
With the help of bloggers, editors, authors, and publishers, I’ve put together a list of some of the best works of fiction since 1990. Why 1990? Well, more on that in a minute, but for now: 1990 seems long enough ago that there’s been a substantial amount of literature since then, yet so recent that it’s difficult to have enough perspective to think about that literature. It’s a period worth thinking about, yet we’re still so close to it that that’s not necessarily easy to do.
Before we go any further, I’d like to call your attention to the title of this list: it’s “Some of the Best Books Since 1990,” not “The Best Books Since 1990.” Although this list was created with the help of a good many knowledgeable bibliophiles, no one here is claiming that this list is definitive. Please don’t regard it as such.
Another thing: this is not a response to The New York Times list. This idea has been circulating in my head since last November, and I first began collaborating with people on it back in March, long before I knew of the existence of the NYT list. I do, however, think that the two lists make for interesting juxtapositions and I encourage comparisons.
Just one other thing before we get to the list: why was it made? And also, why 1990? Well, a few months ago I saw David Foster Wallace and Rick Moody in conversation. In the course of their discussion, they began trying to name the most important/representative books of the 1990s. I thought it was pretty telling that despite several long, contemplative silences (and despite them both including their own books in the mix) they couldn’t come up with five books between them.
Now, not to be too hard on Wallace and Moody–they were on the spot and throughout the night neither of them looked too comfortable in their role as public speakers. Further, afterwards when me and a few friends tried to come up with our own lists, similar difficulties ensued. And, in fact, most of the people who helped me compile this list requested ample time to think things over.
So, more than a few of us are slack-jawed when faced with the question of What’s been going on in literature since 1990? In that spirit, this list is meant to be an educated jumping-off point for discussions of literature since 1990. At the very least, it will be a good wall for you to bounce your own ideas off of.
In addition, I’d like to offer this as a list of recommendations toward getting yourself acquainted with the full range of contemporary literature available. I can personally vouch for many of the titles here, and I myself am eager to investigate several of the books named that are entirely new to me.
Now, on to the list. It’s tiered by the number of votes each title received. If an author had more than one title nominated, those titles are listed in parentheses. All books and authors that received more than one vote are included.

Disgrace, JM Coetzee
(Youth)
(Slow Man)
The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace
Underworld, Don DeLillo
Atonement, Ian McEwan
(Enduring Love)
The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood
American Pastoral, Philip Roth
(Sabbath’s Theater)
Austerlitz, W.S. Sebald
Blindness, Jose Saramago
The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje
The Gold Bug Variations, Richard Powers
The Intuitionist, Colson Whitehead
(John Henry Days (2))
Mating, Norman Rush
The Puttermesser Papers, Cynthia Ozick
The Tunnel, William Gass
The Unconsoled, Kazuo Ishiguro
(Remains of the Day)
White Teeth, Zadie Smith
Art and Lies, Jeanette Winterson
Burning Your Boats: Collected Stories, Angela Carter
Caucasia, Danzy Senna
CivilWarLand in Bad Decline, George Saunders
The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen
The Elementary Particles, Michel Houellebecq
A Frolic of His Own, William Gaddis
Gilead, Marilynne Robinson
The Hours, Michael Cunningham
Kitchen, Banana Yoshimoto
Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides
(The Virgin Suicides)
Nobody’s Fool, Richard Russo
Possession, A.S.Byatt
(Babel Tower)
Reader’s Block, David Markson
To The Wedding, John Berger
Two Girls, Fat and Thin, Mary Gaitskill
The Windup Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami
Vineland, Thomas Pynchon
Mason and Dixon, Thomas Pynchon
Europe Central, William T. Vollmann
The Royal Family, William T. Vollmann
The latest posts at the blog of The Quarterly Conversation
I’ve been thinking a lot about heat waves. The thick summer weather has felt like a wall of fire that must be bravely pushed through to order to exit from an air conditioned office building and make my way to the corner to board a bus crowded with sweaty citizens. So perhaps it’s no surprise that [...]
"What’s not so up for dispute is that Markson accomplished what, by all rights, should be a literary impossibility." (Colin Marshall for The Millions)
"Ich liebe dich. No sentence pronounced by a judge could be more threatening. It means that you are about to receive a gift you may not want." Via Dylan Suher, Greg Gerke's sort-of review of William H. Gass's Reading Rilke in BIG OTHER.
