Attention in By the Book

Summary: This data comes from the 100 most recent interviews in the New York Times' By the Book section, in response to variants of the question "What's on your nightstand?" Men and women mentioned in the responses are identified using named entity recognition, and subsequently hand corrected. Women interviewed by BTB in the aggregate mention men and women as authors about equally (48.9% women/51.1% men, 264 mentions), while men interviewed mention other men four times as frequently as women (20.8% women/79.2% men, 231 mentions).

Subject	What's On Your Nightstand?	Men	Women
a scott berg	Because they stimulate more than they sedate, I have no books on my night stand; but a big rolling table in my office groans with my current reading — much of which pertains to my latest work, a biography of Thurgood Marshall. Atop the stacks right now are: the Library of America’s bounteous two-volume Harlem Renaissance anthology (featuring Claude McKay, Jessie Redmon Fauset and Arna Bontemps, among others); the always compelling Frances Fitzgerald’s “The Evangelicals”; Michael Eric Dyson’s “Tears We Cannot Stop”; Tracy K. Smith’s “Ordinary Light”; and Peter H. Wood’s groundbreaking “Black Majority,” a study of Negro life in colonial South Carolina.	Arna Bontemps Michael Eric Dyson Peter H. Wood Claude McKay	Jessie Redmon Fauset Frances Fitzgerald Tracy K. Smith
al franken	“A Great Place to Have a War,” by Joshua Kurlantzick, about the American involvement in Laos (Minnesota has a large Hmong population). My colleague Sheldon Whitehouse’s book, “Captured,” about how corporations and big money have captured (get it?!) our government and our political process. “Sapiens,” by Yuval Noah Harari, a great book about human evolution that almost has me convinced that the theory is accurate. And Carl Reiner’s book “Why and When The Dick Van Dyke Show Was Born.” Carl gave it to me, and it’s a lot funnier than “Sapiens.”	Joshua Kurlantzick Sheldon Whitehouse Yuval Noah Harari Carl Reiner
ali smith	I don’t have a night stand. If I read at night in bed or too close to sleep-time, I lie awake thinking in the dark for hours. But there are books piled randomly everywhere around the house, and I read randomly from them — the little pillar of books here next to me at the moment is formed by Pushkin’s “Queen of Spades”; Han Kang’s “Human Acts”; Kate Tempest’s “Let Them Eat Chaos”; Dilys Powell’s “The Villa Ariadne”; Jenni Fagan’s “The Sunlight Pilgrims”; Gillian Beer’s book about Lewis Carroll’s Alice, “Alice in Space”; and Elisabeth Young-Bruehl’s “Hannah Arendt: For Love of the World.”	Pushkin	Dilys Powell Jenni Fagan Gillian Beer Elisabeth Young-Bruehl Han Kang Kate Tempest
alison weir	A book of general knowledge crosswords, and an advance copy of Elizabeth Fremantle’s novel “The Poison Bed.” It’s about a famous Jacobean murder, the poisoning of Sir Thomas Overbury in the Tower of London, at the hands of the bewitching Frances Howard, wife of King James I’s favorite, Robert Carr, Earl of Somerset. This is a subject I’ve long wanted to tackle, and Fremantle gives it her elegant and engaging best.		Elizabeth Fremantle
allegra goodman	I don’t read in bed, but I keep my old Witherspoon and Warnke anthology of 17th-century literature on my night stand, because I like to fall asleep with Herbert, Donne and Milton watching over me. I’ve got my current pile of books downstairs on the floor by the couch. “Mr. Fox,” by Helen Oyeyemi; “Hillbilly Elegy,” by J. D. Vance; “The Art of Intimacy,” by Stacey D’Erasmo; “We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves,” by Karen Joy Fowler; and “Jonathan Swift: The Reluctant Rebel,” by John Stubbs.	Herbert Milton John Stubbs Donne J. D. Vance	Helen Oyeyemi Karen Joy Fowler Stacey D’Erasmo
amos oz	A few weeks ago a beloved friend and colleague, the Israeli novelist A. B. Yehoshua lost his wife to an illness. Rivka Yehoshua was a leading psychoanalyst, and both of them were close friends for more than five decades. Thirty years ago, Yehoshua published “Five Seasons,” a wonderful novel about a delicate man losing his wife in the prime of their lives. “Five Seasons” describes the first year of the protagonist’s life as a widower. I am rereading it now with awe, in tears, and with admiration. I can’t help shuddering at the thought that rather often life imitates literature.	A. B. Yehoshua
amy chua	My nightstand is filled with junk, but next to my bed there’s a huge pile of books. They include Elif Batuman’s “The Possessed,” which is exhilaratingly great and somehow manages to be erudite about Russian literature and funny at the same time; Ali Smith’s “Autumn,” which is about an eccentric friendship between an octogenarian and a young girl who share a love of words; Anne Enright’s “The Green Road”; Anthony Kronman’s “Confessions of a Born-Again Pagan”; Fredrik Logevall’s “Embers of War”; and Lisa Ko’s “The Leavers.” Oh, and “The Art of Raising a Puppy,” by the Monks of New Skete, which I’m rereading because I’m about to get two new puppies.	Anthony Kronman Fredrik Logevall’	Elif Batuman Ali Smith Anne Enright Lisa Ko
andy weir	An advance proof of “Rocket Men” by Robert Kurson, about the Apollo 8 mission.	Robert Kurson
a kendrick	Taraji P. Henson’s memoir, “Around the Way Girl.” I was a little sneaky and asked my editor to get me a copy before it came out. I’m only a chapter in and I already love it.		Taraji P. Henson
e de courcy	My bedside table would be a literary archaeologist’s dream (or nightmare), layer upon layer of books, some dating back years, some picked up and dropped, others read avidly until they go back to their home bookshelf. At the bottom is “The Best Calorie Counter Ever” — residue of a time when I vainly tried to lose an unwanted two kilograms — followed by a book of Byron’s poetry, a perennial favorite. Then, in no particular order, come the Bible I was given by my mother when I was confirmed (the Revised version); “The Duff Cooper Diaries”; “The Golden Ass,” by Apuleius; “Nothing Sacred” (a collection of essays), by Angela Carter; the last chunk of the Patrick Melrose novels by Edward St. Aubyn; and an iPhone-size booklet of Housman’s “A Shropshire Lad.”	Edward St. Aubyn Byron “The Duff Cooper Diaries” Apuleius Housman	Angela Carter
anthony bourdain	I’m currently reading Thomas Ricks’s “Churchill and Orwell.” Graham Greene’s memoir, “Ways of Escape,” is a book I’ve read many times but keep coming back to. John Williams’s “Stoner” is on top of the stack of “To Be Read” books, next to Mark Lanegan’s “I Am the Wolf,” Moravia’s “Roman Tales” and “Agitator,” an overview of the films of Takashi Miike.	Thomas Ricks Graham Greene John Williams Mark Lanegan Moravia
ayelet waldman	“Certainty,” by Madeleine Thien; “A Meal in Winter,” by Hubert Mingarelli; and the book that’s currently breaking my heart, “Dear Friend, From My Life I Write to You in Your Life,” by Yiyun Li.	Hubert Mingarelli	Madeleine Thien Yiyun Li
bernard henri levy	I’m answering your questions from Erbil, the capital of Iraqi Kurdistan, where I am making a documentary on the battle for Mosul. In biblical times, Mosul was known as Nineveh, the city in which Jonah delivered his prophecy. So the book that lies on the table in my little hotel room tonight is the Book of Jonah, which figures prominently in my own book, “The Genius of Judaism.” And next to it, since this is the only way to read texts like the Book of Jonah, is one of the great commentaries that Jonah provoked, that of Obadiah ben Jacob Sforno. Sforno, a rabbi and philosopher who lived in Italy in the first half of the 16th century, imparts to Jonah’s wild and marvelous story (the story of a prophet who prophesies not in Israel but in the capital of evil that was Nineveh) its great metaphysical depth.	Obadiah ben Jacob Sforno
