Recommondations? Oscar Wilde's play, The Importance of Being Earnest is a wonderfully funny sendup of late Victorian society and literary conventions.

Saki (H. H. Monroe, early 20th C.) is one of my favorite short story writers. While they aren't all perfect, many of his stories are witty, occasionally fierce gems. I'd recommend the stories "Tobermory" and "Sredni Vashtar." Both are in the collection The Chronicals of Clovis.

Song of Solomon, by Toni Morrison is well, nigh lyrically written. It's about the life of an African-American man in the early 20th century, but it's also about his entire family.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlotte. There are lots of places to get your original Holmes fix, but here you get a fair bit of Watson backstory and his first impressions of Holmes.

Mark Twain, Innocents Abroad. I found this all kinds of funny. American tourists wander about Europe, driving their tour guides to distraction enroute. "Tell me, is he dead?"

Alexander Pope, The Rape of the Lock. A social kerfluffle elevated to epic stature. I love Pope's use of language, and it doesn't get much tighter and well displayed than here.

I have to say, I may find myself changing my mind about Moby Dick. Many people whose opinions I respect -- here and in my f2f life -- really get a lot out of it. I think I'm still too resistant to it after my last shot (while I'll read something I dislike all the way through once, subsequent tries only go on for a chapter or so), but it's going to stay on my shelves for another try.

Is Innocents Abroad the one with the European tour? I started that, but the smug assumption that the tour group was the moral superior of everyone they met and that European culture was barely worth bothering with--never mind the culture of countries that were suffering declines in modern times, like Greece--disgusted me to the point I couldn't finish. I think it's supposed to be satirical, but I didn't see the funny.

The expressed opinions about Napolean III were enlightening, and it is fun for being a look at fashionable American culture in the mid 1800s.

cereal.

Holmes. Mmm, Holmes. Baring-Gould's Annotated Sherlock Holmes is an immense joy for anyone with interest in the Holmes canon. The people obsessed with establishing where Holmes went to college and how many wives Watson really had are the ancestors of Buffistas.

Mark Twain, Innocents Abroad.

Twain is certainly making fun of the Tourists. That was the first book we read in my book club. We found it a bit unenjoyable. It was originally written for newspaper or magazine publication if I remember correctly, as serials, so there is lots of repetition.

As with so many things, a good introduction helped us immensely (we only read introductions AFTER the book though now, as plot points and surprises are very often given away). But for those of us not well studied in the history of the time the books were written, the introduction or a study guide are the only way things make sense.

I'm still sure that there's an overriding distrust of academic criticism, that it kills appreciation or the joy of reading

Eh, I'd disagree with that. I don't know that a lot of folks here really engage in academic criticism, but the only person I'm aware of who really seems to feel it kills the joy is Deb (pardon me, Deb, if that's a misstatement of your position). Nutty, Micole, and Betsy (to just pick three) can certainly hold their own in any such discussion, and the reasons such discussions don't take place has less to do with people shouting them down (imagine if you will, someone shouting Nutty or Plei or Steph down *g*) than with the fact that no three people are reading the same book at the same time.

There are plenty of people here capable of engaging in deep critical analysis, and I think it's more generous to give them the opportunity to do so, than to harangue them for not having done so up to this point.

Is Innocents Abroad the one with the European tour?

Yep. I read it as the tourists wandering around Europe with this "These are the Great Sights" itinerary, each "great" to be crossed off with grim determination, and totally not getting why they were great. Eh, maybe it's not the best rec. in the world. I was in a really cynical mental place when I read it.

Still, I'm clinging to my Wilde and Saki love.

As with so many things, a good introduction helped us immensely (we only read introductions AFTER the book though now, as plot points and surprises are very often given away). But for those of us not well studied in the history of the time the books were written, the introduction or a study guide are the only way things make sense.

Mmmm, a good introduction is a work of art. I'd hugely, hugely recommend Dorothy Sayers' introduction to the Divine Comedy to anyone planning on tackling it anytime soon. She brings a huge amount of scholarly weight to bear, and then uses it in light, clear, incredibly accessible language, and she writes out of large personal love; the Divine Comedy was a shiny multifaceted endlessly delightful toy to her, and she wanted to make sure everyone else had as much fun playing with it as she did.

And Chesterton's loving and admiring intro to Love and Freindship, Jane Austen's collected juvenilia.

Of course, because I'm a bitch, I also have saved somewhere a perfectly horrid intro to an omnibus condensed version of the Palliser novels, written by some odious self-important prick at a Midwestern English department sometime in the late 60s, who bloviated a great deal about how much Trollope's characters talked and how he really needed an editor to prune him down so you could actually find the plot (completely ignoring the fact that Trollope's plots, by his own admission, by and large suck, and if you cut out all the conversations you've destroyed everything that was best about him).

I keep it mainly to give myself a fresh charge of outrage every now and then at the editor's arrogance and impudence, but it's also interesting as an example of how huge the shift can be, over a single generation, in an author's reputation and in the literary and academic establishment's perception of what's important and worthwhile. For the same reason, it's also kinda fun (in a frequently appalling way) to read turn of the century, 1950s, and current intros to Austen and the Brontes.

I love To Kill a Mockingbird. (That was one of the books that made me hate my freshman year English teacher. She was a "this is how you're supposed to interpret this book" teacher. I totally disagreed with her interpretation, but when I tried to start a discussion, I was always told that I was wrong. I tried to back up my interpretation, and she'd point out that the teachers guide disagreed. This was one of the most frustrating classes I ever took.)

Also seconding any recomendations for Candide. I read that one twice senior year of high school -- it was a summer reading book for French, and then read it during the year in English. That's another one where the French version has some great language that doesn't always translate well to the English, but the English is also great.

My favorite Dickens is probably David Copperfield, with Great Expectations a close second. I read David Copperfield in a class on Victorian marriage, so that's still sort of the perspective I tend to approach it with, but I love the way the female characters are constructed -- how they all take on different aspects of femininity, and almost none of them get it quite right to be able to fit into their world.

As for more of the kids classics, the one I'll keep going back to is Huckleberry Finn. I read Tom Sawyer when I was 10 and loved it then, and Huckleberry Finn at 13 and also loved it, but I think Huckleberry Finn has held up better as I've gotten older.

I tried to back up my interpretation, and she'd point out that the teachers guide disagreed.

Hate! I figure if your argument's only basis is that some guide agrees with you? You've lost. (Unless you're a nuclear engineer and the guide involves avoiding a meltdown of some sort. In which case I'll back away from the argument respectfully. But in literature? Pthipbt!)

One of my favorite lit. teachers once handed back a paper I'd written, saying something along the lines of, "I disagree with your entire arguement, but you supported it just fine. So you get an A-." If I hadn't overindulged in commas I might have gotten an A. Then we spent the rest of the semester debating our sides.

Yeah, I'm not to good with anything that includes the phrase "supposed to." I remember having a discussion with a friend of mine, where she was saying that our high school English classes only taught us how to summarize other people's criticism into a term paper, not how to figure out our own. I was totally confused by this; every paper I'd written had referred to published criticism, but I totally had my own analysis and defense of it. We finally figure out that, when we were reading something, and there was a statement like, "The use of the word X symbolizes Y," she read that as, "This is the accepted interpretation, so it's what you're supposed to think if you want to look like you know what you're talking about," and I read it as, "This is this author's interpretation -- hmm, but couldn't it actually symbolize Z? There was another similar passage, wasn't there, that looked more like Z? And that other passage, over there, really makes it look like Y isn't a good interpretation. And what about W?"