A fan of Herman Melville must have patience. He must appreciate digression and the dissolution of pattern or plan. He must enjoy the sheer rush of words, a proper Biblical torrent of them. And he must be able to find pleasure in philosophical dialogue as much as in wild anecdote. But must he read Clarel? Can [...]
This is just one small example.
Thomas Bernhard is certainly one of the major, titanic writers of any era, any country. Enormously influential, unremittingly bleak and pessimistic but never without a sense of humor, his style evolved into single-paragraphed philosophical rants extending hundreds of pages, the best of which are Woodcutters, ‘Walking’ (from Three Novellas), and Gathering Evidence. I have finally [...]
Ever since Penguin's 75th Anniversary roadtrip I have intended to address the somewhat simultaneous release of Penguin 75, a sort of vanity book of Penguin covers. This book is delightful, but flawed. Delightful, but misleading.
In The Unicorn Hunt (1993), the fifth book of Dorothy Dunnett’s cycle of historical novels of early Renaissance Europe, the House of Niccolo, Dunnett tells of the deficiencies of wealthy merchant Anselm Adorne’s relations with women thus: His wife Margriet could have warned him. He was familiar with motherly wives and the skittish ways of other [...]
Janet Holmes, director of Ahsahta Press, based at Boise State University in Idaho, took the time this week to share her thoughts on poetry publishing as part of my ongoing series of publisher profiles. Ahsahta publishes seven full-length collections of poetry a year, including recent works by Kate Greenstreet, Lisa Fishman, Rusty Morrison, and Julie Carr. Like some other small presses, Ahsahta offers a yearly subscription option, which is one of my favorite ways to buy poetry and encounter the work of many poets who are new to me, as well as poets whose newest books I always look forward to reading. Janet says more about this and what it's like to craft a press's identity and consistent aesthetic.
An unfortunate side effect to the lengthy transition of print to digital is our long suffering endurance of stale articles in mainstream media rehashing the same points as every other article in mainstream media.
The latest articles published in between issues
In Ransom, Malouf satisfyingly gives us a meeting between Priam and Achilles that builds from the interiority of Priam. The novel seems to want to teach the importance of doing something human to those who might never get around to picking up Homer or who, if they do, might wish they could get into the character's heads.
Winterson has always told and retold the same fictions: of parents and children; of origins, and adoptions; of differences, of margins; of love; of passion; she has always manipulated rhythm and language as an excavation of sources. Much of her fiction mirrors what we know of Winterson's own story, but she agitates against the idea that her work has to be considered as fiction or autobiography, laying claim to both. In Art Objects she writes: "The question put to the writer 'How much of this is based on your own experience?' is meaningless. All or nothing may be the answer. The fiction, the poem, is not a version of the facts, it is an entirely different way of seeing"; a "separate reality." At every turn she eludes the critic, the interviewer, the reader; she offers truth, but not the truth. "I'm telling you stories. Trust me."
It's difficult to pin down exactly why books as objects mean so much to me. I wasn't alive when William Goyen's excellent Come, The Restorer was published, but owning an original printing with the dust jacket—as it would have been purchased at the time of its release—makes the book more special to me than some beat-up paperback reissue. If it's signed, even more so. I'm only really interested in modern first editions (say, post-1950 or so)—before that books get quite expensive, but also I don't think they look as nice, since many were issued without dust jackets, and at that time the dust jacket wasn't considered a permanent part of the book, so they're often missing. So why the obsession and collecting, and why is it so important?
Wood can be harsh, yes, but he is seldom unfair. Wyatt Mason was wrong to accuse him of having suggested, by dint of a string of negative reviews, that no good contemporary literature exists. (He has written favorably of McEwan, Bolaño, Robinson, Ozick, Kirsch, Sebald, Roth, Saramago, Swift, Carey.) He never simply dismisses a writer (in the manor of, say, Dale Peck); on the contrary, his criticism, even at its most polemical and uncompromising, is inexplicably bound to larger concerns about the direction of contemporary fiction. Two major concerns have dominated James Wood's writing: realism and religion. In The Broken Estate: Essays on Literature and Belief, his first collection, newly available in paperback from Picador, these two concerns are beautifully imbricated, resulting in what is surely among the finest achievements in recent literary journalism.
To say that Mark McMorris's Entrepôt is about writing poetry is to do a huge disservice to this beautiful and penetrating book, whose ostensible subject of contemplation is how to live, love, and make do in a time of war, if not cultural crisis. On the other hand, the book's greatest service, at least to my eye, is in its exploration of just what it means to be a poet—I should be more specific and say a lyric poet—amid our contemporary terrors.