bill clinton	“The Future Is History,” by Masha Gessen. It’s great and written in a direct, blunt style appropriate for the subject. I’ll soon be finished. “The Future of Humanity,” by Michio Kaku; “Enlightenment Now,” by Steven Pinker; and “Capture: A Theory of the Mind,” by David Kessler. Next up is the latest book in Jason Matthews’s Red Sparrow trilogy.	Michio Kaku Steven Pinker David Kessler Jason Matthews	Masha Gessen
brian selznick	“The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao,” by Junot Díaz, which was given to me by my friend Lynnette Taylor, who is a sign language interpreter. She said I would love it after I told her how much I loved Vladimir Nabokov’s crazy novel “Pale Fire.” Also on my nightstand: “Sapiens,” by Yuval Noah Harari; “Tennessee Williams in Provincetown,” by David Kaplan, which I bought on my first visit to Provincetown this summer while at the wedding of two friends; “Nos Vacances,” by Blexbolex; and “There’s a Mystery There,” by Jonathan Cott, about Maurice Sendak, who was a friend and mentor to me.	Vladimir Nabokov David Kaplan Jonathan Cott Yuval Noah Harari Blexbolex Junot Díaz
george pelecanos	“A Lucky Man,” an extraordinary short story collection by Jamel Brinkley; “The Lonely Witness,” by William Boyle; and “Memphis Rent Party,” by Robert Gordon.	Jamel Brinkley William Boyle Robert Gordon
calvin trillin	“The Underground Railroad,” by Colson Whitehead; “My Darling Detective,” by Howard Norman; and “The Sellout,” by Paul Beatty. “The Underground Railroad” has been on my night stand for a while. It had a terrific reception, but I hesitated about beginning it because of reading that it has some elements of magic realism. As a reader, I’m pretty earthbound — resistant to the magical or to changes in history or to leaps into the next century. (Yes, of course, there are books that have broken through that resistance — Philip Roth’s “The Plot Against America,” for instance, and W. P. Kinsella’s “Shoeless Joe” and Alan Bennett’s “The Uncommon Reader.”) Now my reading group has selected “The Underground Railroad” as our next book, so, judging from the reviews, I may be in for yet another exception. Howard Norman is an American novelist who tends to set his novels in Canada — thumbing his nose at the publisher’s sales force — and he’s the author of one of my favorite novels, “The Bird Artist,” which is set in a Newfoundland outport in 1911. I’m looking forward to “The Sellout,” because so many people have found it funny.	Howard Norman Paul Beatty Colson Whitehead Philip Roth W. P. Kinsella Alan Bennett’
carla hayden	I do have books on my night stand, but I have recently had to add three bookcases in my room because it was getting too crowded. Those are organized in three categories — fun and mysteries, because I love mysteries; books that relate somehow to what I’m doing professionally, like “The Revenge of Analog” or “The Innovators”; and aspirational — those are mostly about health and exercise.	“The Revenge of Analog” “The Innovators”
celeste ng	At the moment I type this: “Lincoln in the Bardo,” by George Saunders; “The Essex Serpent,” by Sarah Perry; “Marlena,” by Julie Buntin. I have a bad habit of reading more than one book simultaneously! Two books of folktales I saved from childhood (the Illustrated Junior Library edition of Grimms’ Fairy Tales and “Favourite Folktales of China,” translated by John Minford), because my son has been asking me to tell him stories at bedtime, and I needed to brush up. Oh, and the 1974 “Dreamer’s Dictionary,” by Stearn Robinson and Tom Corbett, because the odd specificity of the dreams listed are good sparks for stories, and because it’s fun.	George Saunders Tom Corbett	Sarah Perry Julie Buntin Stearn Robinson
charles johnson	In addition to the books I’m eager to read, there are endless books that people send to me in hope that I will write an endorsement for them, or judge them for a contest. At the top of my list is “Husserl’s Missing Technologies,” by Don Ihde, who is distinguished professor emeritus at Stony Brook University. He is easily America’s most important interpreter and popularizer of phenomenology as a method and a philosophy, and he was the director of my dissertation, “Being and Race: Black Writing Since 1970” (1988). What’s wonderful about Ihde, who is now in his 80s, is the rigor he has brought during his long career to examining technologies of science, reading and writing, and science praxis. His book “Listening and Voice: A Phenomenology of Sound” is seminal in the field, and his other works — “Experimental Phenomenology,” for example — are inspiring examples of how philosophy can be done with creativity (he is also a painter), accessibility and clarity. He never makes a statement or claim that is not empirically verifiable. I just read John Wideman’s “Writing to Save a Life: The Louis Till File”; Clarence Major’s stories in “Chicago Heat”; E. Ethelbert Miller’s “Collected Poems”; and I recently received Deborah A. Miranda’s “Bad Indians: A Tribal Memoir” and Vaddey Ratner’s “Music of the Ghosts.” Also in my study are books I have to judge for a contest: Calvin Schermerhorn’s “The Business of Slavery and the Rise of American Capitalism, 1815-1860”; Patrick Rael’s “Eighty-Eight Years: The Long Death of Slavery in the United States, 1777-1865”; Aisha K. Finch’s “Rethinking Slave Rebellion in Cuba: La Escalera and the Insurgencies of 1841-1844”; Alex Borucki’s “From Shipmates to Soldiers: Emerging Black Identities in the Río de la Plata”; and Jeff Forret’s “Slave Against Slave: Plantation Violence in the Old South.”	Don Ihde John Wideman Clarence Major E. Ethelbert Miller Calvin Schermerhorn Patrick Rael Alex Borucki’ Jeff Forret	Deborah A. Miranda Vaddey Ratner’ Aisha K. Finch
chelsea clinton	Svetlana Alexievich’s “Secondhand Time”; David Morrell’s trilogy featuring Thomas and Emily De Quincey; Megan Marshall’s “Margaret Fuller”; George Saunders’s “Tenth of December”; Mary Beard’s “SPQR.” The first and last I am reading in between fiction and long-format magazine pieces. Alexievich is all-consuming when I’m reading it, completely evocative in a way that brings me into the fabric of the stories she’s sharing, far more than bringing those stories to me. I find it both energizing and enervating, and best engaged with in chunks so I can experience it and not become numbed by its force. I’m looking forward to learning more about Margaret Fuller’s work advocating for better — and more humane — prisons and mental hospitals. Those are the physical books on my night stand. I’ve a much larger — an embarrassingly large — virtual pile on my Kindle.	David Morrell George Saunders	Svetlana Alexievich Megan Marshall’ Mary Beard
chris hayes	There are two: The first is “Black Over White: Negro Political Leadership in South Carolina During Reconstruction,” by Thomas Holt. It was published in 1979, but it’s still one of the most comprehensive looks at the black elected representatives who held power in South Carolina from 1867 to 1876. To me, this is perhaps the most fascinating and tragic period in American history. The other is a galley for the novel “Touch,” by Courtney Maum; it comes out in May, and I’m about halfway through it. So far it’s a really smart and funny look at the insane psychological and social costs of our era of constant connectedness. I know Courtney from college, and my wife really liked her first novel, “I Am Having So Much Fun Here Without You,” which got raves.	Thomas Holt	Courtney Maum
