It’s customary, whenever someone publishes a list of the 100 best anythings, to go down the list and

1. Complain about the missing entries.
2. Complain about the entries that don’t belong.
3. Take perverse credit for the entries that are there.

Without further ado, here goes on the 100 best novels since 1923:

• I have only read 14.
• But have seen the movie of another 9.
• Hated one.
• Failed to finish another.
• Why isn’t there more Graham Greene?

I have been meaning to read Cuckoo’s Nest for ages. I think it’s finally time.