Ten books that impacted me.

I'm a voracious reader; I have been since high school. My book collection therefore totals over 100 titles, but if I had to recommend just ten that have left the greatest impression on me, these would be them. In no order, besides alphabetical by author's surname:

This story of an English boy in apartheid-era South Africa who overcomes prejudice of his own as a boxing champion and also joins the blacks in their fight against the system, drawn from Courtenay's own life, is a deeply inspiring yet unabashedly angry and defiantly unsentimental coming-of-age story like no other. However, avoid the film adaptation at all costs.

The biggest-selling science fiction novel ever published, Herbert's 1965 epic began a long series and had a clear influence on many later literary and cinematic SF series, but even today makes a fresh, unique statement all by itself. But avoid the film adaptation of this one also.

Famously written on a scroll of teletype paper, this 1957 saga of sex, jazz and personal discovery across the Western US landscape became a cornerstone of Beat Generation culture and fully retains its original charm and resonance. Kerouac's narrative style, which he called "spontaneous prose," isn't for all tastes, but for a free spirit like me it provides an absolute rush.

Ms. Le Guin is probably my favourite writer. This 1974 stunner, part of her celebrated Hainish Cycle of novels, was her first work I read, and I was instantly obsessed. Incorporating themes of linguistic relativity, mind control, political and class warfare and gender and race relations it's definitely esoteric, but if esoteric SF is your thing, it will be catnip for you. It follows young physicist Shevek, who journeys from Anarres to its sister planet Urras to further his work and research, but instead becomes a pawn in a plot to overthrow its capitalist society.

I know, this is such a cliched inclusion. But even after all the acclaim and historic sales, it will have the same meaning and relevance a century from now, and its personal meaning for Lee is unmistakable throughout. It's a flawlessly written and plotted snapshot of a bygone era - and, sadly, also ours.

I first tried to read this in Year 10, but at 751 pages I couldn't finish it then due to time. But I tried again in university, and despite already knowing the resolution, even after such length I wanted more. Political autobiographies understandably get a bad wrap usually for several reasons, but Mandela tells his remarkable story with genuine charisma and eloquence, and you will be profoundly inspired. Reading this is like sitting with your long-lost grandfather beside a roaring fireplace as he offers you much-needed wisdom about life.

I know, yet another cliched inclusion. But as with To Kill a Mockingbird, this gem changed the world and will continue to change lives. Holden may be the most cynical protagonist in all of fiction, but he is all-too realistic, and as a Mary Sue he offers a very sharp insight into Salinger's background and mindset. No matter what (or who) it has inspired over the years, The Catcher in the Rye remains seminal and flawless - and it was published on my birthday (but not the same year, obviously)!

I understand why this remains so polarizing, even after the film trilogy was so popular. Tolkien was a very dense and perfectionistic writer; maybe even a pedantic one. But whether it's because I'm an autistic geek or not (and it took me nearly a year to finish the whole thing; I started it after seeing the movies, too), I was riveted the entire way. Underneath the fairly simple premise of the quest to destroy the One Ring, it's a timeless allegory for political and mental corruption, and a celebration of friendship, unity and romance. Love or loathe it, The Lord of the Rings is unshakable.

In 2010, Lt. Col. Mark M. Weber, after a distinguished career in the U.S. Army, was diagnosed with stage IV intestinal cancer and given two years to live. He subsequently chose to write some letters to his three young sons, to help them through life after he was gone. Those letters became this memoir. Now, I'm a pacifist who usually hates books consisting of letters, but suffice it to say, until I read this, no book had ever made me cry.

This saga of two post-WWII Australian families, the Lambs and the Pickleses, stoically surviving and growing over twenty years in a shared house called Cloudstreet, cemented Winton's career as a giant of Aussie fiction and made waves across the world. It evokes the era and culture with superb authenticity, and with how it proves there's much more to family than blood, no wonder it's become one of Australia's best-loved classics.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #62: Dead Man Walking (1995).

Sister Helen Prejean (Susan Sarandon in her Oscar-winning performance) is a New Orleans nun working with the local penal system. After meeting death-row inmate Matthew Poncelet (Sean Penn, in what should've been his first), incarcerated for the rape and murder of a teenage couple, Prejean agrees to become his spiritual advisor to help him achieve redemption. When not meeting with Poncelet, she tries to connect with his casualties' parents, Clyde and Mary Beth Percy (R. Lee Ermey and Celia Weston) and Earl Delacroix (Raymond J. Barry), and Poncelet's mother Lucille (Roberta Maxwell). All these interactions make her fully aware of just how much he needs her help and whether his life can be spared.

Dead Man Walking is surely one of the most profound and moving films I have ever seen. My first viewing of it was rather embarrassing, actually, as it was in my university's library and by the end I was a mess. Writer-director Tim Robbins (of course Sarandon's then-partner) was nominated for the Best Director Oscar himself, and I think he should've won it (he lost to Mel Gibson for Braveheart). His approach is weirdly but suitably dichotomous: he doesn't try to sway opinion on capital punishment either way, treating that issue rather neutrally, but he infuses the intimate scenes between Helen and Matthew with such beautiful tenderness and grace that the emotional wallop is absolutely palpable, and the rape and murder are depicted unflinchingly. His screenplay, based on Prejean's book, is also intelligently constructed.

Sarandon expertly brings dignity and a quiet authority to Prejean, but for me Penn, in his bravest role ever, is all-time great here. To go from an openly racist, bloodthirsty country-boy child killer and rapist whom Prejean initially finds secretive to a very vulnerable, remorseful man (although the film asserts his guilt from the start) is about as hard as character arcs come, and he delivers a miracle. As great as Nicolas Cage is in Leaving Las Vegas, for me Penn topped him and Sean has had a much better career since. Roberta Maxwell is also very solid as Lucille Poncelet, and keep an eye out for a young Jack Black as one of Poncelet's brothers and a young Peter Sarsgaard as Walter Delacroix.

