The Bookworm's Guide to Bluffing

As any English student who paid attention at A-Level knows, all written output of the last 200 years – when subjected to even the most sophisticated literary theory – basically comes down to sex and death. Death, and sex. Sometimes deathly sex. And occasionally sexy death. Some books are about a bit more than that though, so to help you through any lofty conversations you might find yourself in at society parties, here's a quick briefing on some of those cornerstones of literature you're supposed to have read.

The Contemporary One

My Struggle by Karl Ove Knausgaard (2012-present).
Digested read: I am a writer. I am a man. But first, I am useless. Here are all the times in my life when I've been useless. But also, you know, a wavering and delicate flame of complex humanity. Just like you. Just like all of us. Why don't you have a good think about that while I manage to state a deep and resonating existential truth simply by describing this chair.
Do say: “I think his power comes from his hair.”
Don't say: “He's like the Scandinavian Proust.”
Read also: Proust.

The 'Great American' One

The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway (1926).
Digested read: Everyone is in Spain being a dick. They're all in love with the biggest dick of the lot, who will drive you round the absolute bend yet somehow allow you to understand more fully the essential sadness of being. (So infuriating.) There's also a funny bit about taxidermied dogs.
Do say: “Hemingway, pah! He's no Fitzgerald.”
Don't say: “I really admire his attitude towards women.”
Read also: Tender Is The Night by... F. Scott Fitzgerald.

The Actually Great American One

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath (1963).
Digested read: My name is A Thinly Veiled Version of the Author – sorry, Esther Greenwood – and in telling my story as a bright young student with a promising future who can nonetheless feel nothing (or sometimes too much), I offer an unmatched account of depression, the poison of the American Dream, the lie of female empowerment and the ultimate madness of the world. I, uh. I promise it's worth it.
Do say: Tbh, just have a big cry.
Don't say: “A film adaptation by Kirsten Dunst starring Dakota Fanning seems like a really good idea.”
Read also: Paulina & Fran by Rachel B. Glaser, for a contemporary update of liberal-arts ennui.

The Cult One

Neuromancer by William Gibson (1984).
Digested read: Wooooowooooo I'm in The Matrix!!!!!
Do say: “Actually, the first recorded usage of the term 'cyberspace' was in a short story Gibson wrote two years prior.”
Don't say: “Where's the weird orgy with the body sockets?”
Read also: Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel, for a vision of the future rapidly decelerating instead.

The Russian One

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy (1877).
Digested read: Love is painful. Russia is cold. And vice versa.
Do say: “Feminism” and/or “communism.”
Don't say: “Feminism” and/or “communism.”
Read also: War & Peace (lol).

The Obvious One

On the Road by Jack Kerouac (1957).
Digested read: Saxophones saxophones saxophones sex saxophones saxophones saxophones cars saxophones saxophones saxophones drugs saxophones saxophones saxophones plaid.
Do say: “Personally I preferred Joyce's execution of the stream-of-consciousness mode.”
Don't say: “I'm going to write my dissertation on this.”
Read also: Big Sur by Jack Kerouac. It's loads better.