dambisa moyo	A mishmash of books that reflect my interests — Hal Higdon’s “Marathon”; Chris Bower’s “Federer”; William N. Thorndike’s “The Outsiders: Eight Unconventional CEOs and Their Radically Rational Blueprint for Success”; Graham Allison’s “Destined for War: Can America and China Escape Thucydides’s Trap?”; “The Beekeeper’s Bible: Bees, Honey, Recipes and Other Home Uses,” by Richard Jones and Sharon Sweeney-Lynch; Robert J. Gordon’s “The Rise and Fall of American Growth: The U.S. Standard of Living Since the Civil War”; “The Government Inspector,” by Nikolai Gogol; and, hot off the presses, Iris Apfel’s “Accidental Icon: Musings of a Geriatric Starlet.” Oh, and a King James Bible just in case my mother comes by for a visit.	Hal Higdon William N. Thorndike Graham Allison Richard Jones Robert J. Gordon Nikolai Gogol Chris Bower	Sharon Sweeney-Lynch Iris Apfel
daniel mendelsohn	There’s a bunch, because I’ve always got books that I’m writing about in addition to books I’m reading for pleasure. For pleasure, I’m reading “The Journals of Denton Welch,” the strangely wonderful English novelist and artist who died tragically young in the 1940s. About 10 years ago I read his three autobiographical novels, which are just not like anything else: There’s a gossamer delicacy of feeling that teeters on the edge on feyness, but it’s never precious, because there’s also a steeliness in the writing, a detachment in his willingness to confront real emotional strangeness. I only last month discovered the journals which, apart from very moving material about his life, offers tons of delicious tidbits, from entire scenes (a hilarious lunch with Edith Sitwell, who was his champion) to small moments when the writing itself stops you in your tracks. At one point he compares the sound of a harpsichord “to a large and very beautiful cat unsheathing its claws, pawing the air, mouthing, miawlling.” For work, I’ve got a bunch of books about Virgil’s “The Aeneid,” a new translation of which I’m writing about, and also the novels and stories of the contemporary German writer Jenny Erpenbeck, which I’m reading in preparation for a piece about her most recent novel, about a retired Berlin classics professor who becomes involved with African refugees. I’ve loved her previous work, but obviously this one is going to be of special interest to me.	“The Journals of Denton Welch,”	Jenny Erpenbeck
dava sobel	I never read in bed, so there are no books on my night stand. However, my desk is piled with them. Several are advance reading copies, including “Earth in Human Hands,” by David Grinspoon; “The Wanderers” — a novel about the first three astronauts going to Mars — by Meg Howrey; and “Waves Passing in the Night,” by Lawrence Weschler.	David Grinspoon Lawrence Weschler	Meg Howrey
david g	My night stand is more like a geological structure: a bunch of books piled on the floor with its own strata. At the top layer are the newly accumulated books. Among the most recent additions are T. C. Boyle’s “The Terranauts,” Zadie Smith’s “Swing Time” and Tana French’s “The Trespasser.” Then comes the layer of books further down, which, for a long time, I’ve been planning to read but have not yet had a chance — though I vow to! These include Renata Adler’s “Speedboat,” Marlon James’s “A Brief History of Seven Killings” and Norman Mailer’s “Harlot’s Ghost.” Finally, there are the books scattered about that I’m continually excavating to look at again for inspiration, such as James Baldwin’s “Collected Essays”; Saul Bellow’s “Seize the Day”; Willa Cather’s “My Ántonia”; Flannery O’Connor’s “The Complete Stories”; George Orwell’s “Homage to Catalonia”; and St. Clair McKelway’s “Reporting at Wit’s End.” The pile is constantly shifting and resettling and, on occasion, toppling.	Norman Mailer James Baldwin Saul Bellow George Orwell T. C. Boyle Marlon James Flannery O’Connor St. Clair McKelway	Tana French Renata Adler Willa Cather Zadie Smith
don winslow	“The Wars of the Roses,” by Alison Weir, and “If He Hollers Let Him Go,” Chester Himes.	Chester Himes	Alison Weir
elin hilderbrand	I want to begin by saying that I have never been asked to join a book group. Instead, I am part of a “group” that includes two other people who advise me on What to Read Next. We don’t live in the same place, so most of this book talk is done via text. These two individuals are not only the smartest people I know, they are the smartest people anyone knows. And they will hereby be known as “Manda” and “David.” On my night stand: “The Nix,” by Nathan Hill; “The Excellent Lombards,” by Jane Hamilton; and “A Separation,” by Katie Kitamura.	Nathan Hill	Jane Hamilton Katie Kitamura
emma straub	Tom Perrotta’s “Mrs. Fletcher,” which I’ve just started and am very much enjoying; “Siblings Without Rivalry,” by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish, as of yet unread, though my younger child is now almost a year and a half old; Eleanor Henderson’s “The Twelve-Mile Straight”; Anna Moschovakis’s “They and We Will Get Into Trouble for This”; Laurie Colwin’s “Family Happiness.”	Tom Perrotta	Adele Faber Elaine Mazlish Eleanor Henderson Anna Moschovakis Laurie Colwin
ernest cline	I’m currently reading “Life 3.0: Being Human in the Age of Artificial Intelligence,” by Max Tegmark.	Max Tegmark
fran lebowitz	There are no books on my night stand, because I’m a lifelong insomniac, so eight or nine years ago, I thought: “Don’t read in bed. It’s too stimulating. Watch TV instead. It’s boring.” And it’s true. TV is boring, but apparently not boring enough to make me fall asleep. So now instead of being overstimulated and awake, I’m bored and awake.
francis ford coppola	“Wild and Outside: How a Renegade Minor League Revived the Spirit of Baseball in America’s Heartland,” by Stefan Fatsis. Usually on my nightstand there is only a Kindle but in this case, the book, recommended by a friend who said that it would explain to me the workings of the minor leagues in baseball, was only available in print. It has information I really wanted to learn, so with a pencil ready I just needed to juggle the weight of the book, adjusting the light and attempting to make good notes and underlining sections. Of course the trouble with highlighting sections of a real book is that later when you need the information you have to hunt it down with that particular copy. So in this case, I will send the marked-up book to an associate and ask them to go through it and type up all of my highlighted sections and notes. I recently read “Darkness at Noon,” and I now understand why it is a major work. It is memorable and has all the elements of a great story: surprises, elucidation, lasting political insights and a touching ending. It’s a great one! Now I am about a third through Walter Isaacson’s “Leonardo da Vinci” and really enjoying it. It makes me realize that so many of those great figures in history we feel we know so much about, we really know little.	Stefan Fatsis “Darkness at Noon,” Walter Isaacson
gabourey sidibe	I’m currently reading “Difficult Women,” by Roxane Gay, and I’m getting my life from it! From the very first chapter about sisters who survived a kidnapping as children, I was hooked. I always think about what happens to regular people who go through tragic circumstances as children and how it affects their lives as adults. Even when it’s fiction, I believe every word of it. Roxane Gay seems to have a knack for fearlessly telling the truth. Even in her fiction.		Roxane Gay
