, almost daunting, celebration of sense of place.

A magnificent study of solitude, written in prose which even Joyce might envy.