On that note, I’ll start with one from last year: Shaughnessy Bishop-Stall’s Down to This. For anyone who lives in downtown Toronto, this one really is a must-read – especially for those of us interested in the social and political issues surrounding homelessness. It’s also, I should point out, much more fun than it should be given the depressing subject matter.

A somewhat similar entry, The Corner, also makes the cut. In the mid-’90s, David Simon (the former police reporter behind Homicide and The Wire, two of the most intelligent dramas in TV history) and former detective Edward Burns spent a year in Baltimore’s worst drug corridors tracking the lives of addicts, dealers, and (most distressingly) kids busy getting sucked into becoming one or both. It’s an awesomely powerful narrative (the epilogue alone is enough to break your heart), and I found it particularly fascinating since for some reason I’m into the social policies surrounding hard drugs.

When I’m feeling particularly sour on the people I’m paid to write about, it helps to drag out a copy of Steve Paikin’s The Life. I’ve never read a more balanced account of who political types are and why they do what they do. Although to be honest, the Greg Sorbara chapter still freaks me out a little.

I hope Mordecai Richler counts as contemporary, because I could throw in at least three of his novels here, maybe more. But I’ll stick to my favourite - Joshua Then and Now. I don’t know that Richler was an overly sympathetic guy in person (never had the chance to find out, sadly), but this book in particular showcased his remarkable ability to peg the insecurities that lurk beneath the surface of all of us, and a certain breed of men in particular.

I’ve long been a fan of Walter Mosley’s Easy Rawlins mysteries, although I think they slipped a bit after the first few. But the one novel of his that I absolutely love is RL’s Dream. It’s not necessarily the most profound thing I’ve ever read, but it’s got great atmosphere and a real lyrical flow. Mosley’s a master of spinning stories, and his foray away from the mystery genre really stuck in my head.

It’s probably late in the game for this, but allow me to add one more category…most overrated book I’ve read: For this one, it’s a tie between Ondaatje’s In the Skin of the Lion (sorry, Warren) and Chuck Klosterman’s Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs. Two extremely different pieces or work, but both breathtakingly pretentious and not nearly as clever as their authors thought they were.

Okay, that’s it for me. I’m not sure if it’s past the point to be “tagging” other folks, and I don’t want to inflict the same sense of horror that Warren did to me, but I suspect Chris over at Tartcider can produce some infinitely more interesting answers than I did…