george saunders	I am finishing up Michael Chabon’s miraculous “Moonglow” and picking away at Woody Guthrie’s strange “House of Earth,” which contains one of the best, slowest, hottest, yet most quotidian sex-in-a-barn scenes ever. Loving “Ghettoside,” by Jill Leovy. Although it’s too large for my night stand, I am lingering with pleasure over Nick Offerman’s “Good Clean Fun,” which is not only instructing me in a calm yet passionate view toward life and art, but also might eventually help me to build a bigger, more capacious night stand.	Michael Chabon Nick Offerman Woody Guthrie	Jill Leovy
gretchen rubin	My night stand is always crowded. Right now it boasts Willa Cather’s “My Ántonia” (which somehow I’ve never read); Mark Twain’s “Life on the Mississippi” (ditto); Rohinton Mistry’s “A Fine Balance”; Ben Fountain’s “Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk”; Georgette Heyer’s “The Grand Sophy”; John Gage’s “Color and Culture”; Haruki Murakami’s “Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage”; and Elena Ferrante’s “The Story of a New Name.” I love to reread, so my night stand also holds Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Essential Writings,” Chuck Palahniuk’s “Fight Club” and Laurie Colwin’s “Home Cooking.” Plus I’m a huge fan of children’s literature, so I’ve got Lois Lowry’s “Anastasia Krupnik” and Margaret Mahy’s “Alchemy.”	Mark Twain Ben Fountain John Gage Chuck Palahniuk Rohinton Mistry Haruki Murakami Ralph Waldo Emerson	Willa Cather Georgette Heyer Elena Ferrante Laurie Colwin Lois Lowry Margaret Mahy
h w brands	I don’t have a night stand, so the books pile up on the floor. From top to bottom: Henry James, “The American”; Isabel Allende, “Paula”; Andrew Bacevich, “The Limits of Power”; Tim O’Brien, “The Things They Carried”; Tom Wolfe, “Radical Chic and Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers”; Mickey Spillane, “Five Complete Mike Hammer Novels”; P. G. Wodehouse, “Jeeves and the Tie That Binds”; Gabriel García Márquez, “The General in His Labyrinth”; F. A. Hayek, “The Road to Serfdom.” There is a slow race to the bottom in my pile; a book that doesn’t get read for a while gradually sinks. Hayek is the current leader in this dubious contest, as suits his dense prose.	Henry James Andrew Bacevich Tim O’Brien Tom Wolfe Gabriel García Márquez Mickey Spillane P. G. Wodehouse F. A. Hayek	Isabel Allende
hanan al shaykh	“The Blue Flower,” by Penelope Fitzgerald; “Mothering Sunday,” by Graham Swift; “Autumn,” by Ali Smith; “Seven Types of Atheism,” by John Gray; “Al-Mawloudah,” by the Egyptian writer Nadia Kamel; “Red Birds,” by Mohammed Hanif; “Raising Sparks,” by Ariel Kahn.	Graham Swift Ali Smith John Gray Mohammed Hanif Ariel Kahn	Penelope Fitzgerald Nadia Kamel
hari kunzru	An anthology of Pasolini’s writings called “In Danger”; “Journal of an Ordinary Grief,” by the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish; another anthology of recent political poetry and prose called “Anguish Language: Writing and Crisis”; and a proof of Margaret Jull Costa’s new translation of Pessoa’s “The Book of Disquiet,” which I’m particularly excited to read, as somehow I could never make headway with the older English translation and have hopes that at last this famous book will break open for me.	Mahmoud Darwish Pasolini	Margaret Jull Costa
ian buruma	Since I have to read so much for my work, I read only for pure pleasure at home. These are the books that are presently on my stand: “Ma’am Darling,” by Craig Brown; “Promise at Dawn,” by Romain Gary; “King Zeno,” by Nathaniel Rich; and “House of Sleeping Beauties,” by Yasunari Kawabata.	Craig Brown Romain Gary Nathaniel Rich Yasunari Kawabata
james b comey	“Grant,” by Ron Chernow (actual nightstand); “The Last Lion: Winston Spencer Churchill, Defender of the Realm 1940-1965,” by William Manchester and Paul Reid (living room table).	Ron Chernow William Manchester Paul Reid
james rollins	There’s always a mix of fiction and nonfiction, as each night I don’t know what might strike my bedtime fancy. Besides a notebook for jotting down ideas in the middle of the night and a large yellow highlighter. The latter is used for both types of books: to mark factual tidbits to incorporate into future books or to note passages of prose that do something unique or are exceptionally well done. What’s currently weighing down my nightstand are “The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable,” by Nassim Nicholas Taleb, for research; “The Stone Sky,” by N. K. Jemisin, for pleasure; and “Infinite Jest,” by David Foster Wallace, because I really should finish it.	David Foster Wallace Nassim Nicholas Taleb	N. K. Jemisin
jane green	“American Kingpin,” by Nick Bilton; “What the Living Do,” by Marie Howe; “The Orphan’s Tale,” by Pam Jenoff; “Sapiens,” by Yuval Noah Harari; “Touch,” by Courtney Maum; “The Immortalists,” by Chloe Benjamin; “My Absolute Darling,” by Gabriel Tallent; “Seven Days of Us,” by Francesca Hornak. And that’s just the top shelf.	Nick Bilton Gabriel Tallent Yuval Noah Harari	Marie Howe Pam Jenoff Chloe Benjamin Courtney Maum Francesca Hornak
jason segel	Right now I have a book called “Steal Like an Artist,” by Austin Kleon, on my nightstand. I am writing quite a bit lately and I find this book to be very inspirational in both the development stage as well as the writer’s-block stage. I highly recommend it for anyone who is interested in making art. It provides a helpful reminder that inspiration is everywhere.	Austin Kleon
jeffrey tambor	I wouldn’t exactly call it a night stand. But — on the floor? There is treasure: “The Association of Small Bombs,” by Karan Mahajan; “Behold the Dreamers,” by Imbolo Mbue; “Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life From Dear Sugar,” by Cheryl Strayed (I try to read a chapter a day); “Nutshell,” by Ian McEwan; “Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim,” by David Sedaris; and “Long Black Veil,” by Jenny Boylan (advance reading copy; I love advance reading copies — I always look for them at the Strand when I’m in the city).	Karan Mahajan Ian McEwan David Sedaris	Cheryl Strayed Jenny Boylan Imbolo Mbue
jennifer egan	For years I’ve been reading mostly from the early 20th century for my own book, so there’s been a pile-up of work by writers I admire: Anne Carson’s “Nox”; Pankaj Mishra’s “Age of Anger”; “The Gene,” by Siddhartha Mukherjee; “Strangers Drowning,” by Larissa MacFarquhar; and “The Death of Aztec Tenochtitlan, the Life of Mexico City,” by Barbara Mundy, an art historian, who finds traces of Aztec culture and life in the structure of Mexico City. That seems a lot like what I keep trying to do with New York City.	Pankaj Mishra Siddhartha Mukherjee	Anne Carson Larissa MacFarquhar Barbara Mundy
jesmyn ward	“A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry,” edited by Czeslaw Milosz; “Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids” and “Peaceful Parent, Happy Siblings,” both by Dr. Laura Markham; “In Diamond Square,” by Mercè Rodoreda; “The Hidden Life of Trees,” by Peter Wohlleben; “The Girl Who Drank the Moon,” by Kelly Barnhill; “The Art of the English Murder,” by Lucy Worsley.	Peter Wohlleben Czeslaw Milosz	Laura Markham Mercè Rodoreda Lucy Worsley Kelly Barnhill
jo nesbo	They are so many that I have to use the floor. On top of the pile, Elvis Costello’s autobiography; there’s ”On Killing: The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society,” by Dave Grossman, which I am using as research for my next Harry Hole novel. And there’s “Shark Drunk,” by Morten Stroknes, which is a nonfiction story about two friends going fishing. It’s full of personal anecdotes, facts on marine life and life in general along coastal Norway, and about the hunt for a big fish that they, I suspect, never will catch nor find. So, the book is much like fishing I guess — it’s not about the catch, it’s about just being there.	Elvis Costello Dave Grossman Morten Stroknes