Dead Man Walking is absorbing, sincere, brave, compassionate and exceptionally powerful; arguably the best movie of 1995. It will never, ever leave you.

Pure cowardice.

What's one of the first things we hear after nearly every shooting massacre, at least in the US, about the perpetrator? That they ended it by turning the gun on themselves. The first major international one in my lifetime, Columbine in 1999, ended that way, as I'm sure many previous ones did. Since then, the 2006 Amish schoolhouse massacre in Pennsylvania, the 2007 Virginia Tech massacre, Sandy Hook in 2012, the 2013 Ilsa Vista killings, the Pulse nightclub tragedy and last month's massacre in Las Vegas, to name but a few, have continued the trend. And I'm glad their perpetrators all suffered.

But I wish it had come in another form. Because whatever a mass shooter's motivations, be they political or psychiatric, by blowing their own brains out immediately after the fact, they show pure cowardice. It's their way, I believe, of not having to really face the music. This time, the scum behind the Sutherland Springs, Texas church massacre Devin Kelley was actually fatally shot by a civilian as he left the site, contrary to what the media has reported. I suppose that's somewhat better, but only just.

If you do the crime, you shouldn't just have to also do the crime. You should have to face the legacy of the damage you've inflicted. And most of all, whether for rehabilitation or humility and compassion, you should at least hang around to endure it.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #61: Fresh Meat (2012).

Teenage Rina Crane (Hanna Tevita) returns home from a school break to learn her Maori parents Margaret (Nicola Kawana) and Hemi (Temuera Morrison) have embraced a new lifestyle. But it isn't new age spirituality, and definitely not veganism. Their carnivorous ways have turned into cannibalism! Rina is understandably shocked and very hesitant to embrace it herself, particularly when she discovers brainwashed younger brother Glenn (Kahn West) has joined their dad in making the basement into a human abattoir. Things get even worse when a gang of bumbling burglars target the Crane household, not realising they could soon be on the menu.

There are movies that could only have been made in one country, and the devilishly bloodthirsty but entertaining Fresh Meat from New Zealand is such a flick. Debuting director Danny Mulheron takes to the mix of horror and comedy like a kid with a new toy, infusing Briar Grace Smith, Brad Abraham and Joseph O'Brien's screenplay with ferocious energy and letting the blood flow with relish. He and his cast also, thankfully, work hard to keep equal emphasis on the Cranes' dynamics and the performances are all great fun with real chemistry to be seen. The one and only Temuera Morrison particularly spices things up as a comic spin on his Jake "The Muss" Heke role in 1994's Once Were Warriors, with Hemi getting more and more dangerous as the film progresses. Another contrived but very appropriate and funny set-up involves Rina's white, wannabe Maori, vegetarian friend Shaun (Will Robertson), who's madly in love with her, joining the Cranes for dinner.

Obviously, you yourself would never want to be in Shaun's position (unless you were Dr. Hannibal Lecter), or the robbers'. But if you can stomach it, this Fresh Meat will leave you wanting seconds.

Trumping his own previous low standards.

As you know, this week New York City again was the target of a terrorist act: Uzbek Sayfullo Saipov driving through a Lower Manhattan crowd, with eight fatalities. And how did President Trump respond? By announcing a plan to scrap the Green Card immigrant residency program. Now, I probably won't be saying anything original here, but hopefully I'll say it in an original way.

There are three blindingly obvious things wrong here. Firstly, it's clear prejudice, and a sort that will punish the many for the actions of the few. Secondly, like so many previous (and fellow current) right-wingers, it reestablishes just how fucking deluded and proudly ignorant he is. Saipov's actions were horrific, and my heart goes out to all the casualties and their loved ones, but he understandably wanted revenge. Revenge on America for all the violent, corrupt imperialism they, and too many other Western nations, have undertaken in the Middle East. Do you want no retribution? Well, then, just fucking withdraw from there permanently and sincerely apologise.

Finally, besides the Indians, all Americans are or are descended from immigrants. Maybe it is high time you all remembered and celebrated that fact. Starting with your dickhead Commander-in-Chief.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #60: Two Hands (1999).

19-year-old Jimmy (Heath Ledger) is a bouncer in Kings Cross, Sydney, doing odd jobs on the side for local mob boss Pando (Bryan Brown), while the spirit of his late older brother narrates and looks on. After meeting new girl in town Alex (Rose Byrne), Jimmy's instantly smitten. But when he loses ten grand of Pando's dirty money at the beach en route to delivering it, he's really wanted. Now Jimmy will have to use more than his fists to escape from this fix - even if most of Pando's mob are true liabilities.

Writer-director Gregor Jordan was just 33 when he released this energetic and viciously funny Aussie spin on the crime caper in 1999. Two scenes are particularly hilarious: one involving a gun mishap, the other a robbery that goes so wrong it puts those in Pulp Fiction and even Dog Day Afternoon to shame. But underneath this, it also features distinctive but nuanced and relatable characters who are all memorably portrayed. Ledger (RIP) and Byrne infuse their breakthrough roles with charisma and vulnerability, but easily making mincemeat of them both is the explosive Bryan Brown. Pando is the role he was born to play, and he deservedly won an Australian Film Institute (as it was then known) Best Supporting Actor gong for his work (the movie won Best Film).

Two Hands also makes a profound and sobering statement on how criminals are made, with its subplot about two hoodlum street kids. It's an accurate crime flick with a proudly Australian flavour that also manages to be a flawless satire.