Nineteen Eighty-Four, by George Orwell.

I finished reading it last night. It's a brilliant book, but also rather scary, especially when considering the state of world affairs today (as all good dystopic novels should be). I'd recommend this book to anyone.

And I do believe that's the last book of my literary summer. Since the start of July, I've read The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood, On the Road by Jack Kerouac, and The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. I've started This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and I'm halfway through Paradise Lost by John Milton, as well as partway through a collection of Poe's poems and short stories.

Now begins my literary autumn. First up: finish This Side of Paradise, and begin reading the complete works of Lewis Carroll. Also scavenge local bookstores for a volume of Keats' work.

Oh my goodness how I love Keats. But that's a blog entry for another day.