john hodgman	Most of my bedtime reading is done on a device, screen ambered and darkened, so as not to wake my wife during my now inevitable 2 to4 a.m. of unwanted wide awake time. But I keep a few actual books on the nightstand as comforting totems. Bedtime reading should be comforting, lulling. After the death of my mom I used to keep an insanely detailed illustrated book of Star Wars vehicles. There I would lose myself in the mania of small details—finding where the Jawas slept on their Sandcrawler; examining the luggage compartments of an X-Wing—until my dumb brain finally gave up to sleep. Currently I have the new Penguin Classics collection of Richard Matheson short stories, some zines of very funny essays by the comedian April Richardson that I got in the mail, and the newly reissued crime novel “Breakout,” featuring the great, emotionless thief, Parker, which is also what I’m reading on my phone.	Richard Matheson “Breakout,”	April Richardson
john lewis gaddis	I don’t have a nightstand. I have an iPad holder with all the books I’m reading on the device. Most recently: Sarah Ruden’s translation of Augustine’s “Confessions”; “A Gentleman in Moscow,” by Amor Towles; “Why Bob Dylan Matters,” by Richard F. Thomas; “Call Me by Your Name,” by André Aciman; “On Trails: An Exploration,” by Robert Moor; and “Melbourne,” by David Cecil.	Richard F. Thomas André Aciman Robert Moor David Cecil Amor Towles	Sarah Ruden
john mccain	“Sinatra: The Chairman,” by James Kaplan; “Return of a King: The Battle for Afghanistan, 1839-42,” by William Dalrymple; and “Leonardo da Vinci,” by Walter Isaacson.	James Kaplan William Dalrymple Walter Isaacson
john waters	“American Rust,” by Philipp Meyer, because his last historical novel, “The Son,” was such an amazingly well-written, violently beautiful page-turner that I have to read what came before. “Film as Film: The Collected Writings of Gregory J. Markopoulos” (obscure, yes, but I remember his underground films fondly from the Jonas Mekas/Film Comment days). And the ultimate bedside book — “The Making of Americans,” by Gertrude Stein. I enormously respect its impenetrability. Maybe this is the best novel ever written, because you can’t read it. Not even two pages. I know, I’ve tried for the last 10 years.	Philipp Meyer Film as Film: The Collected Writings of Gregory J. Markopoulos	Gertrude Stein
joseph kanon	I’ve recently been in Southeast Asia, so I’ve been catching up on some of the literature: rereading Graham Greene’s “The Quiet American” (as good as ever). Marguerite Duras’s “The Lover,” Karl Marlantes’s “Matterhorn” and Viet Thanh Nguyen’s terrific “The Sympathizer.” Now on top of the pile: Colson Whitehead’s “The Underground Railroad.”	Graham Greene Karl Marlantes Viet Thanh Nguyen Colson Whitehead	Marguerite Duras
kareem abdul jabbar	“Lives of Master Swordsmen,” by Makoto Sugawara, furthers my interest in martial arts that began shortly before Bruce Lee became my teacher. The book explores the swordsmen of medieval Japan and the influence they had on the country. For me, the book is about the convergence of art and athleticism, and its effect on politics. I’ve always been fascinated by people who push themselves to become the best they possibly can be at something that combines intellect and movement. And how their achievements affect their society. I’m also rereading a favorite novel from when I was in high school, “Dem,” by a great but often overlooked African-American writer, William Melvin Kelley. This satire peels back some uncomfortable layers of how the races see each other and is just as relevant today as it was in 1967, when it was published.	Makoto Sugawara William Melvin Kelley
karin slaughter	A galley of Lee Child’s upcoming “Past Tense”; “The Death of Democracy: Hitler’s Rise to Power and the Downfall of the Weimar Republic,” by Benjamin Carter Hett; “The Lost Life of Eva Braun,” by Angela Lambert; “Circe,” by Madeline Miller; “So Close to Being the Sh*t, Y’all Don’t Even Know,” by Retta; “Less,” by Andrew Sean Greer; “Atticus Finch: The Biography,” by Joseph Crespino.	Benjamin Carter Hett Andrew Sean Greer Joseph Crespino Lee Child	Angela Lambert Madeline Miller Retta
karl ove knausgaard	On the floor by my bed there are heaps of books I want to read, books I have to read and books I believe I need to read. So we are talking about id, ego and superego books. In the first category, you’ll find “The Night Manager,” by le Carré; “A Natural,” by Ross Raisin; “The Balkan Trilogy,” by Olivia Manning; “Counternarratives,” by John Keene; and “We,” by Yevgeny Zamyatin. In the second category there are three books about the history of the Devil; one book about magic in the Middle Ages; “Doctor Faustus,” by Thomas Mann; “Faust,” by Goethe; a lot of books about Russia. And in the superego heap, which has stayed the same for years, you’ll find books by Adorno, Heidegger and on early Greek philosophy.	John Keene Yevgeny Zamyatin Thomas Mann Adorno le Carré Ross Raisin Goethe Heidegger	Olivia Manning
kristin ah	“Sing, Unburied, Sing,” by Jesmyn Ward; “What Happened,” by Hillary Clinton; “Manhattan Beach,” by Jennifer Egan; “The Power,” by Naomi Alderman; and “Little Fires Everywhere,” by Celeste Ng. Clearly, I need a bigger nightstand.		Hillary Clinton Jennifer Egan Naomi Alderman Celeste Ng Jesmyn Ward
krysten ritter	I have a huge pile next to my bed and dream of days when I just pick up each one and devour them! I have a signed copy of “The Lying Game,” by Ruth Ware, which is next on deck. Underneath are copies of “The Sirens of Titan,” by Kurt Vonnegut, and “In Cold Blood,” by Truman Capote, both of which have long been on my list. I am also currently leafing through a stack of meditation books that I bought at a meditation studio I like. “Wherever You Go, There You Are,” “Zen Flesh, Zen Bones.”	Kurt Vonnegut Truman Capote “Wherever You Go, There You Are,” “Zen Flesh, Zen Bones.”	Ruth Ware
lauren groff	I don’t know if I have a nightstand anymore. I do have an avalanche of books with a reading light sticking out of it. From across the room, I can see the autobiography of Lili’uokalani, the Hawaiian queen and songwriter who composed “Aloha ‘Oe,” Sigrid Nunez’s “The Friend” and two novels by Marie-Claire Blais, a Québécoise writer who now lives in Key West: “La Belle Bête” and “Soifs.”		Sigrid Nunez Lili’uokalani Marie-Claire Blais
lesley stahl	There’s an order of priority when it comes to my reading: Books by my friends come first. And when you do what I do for a living (and when your husband’s a writer, as mine is), the stack of must-reads on my night table can get pretty tall. Sitting there right now are: Anna Quindlen’s “Miller’s Valley”; Linda Fairstein’s “Killer Look”; “Capital Dames,” by Cokie Roberts; and William Cohan’s “Why Wall Street Matters.” What’s also there that I’m eager to get to is “Victoria the Queen,” by Julia Baird. And there’s always the latest Michael Connelly.	William Cohan Michael Connelly	Anna Quindlen Linda Fairstein Cokie Roberts Julia Baird
louise penny	Ugh, too many. It’s probably dangerous. But a few are: “The Undoing Project,” by Michael Lewis; “Thoughts of Home,” essays on families, houses and homelands; “Atlas Obscura,” by Joshua Foer, Dylan Thuras and Ella Morton; “H Is for Hawk,” by Helen Macdonald.	Michael Lewis Joshua Foer Dylan Thuras	Ella Morton Helen Macdonald
