Yes, great choice. A few books I love:
Virginia Woolf: Orlando
Virginia Woolf: A Room of One’s Own
Jane Austen: Pride and Prejudice
Evelyn Waugh: Brideshead Revisited
Evelyn Waugh: Sword of Honour trilogy
Oscar Wilde: Dorian Grey (if only all British children could be taught to speak like that!)
Edward st Aubyn’s Melrose novels.
Ford Maddox Ford: Parade’s End
Oh, and Anita Brookner. For my money, she is one of the most underrated novelists this country has produced, with the possible exceptions of Ford Maddox Ford and Anthony Burgess. As a prose stylist she is beyond superb.
But my all-time favourites, the books I’d take to a desert island, are
Bill Bryson: ‘A Short History of Nearly Everything’. A wonderful summary of the history of science. Clear, smooth prose. Page after page of fascinating facts and interesting anecdotes. It’s a book to read and re-read. And a book to put into the hands of an intelligent child. I bet countless future geniuses will trace their love of science back to reading this in their teens.
Patrick Leigh Fermor: ‘A Time of Gifts’. This is an account of Fermor’s wanderings in pre-war Europe. He writes well (though at times he overwrites - we don’t need eight pages on the architecture of Prague), and his stories are gripping. But the real pleasure is spending time in his company. He is fascinated by everyone and everything, from tramps to German dockers to Hungarian aristocrats. And he sees the best in everyone. He’s also amazingly well-read, and on every page makes a casual reference to some great writer, from Proust to Virgil to Tolstoy. On top of all that the man was a war hero, and always happy and cheerful. God, he must have been dazzling company.
Harold Bloom: ‘The Western Canon’. Bloom is a fantastic writer, with a deep and passionate love of books. This is, for me, the most reliable guide to the classics ever written. He judges every book purely on its merits, and ignores all the woke nonsense. He won’t exaggerate the quality of a book just because of the author’s race, sexuality or gender. Neither will he pretend they were no good just because the author held unpleasant political views or behaved badly in their private life. He is ruthlessly honest, thank god. To Bloom, the canon is sacred, and he defends it heroically.
P G Wodehouse: ‘Right Ho Jeeves’. Close to a miracle. Possibly the most perfect work of art I know. Astonishing language that just mesmerises you. Read it out loud and you’ll never need another anti-depressant. Wodehouse is more than funny. His humour is warm, kind, loving...almost healing. Stephen Fry called his works “sunlit perfection”, which captures them in two words.
Dickens: ‘David Copperfield’. For me, it is THE novel. There may be greater masterpieces, but no novel has a bigger heart or more humanity. Yes, Dickens can be mawkish, yes the plots are often ridiculous, and yes the novels are too long. But all of life is here. It is the only novel that can make me cry. Plus, his mastery of character hits new heights in this book. Most novelists struggle to create one truly memorable/three dimensional character. Dickens creates half a dozen in this novel alone.