The Dice Man, Luke Reinhardt. The 70s is perhaps the decade I know least of from cultural memory – I've been afforded ample schooling on the Cold War, the counter culture of the 50's and 60's, and even the wartime hardships of WWII. The 70's is mostly relegated in mind's eye to disco, punk, wife swapping and polyester. I mention this because The Dice Man is part of Penguin UK's 70s series. Like all such titles, the packaging is impeccable -its the sort of shiny object you covet in the bookshop – a faux-wood grain spine and a cover featuring translucent red dice spelling out the title in dots.

Weight, Jeanette Winterson.  Part of a series of novellas commissioned to retell famous myths by well-regarded literary authors, Winterson's Weight takes on the story of Atlas. Like the others in the range, this is brief, and easily finished in one sitting. Like most of Winterson's other work, it also handles the notion of time and memory, in at least a semi-autobiographical manner.

Till We Have Faces : A Myth Retold, C.S. Lewis.  A retelling of the myth of Psyche that anticipates later fairytale reworkings popular in the mid 80's and 90's.  Lewis plays with classical notions of femininity in a manner that should provoke discussion and possibly disgust to modern feminists.

 Frankenstein , Mary Shelley.   The gothic classic that's a must read for anyone who's seen the film. A surprisingly layered narrative style makes this well worth reading despite its age, though it may provoke impatience on the part of readers not familiar or fond of the epistolatory style.

The End of Mr. Y by Scarlett Thomas.   While I'm always hesitant to judge a book by its cover, The End of Mr. Y is one where the cover really did it for me.  Unfortunately, this wasn't the US cover pictured left, though the mouse is cute, and the book does tangentially involve mice and gods of mice.  I saw the book in a UK Borders, where it's getting window treatment in a lush wine and gold retro hardcover format.  Take a look at a tiny version, and you'll see what I mean: (hit 'read more')

100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed, Melissa P.  The chief selling point of this account of innocence lost seems to be its author's youth. Beyond that, I have a number of inconcrete musings regarding the cultural effect of publication, thanks to my English background. Academia follows you everywhere.

Northanger Abbey,  Jane Austen.  Ignore the "classic" label on the front and read it anyway. It's the most fun I've had with part of the canon in years, because Austen satirizes a lot of the genreic clichés.  Gothic doorstops and novels of manners aren’t safe ;)

Babyji, Abha Dawesar. Touted on the cover as the "Indian Lolita," this is a slightly more self-aware lesbian coming-of-age tale. Anamika, the title character, is more Humbert than Lola (she even reads Nabokov at one point, lecherously imagining the "nymphets"). Babyji decides that chaos theory should apply to sexuality as well as physics, and during the summer before her college entrance exams, she begins three same-sex 'affairs' with women of varying caste and age.

Daniel Deronda, George Eliot.  George Eliot defies description. Very long, but engrossing despite that. Eliot's writing is unnecessarily wordy at times, but she makes up for it with occasional passages that are absolute gems of the prose form. Well worth wading through.