luis alberto urrea	It’s a siege. If we can extend the image of “nightstand” to include the floor and the chest of drawers across the room, we might be approaching my unfortunate bibliomania and occasional trashophilia. What do we mean by “books”? Because every time there’s a David Bowie-themed magazine from Britain, I can’t help myself. That’s on the floor, you see; however, on the nightstand, I am more respectable and proudly keep my Dylan Jones biography of dear Bowie. Along with Natasha Trethewey’s “Thrall,” “The Complete Poems of A. R. Ammons” (both massive volumes), Neruda’s odes, a few Harlan Ellison collections and the luminous wonder that is Lyanda Lynn Haupt’s “Mozart’s Starling” (which we stumbled on in Strasburg last summer and could not resist). All of this will be swept away in a joyous frenzy once I get my hands on the new James Lee Burke novel. Er, and maybe — I’m just saying — a “Hellraiser” comic. Right beside my copy of “Fire and Fury.” Because Pinhead is surely coming for our president, and I want to be sure I know what’s in store for him. I like to think that poetry outweighs demons on my nightstand.	Harlan Ellison James Lee Burke Dylan Jones “The Complete Poems of A. R. Ammons” Neruda “Fire and Fury.”	Natasha Trethewey Lyanda Lynn Haupt
marina abramovic	“Tesla: Man Out of Time,” by Margaret Cheney. Nikola Tesla had such intuition about the future, and his ideas are more relevant today than ever before — it’s inspiring to read about his life. “The Secret Oral Teachings in Tibetan Buddhist Sects,” by Alexandra David-Neel and Lama Yongden, is always on my night stand. I return to it again and again in different stages of my life.	Lama Yongden	Margaret Cheney Alexandra David-Neel
megyn kelly	“Maestra,” by L. S. Hilton; “The Wright Brothers,” by David McCullough; and “The First Tycoon: The Epic Life of Cornelius Vanderbilt,” by T. J. Stiles. I’m loving “The Wright Brothers” in particular — the story of how these scrappy brothers with no connection to great wealth, fancy education or people in power went down to Kitty Hawk and through sheer will, determination and natural ingenuity changed the world.	David McCullough T. J. Stiles	L. S. Hilton
michael ondaatje	I have been rereading some old wonders such as Georges Simenon’s “The Train,” J. L. Carr’s “A Month in the Country” and Janet Lewis’s “The Wife of Martin Guerre.” And discovering two forthcoming books: Dionne Brand’s “The Blue Clerk” — part poem, part memoir, part ars poetica — and P. Ahilan’s “Then There Were No Witnesses,” his poems set in Jaffna during the war, translated by Geetha Sukumaran.	Georges Simenon J. L. Carr P. Ahilan	Janet Lewis Geetha Sukumaran Dionne Brand
michiko kakutani	Too many books for the nightstand, I’m afraid — more like two (sometimes three) tottering piles on the floor, including these: “Tyrant: Shakespeare on Politics,” by Stephen Greenblatt; “Small Country,” by Gaël Faye; “Flash: The Making of Weegee the Famous,” by Christopher Bonanos; “There There,” by Tommy Orange; “Ten Arguments for Deleting Your Social Media Accounts Right Now,” by Jaron Lanier; “Going Into Town: A Love Letter to New York,” by Roz Chast; “OK, Mr. Field,” by Katharine Kilalea; “The Soul of America: The Battle for Our Better Angels,” by Jon Meacham; “Hero of the Empire: The Boer War, a Daring Escape, and the Making of Winston Churchill,” by Candice Millard; “Barracoon: The Story of the Last ‘Black Cargo,” by Zora Neale Hurston; and “Secondhand Time: The Last of the Soviets,” by Svetlana Alexievich.	Stephen Greenblatt Christopher Bonanos Tommy Orange Jaron Lanier Jon Meacham Gaël Faye	Katharine Kilalea Candice Millard Zora Neale Hurston Svetlana Alexievich
mitch albom	I keep old, new, and books I like to reread nearby, so in no order: “Blindness,” by José Saramago; “Autumn,” by Ali Smith; “When the Elephants Dance,” by Tess Uriza Holthe; “A Guide for the Perplexed,” by Dara Horn; and “To a Young Jazz Musician,” by Wynton Marsalis.	José Saramago Wynton Marsalis	Ali Smith Tess Uriza Holthe Dara Horn
niall ferguson	I am a few pages from the end of Tom Holland’s marvelously readable “Rubicon” and about a quarter of the way through Mary Beard’s somewhat more earnest “SPQR.” Those were part of my challenge to myself this year to get better educated about the fall of the Roman Republic. I’m still dipping into Maya Jasanoff’s beautifully written travels in the footsteps of Conrad, “The Dawn Watch.” Newcomers to the nightstand, which were both recommended to me by friends: “China in Ten Words,” by Yu Hua and “Lives Other Than My Own,” by Emmanuel Carrère.	Tom Holland Emmanuel Carrère Yu Hua	Maya Jasanoff Mary Beard
nicole krauss	Yuval Harari’s “Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind”; Leonard Michaels’s brilliant Nachman stories; “I Am the Brother of XX” and “These Possible Lives,” both by Fleur Jaeggy; a new collection of Yehuda Amichai’s poetry edited by Robert Alter; “HHhH,” by Laurent Binet; “Moving Kings,” by Joshua Cohen; John Berger’s “Portraits”; “A Time of Gifts,” by Patrick Leigh Fermor; “Pondlife” by Al Alvarez; and a book of paintings by Fra Angelico.	Yuval Harari Leonard Michaels Yehuda Amichai Robert Alter Laurent Binet Joshua Cohen John Berger Patrick Leigh Fermor Al Alvarez Fra Angelico	Fleur Jaeggy
ottessa moshfegh	“Alice: Memoirs of a Barbary Coast Prostitute,” edited by Ivy Anderson and Devon Angus; “Opium Culture: The Art & Ritual of the Chinese Tradition,” by Peter Lee; and “Less Than Zero,” by Bret Easton Ellis.	Peter Lee Bret Easton Ellis Devon Angus	Ivy Anderson
otto penzler	“Thrown Under the Omnibus,” by P. J. O’Rourke, who always makes me laugh; “Collected Poems” of E. E. Cummings, which reminds me of how moved I was by his reading at Michigan; “From Dawn to Decadence: 500 Years of Western Cultural Life,” by my severely missed friend Jacques Barzun. In truth, they’re all getting a little dusty, because mostly I’m reading mystery stories for the anthologies on which I’m perennially working.	Jacques Barzun P. J. O’Rourke E. E. Cummings
paul auster	Just two — the Library of America editions of James Baldwin’s “Collected Essays” and “Early Novels and Stories.” Until recently, I hadn’t read any Baldwin since high school (a long time ago, given that I graduated in 1965), and because the novel I was working on was mostly set in the ’50s and ’60s, I dutifully plunged in to have another look. Duty quickly turned into pleasure, awe, and admiration. Baldwin is a remarkable writer on both fronts, fiction and nonfiction, and I would rank him among America’s 20th-century greats. Not just for his boldness and courage, not just for his enormous emotional range (from boiling anger to the most exquisite tenderness), but for the quality of the writing itself, the chiseled grace of his sentences. Baldwin’s prose is what I would call “classical American,” in the same sense that Thoreau is classical, and at his best I believe Baldwin is fully equal to Thoreau at his best. Oddly enough, I finished reading the two books more than a year ago, but they’re still on my night stand. I can’t say why — I just like having them there. They comfort me.	James Baldwin
philipp meyer	“Spoils,” by Brian Van Reet; “King Me,” by Roger Reeves; “Man in the Holocene,” by Max Frisch; “A Brief History of Seven Killings,” by Marlon James; “The Tiger’s Wife,” by Téa Obreht; “The Master,” by Colm Toibin; “The Great Fires,” by Jack Gilbert; “All True Not a Lie in It,” by Alix Hawley; and “The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty.”	Brian Van Reet Roger Reeves Max Frisch Marlon James Colm Toibin Jack Gilbert	Téa Obreht Alix Hawley “The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty.”
