Unquiet Desperation

This morning, on Studio 360, they were discussing The Great Gatsby, and more than one person used the words, “…because I love that book.”  Part of it is the story, part the timelessness of the subject matter, part the language Fitzgerald uses. I read it again a year or so ago, and I remember the book catching me with a light touch and holding me there until, at the end, I sat in my easy chair just thinking about what I had finished, reflecting on the story.

Good writing causes that reflection. It creates a void within you, then fills it with something new. It tells big stories but does not bludgeon you with them. The threads run deeper than just the characters, just the setting, and you need to stop and think about the book to really get it. When I summon to mind authors who do this, I think of Ellison, Vonnegut, Gaiman, Zelazny, Asimov, Silverberg…even Moorcock at times. Other than Gaiman, I cannot think of many authors on the major markets doing this today.

I ask you: who would you hold up as doing this sort of thing tin the present day? Who, when you read them, causes you to reflect along the way or at the end. Which ones fill you with something new that you need to digest, as opposed to the fluffy frosting the publishing houses seem to want to peddle; all fast-food fat and sugar, with no nutritional value?