philippa gregory	Oh dear, New York Times, I am English. I don’t have a “nightstand.” The closest thing I know to a nightstand would be a headstand, and I don’t think that’s what you mean. What I do have is an overloaded Kindle, of which the first four titles are: Marilyn Waring’s “Counting for Nothing: What Men Value and What Women Are Worth”; Ian Mortimer’s “What Isn’t History?”; Anne Ancelin Schützenberger’s “The Ancestor Syndrome: Transgenerational Psychotherapy and the Hidden Links in the Family Tree”; and Tom Stoppard’s “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.” You can make of that what you like. It seems an odd mix to me, and I am the one that chose them.	Ian Mortimer Tom Stoppard	Marilyn Waring Anne Ancelin Schützenberger
questlove	I go through things in batches, and recently I’ve been trying to read more about movies. The top book on the nightstand is Owen Gleiberman’s “Movie Freak,” which is about his love of movies and his life as a movie-lover.	Owen Gleiberman
rachel cusk	Nella Larsen’s “Quicksand and Passing”; St. Augustine’s “Confessions”; Storm Jameson’s autobiography “Journey From the North”; some essays by Walter Benjamin.	Walter Benjamin Augustine	Nella Larsen Storm Jameson
rebecca solnit	There’s quite a pillar at this point, including Adrienne Rich’s “On Lies, Secrets, and Silence” and Adrienne Maree Brown’s “Emergent Strategy,” Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor’s “How We Get Free,” Erika L. Sánchez’s “Lessons on Expulsion,” Philip Levine’s “One for the Rose,” Carla Bergman and Nick Montgomery’s “Joyful Militancy.” Alexander Chee’s “How to Write an Autobiographical Novel” is probably the most recently published thing in the stack, and it’s wonderful.	Philip Levine Nick Montgomery Alexander Chee	Adrienne Rich Erika L. Sánchez Carla Bergman Adrienne Maree Brown Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor
richard holmes	In my case it’s less of a night stand, and more of a night fall. Books tend to lie on the floor all round my side of the bed, frequently under it, and sometimes even in it (leading to mild complaints or occasional kidnappings). I like to have several on the go at once, according to mood. Currently it’s Andrea Wulf’s superb popular science biography “The Invention of Nature: Alexander von Humboldt’s New World,” which ranges across Europe and South America and the beginnings of environmentalism in the 19th century. Then, at a time when “fake news” is much under debate, the compelling memoirs by the veteran BBC foreign correspondent John Simpson, “We Chose to Speak of War and Strife,” which includes a history of this heroic, truth-telling eyewitness form, starting with the Battle of Waterloo. To balance all that local drama, I am studying the big picture as thrillingly projected in “Mapping the Heavens,” a strikingly lucid account of the expansion, not just of the universe, but the way we have tried to understand it, from the Babylonians to black holes and dark matter, all coolly narrated by the glamorous professor of astronomy at Yale, Priyamvada Natarajan. And finally, buried deep somewhere or other, my battered, priceless O.U.P. paperback of “Coleridge’s Notebooks: A Selection.”	John Simpson “Coleridge’s Notebooks: A Selection.”	Andrea Wulf Priyamvada Natarajan
richard lloyd parry	The books beside my bed are like the expensive, and suspiciously unsullied, pair of running shoes in the cupboard: an aspiration, and a symbol of the man I would like to be rather than the one I truly am. I’ve got the “Collected Poems” of W. B. Yeats and Ted Hughes, both of which I did in fact read a good deal of over the summer. I’ve got “Asia’s Reckoning: The Struggle for Global Dominance,” by Richard McGregor, which I hear great things about. “Quennets,” by Philip Terry, is a book of experimental poetry, purchased in a fit of avant-garde fervour that I will no doubt get round to one of these decades. Right at the bottom of the pile is “Ulysses,” by James Joyce. I know, I know … I read it at university, and then got halfway through it again in my 30s. And then stopped. For a while, I kept it in the loo, with the idea that I would read it in short, but regular, doses. It’s been in its current position for a few years.	Ted Hughes Richard McGregor Philip Terry W. B. Yeats James Joyce
richard plepler	I’m always terribly behind on my list. I’ve heard wonderful things about Robert Worth’s “A Rage for Order,” which tries to make sense of the chaos in the Middle East, and Yuval Levin’s “The Fractured Republic,” which I hear is one of the smartest looks at how our current political landscape became such a mess. I hope to get to both of them over summer break.	Robert Worth Yuval Levin
robert coover	“The Blue Guitar,” by John Banville, “The Accidental Mind,” by David J. Linden, “4 3 2 1,” by Paul Auster, several issues of Dædalus (currently reading the “Russia Beyond Putin” and “The Changing Rules of War” issues, but there are others in the stack) and “Zero K,” by Don DeLillo. Just finished Richard Powers’s brilliant “Orfeo.” Masterpiece.	John Banville David J. Linden Paul Auster Don DeLillo Richard Powers
ron chernow	At the moment the stack includes “Lincoln in the Bardo” by George Saunders; “Embattled Rebel” by James M. McPherson; “Underground Railroad,” by Colson Whitehead; and “Race and Reunion” by David W. Blight. As you can see, my mind is still marinating in the Civil War and its troubled aftermath.	George Saunders James M. McPherson David W. Blight Colson Whitehead
roxane gay	They aren’t necessarily on my night stand, but the books I am reading or threatening to read right now are: “I’m Judging You,” by Luvvie Ajayi; “Made for Love,” by Alissa Nutting, which is out next year; “The Fireman,” by Joe Hill; “Swing Time,” by Zadie Smith; “All the Birds in the Sky,” by Charlie Jane Anders; “Black Water Rising,” by Attica Locke; “The Wangs vs. the World,” by Jade Chang; “Thrill Me,” by Benjamin Percy; and “The Sympathizer,” by Viet Thanh Nguyen.	Joe Hill Benjamin Percy Viet Thanh Nguyen	Alissa Nutting Jade Chang Luvvie Ajayi Zadie Smith Charlie Jane Anders Attica Locke
roz chast	“The Brooklyn Nobody Knows,” by William B. Helmreich; “Where the Water Goes: Life and Death Along the Colorado River,” by David Owen; “Transit,” by Rachel Cusk; “Trashed,” a graphic novel by Derf Backderf.	William B. Helmreich David Owen Derf Backderf	Rachel Cusk
sally quinn	I usually read books about what I’m working on — in this case a novel. “Learning to Love,” by Thomas Merton; “Ireland’s Holy Wars,” by Marcus Tanner; “Vows,” by Peter Manseau; “The Confessions of Saint Augustine”; “The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats,” edited by Richard J. Finneran; “The Life of W. B. Yeats,” by Terence Brown; and “The Last Unicorn,” by Peter Beagle.	Thomas Merton Marcus Tanner Peter Manseau Richard J. Finneran Terence Brown Peter Beagle “The Confessions of Saint Augustine” “The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats,”
samantha hunt	I am such a slow reader that once, while nursing twins, a thought arrived: I wished I could simultaneously read one book with my left eye, one with my right. Alas, my stereoscopic brain says no. In defiance I have seven or eight books going at once. Currently on my nightstand: “Freshwater,” by Akwaeke Emezi; “In the Distance,” by Hernán Diaz; the ghostly, wonderful “Riddance,” by Shelley Jackson; “Belly Up,” by Rita Bullwinkel; “There There,” by Tommy Orange; “The Deaths of Henry King,” by Jesse Ball and Brian Evenson, with illustrations by Lilli Carré; and “Severance,” the astonishing, rollicking office building/apocalypse debut by Ling Ma.	Hernán Diaz Tommy Orange Jesse Ball Brian Evenson	Shelley Jackson Rita Bullwinkel Akwaeke Emezi Lilli Carré Ling Ma
samantha irby	“Children of Blood and Bone,” by Tomi Adeyemi; “Call Me Zebra,” by Azareen Van der Vliet Oloomi; “Mean,” by Myriam Gurba; “The Book of Essie,” by Meghan MacLean Weir; and “The Talented Ribkins,” by Ladee Hubbard. IT’S A BIG NIGHTSTAND, O.K.		Tomi Adeyemi Myriam Gurba Meghan MacLean Weir Azareen Van der Vliet Oloomi Ladee Hubbard.
simon rich	This month I’ve committed to only reading books about shipwrecks where people had to eat somebody. There’s nothing I’m more interested in and it feels irresponsible to read about other subjects until I’ve exhausted the category. I’m almost finished with “Desperate Journeys, Abandoned Souls,” by Edward E. Leslie. It’s a comprehensive overview of all the major shipwrecks, including many in which people had to eat somebody. I’m also making my way through “The Custom of the Sea,” by Neil Hanson. It tells the tale of Capt. Tom Dudley, who attempted to sail a small yacht from Southampton to Sydney, Australia, in 1884, with a crew of just three men. This is a bit of a spoiler alert but the ship ended up wrecking and they had to eat somebody.	Edward E. Leslie Neil Hanson
simon schama	Derek Walcott, “Selected Poems” (1964) (not yet reconciled to his going): History without poetry is just information; Walcott had history flowing through nearly every line along with the Caribbean tides, “Omeros” a masterpiece I murmur out loud though Walcott was in no wise a murmurer. Yehoshua Kenaz, “Infiltration,” an astonishing novel by a great Israeli master who ought to be better known, this one set in an army basic training camp populated by recruits all disabled in one way or another; amidst the diamond-sharp dialogue, the horny sweat and sarcasm, a subtle allegory about the perennially vexed issue of strength and Jewishness. Charles Dantzig, “Dictionnaire Égoïste de la Littérature Française,” mordant, funny and often true, with brillliant essays on “emotions” and “adjectives” as well as take-downs of Sartre and encomia to some of my favorites like Albert Cohen. Stephen Greenblatt, “The Rise and Fall of Adam and Eve,” already brilliant enough to make me seethe with envy. Tim Hayward, “Knife: The Culture, Craft and Cult of the Cook’s Knife.” Hayward, one of the two best food writers alive (the other is my old Granta editor Bill Buford), every page a different blade, glintingly pictured and lovingly described. Kitchen porn but not sinister: A cook’s gotta chop, a cook’s gotta mince.	Derek Walcott Yehoshua Kenaz Charles Dantzig Albert Cohen Stephen Greenblatt Adam Tim Hayward
simon sebag montefiore	A crenelated wall of books encircles my bed, its tottering towers looming ever taller, always on the verge of collapsing onto oblivious sleepers. Today it contains “The Arab of the Future,” by Riad Sattouf; “ Russian Criminal Tattoo Encyclopaedia,” by Danzig Baldaev and Sergei Vasiliev; “Americanah,” by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie; “Grant,” by Ron Chernow; “Home Fire,” by Kamila Shamsie; “The President’s Gardens,” by Muhsin al-Ramli; and right now I am reading a scholarly but gripping history of the Wars of Succession after the death of Alexander the Great — “Dividing the Spoils,” by Robin Waterfield.	Riad Sattouf Sergei Vasiliev Ron Chernow Muhsin al-Ramli Danzig Baldaev Robin Waterfield	Kamila Shamsie Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
sloane crosley	An advance copy of “My Year of Rest and Relaxation,” by Ottessa Moshfegh; “Sabbath’s Theater,” by Philip Roth (I know); “The Real Thing,” by Tom Stoppard; and “Nest in the Bones,” by Antonio Di Benedetto. I try not to keep too many books on my nightstand or else I go to sleep and wake up feeling inadequate. I don’t need visual aids for this.	Philip Roth Tom Stoppard Antonio Di Benedetto	Ottessa Moshfegh
sophie ah	“Something Wonderful,” by Todd S. Purdum — the story of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s working relationship. I’ve loved Rodgers and Hammerstein since I was 17, when I starred in a college production of “Oklahoma!” as Ado Annie, the girl who “cain’t say no.” And my obsession with musical theater is growing. “Self-Coaching 101,” by Brooke Castillo. I’ve been listening to Brooke’s podcast, “The Life Coach School,” for a while now. Each week, she tackles a different problem with warmth and insight, and I’m totally addicted to her. She’s quite open about being a real, flawed person and not a guru who has attained perfection. “What You Want to See,” by Kristen Lepionka. This is the second novel to feature the private investigator Roxane Weary, who’s a wonderful character. Lepionka is such an assured writer, with complete narrative authority from the first line.	Todd S. Purdum	Brooke Castillo Kristen Lepionka
steven johnson	I am finally making my way all the way through “The Power Broker,” after reading it in fragments several times in the past. The section on Jones Beach may be the most extraordinary chapter of nonfiction prose I’ve ever read. For a new book I’m writing on long-term decision making, I’m reading Irving Janis’s classic (but out of print) “Victims of Groupthink.” And I’m racing through Tana French’s first Dublin mystery, “In the Woods.”	Irving Janis “The Power Broker,”	Tana French
tana french	My night stand is permanently jammed with books I want to read. Stuff is spilling out onto the floor. Just in the most accessible layer: Michael Chabon’s “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay” (which is what I’m actually reading); Marlon James’s “A Brief History of Seven Killings”; Jennifer Egan’s “A Visit From the Goon Squad”; Karen Perry’s “Girl Unknown”; Sophie Hannah’s new Hercule Poirot mystery, “Closed Casket” (I got a sneaky early copy); and Andrew Michael Hurley’s “The Loney.”	Michael Chabon Marlon James Andrew Michael	Jennifer Egan Karen Perry Sophie Hannah
tayari jones	“In the Wake,” by Christina Sharpe; “Dimestore,” by Lee Smith; “This Will Be My Undoing,” by Morgan Jerkins and “Stories of Scottsboro,” by James Goodman.	James Goodman	Christina Sharpe Lee Smith Morgan Jerkins
tom hanks	“Blue Mars” and “Green Mars” by Kim Stanley Robinson; “April 1865” by Jay Winik; James Baldwin’s “Notes of a Native Son.”	Jay Winik James Baldwin Kim Stanley Robinson
tracy k smith	A tall stack of books I am looking forward to reading and recently finished books I don’t want to let go of. Akhil Sharma’s “A Life of Adventure and Delight,” Valeria Luiselli’s “Tell Me How It Ends,” Xiaolu Guo’s “Nine Continents: A Memoir In and Out of China,” Tayari Jones’s “An American Marriage,” Tarfia Faizullah’s “Registers of Illuminated Villages,” William Brewer’s “I Know Your Kind,” Fernando Valverde’s “Selected Poems.” And Matthew Zapruder’s “Why Poetry?,” Eve L. Ewing’s “Electric Arches,” Jenny Xie’s forthcoming “Eye Level,” Layli Long Soldier’s “Whereas” and Nicole Dennis-Benn’s “Here Comes the Sun.”	William Brewer Fernando Valverde Matthew Zapruder Akhil Sharma	Valeria Luiselli Eve L. Ewing Jenny Xie Nicole Dennis-Benn Xiaolu Guo Tayari Jones Tarfia Faizullah Layli Long Soldier
trevor noah	For fiction I’ve got Colson Whitehead’s “The Underground Railroad” and Paulo Coelho’s “The Alchemist.” For nonfiction I’ve got Jill Leovy’s “Ghettoside,” a fascinating account of life in the L.A.P.D. homicide division that should change the way we all understand the policing problem in America. I also just finished Chuck Klosterman’s “But What if We’re Wrong?” Which is a question I constantly ask myself because: What if we are?	Paulo Coelho Chuck Klosterman Colson Whitehead	Jill Leovy
viet thanh nguyen	You mean my leaning pile of guilt? If a book is on my night stand, it means I haven’t read it and feel like I should. I’m too embarrassed to name them, as some are written by people I know. As for the books that have come off my night stand recently, they are all forthcoming. Here are some books worthy of reading in 2017: Thi Bui’s “The Best We Could Do”; Charmaine Craig’s “Miss Burma”; Don Lee’s “Lonesome Lies Before Us”; Bao Phi’s “Thousand Star Hotel”; Vaddey Ratner’s “Music of the Ghosts”; and Akhil Sharma’s “A Life of Adventure and Delight.”	Don Lee Bao Phi’ Akhil Sharma	Thi Bui Charmaine Craig Vaddey Ratner
walter isaacson	George Washington Cable’s “The Grandissimes,” a novel about a white Creole and his quadroon half-brother with the same name, because I’ve become fascinated by the complex shadings of race and class in 19th-century New Orleans.	George Washington Cable
zadie smith	I’m on a reading jag after a long period of only writing, so there’s a towering “to read” pile: “Sudden Death,” by Álvaro Enrigue; “Using Life,” a novel by the imprisoned Egyptian Ahmed Naje; “Homegoing,” by Yaa Gyasi; “Heroes of the Frontier,” by Dave Eggers; “The Underground Railroad,” by Colson Whitehead; “Diary of the Fall,” by Michel Laub; “The Good Immigrant,” edited by Nikesh Shukla; “Why Nations Fail: The Origins of Power, Prosperity, and Poverty,” by Daron Acemoglu and James A. Robinson; “Birth of a Bridge,” by Maylis de Kerangal; “Known and Strange Things,” by Teju Cole; “The Little Communist Who Never Smiled,” by Lola Lafon; “The Fire This Time,” edited by Jesmyn Ward; “At the Existentialist Café,” by Sarah Bakewell; “Time Reborn,” by Lee Smolin; “Moonglow,” by Michael Chabon; and let’s say the last four or five novels by Marías, several by Krasznahorkai, and — as always — unfinished Proust. I much prefer reading to writing: I can’t wait.	Álvaro Enrigue Dave Eggers Michel Laub Daron Acemoglu James A. Robinson Michael Chabon Ahmed Naje Colson Whitehead Nikesh Shukla Teju Cole Krasznahorkai Proust Marías	Sarah Bakewell Yaa Gyasi Lola Lafon Jesmyn Ward