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Vineland (Classic, 20th-Century, Penguin)
Thomas Pynchon
Tristes Tropiques
Claude Lévi-Strauss, Patrick Wilcken, John Weightman, Doreen Weightman
Richard III
William Shakespeare
The Dwarf
Alexandra Dick, Pär Lagerkvist
The Collected Poems of Wilfred Owen
Wilfred Owen, Cecil Day-Lewis
Labyrinths
Richard Wolin
Giotto to Dürer: Early Renaissance Painting in the National Gallery
Jill Dunkerton, Susan Foister, Dillian Gordon, Nicholas Penny
Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics
Hubert L. Dreyfus, Paul Rabinow
Gravity's Rainbow
Thomas Pynchon
A Gravity's Rainbow Companion: Sources and Contexts for Pynchon's Novel
Steven Weisenburger
The Man in the High Castle - Philip K. Dick (Best to skip the review and go right to the comments!)

Dick seems to have been a very good writer who could have been a magnificient writer -- but who just had too much of the hack in him. He had an astonishinly fertile and vivid imagination, and the ability to bring the reader to a seriousness that is utterly convincing, only to descend into useless plot twists, pseudo-mysticisms (iChing, and the like. It appears, in fact, as if he would start with a great idea, a few star paragraphs (like Baynes' account of fascism at 41ff.; the account of the Nazi leadership in 1962, where Tagomi gets ill; the hotel scene in Electric), and a lot of blank paper -- and that he would then just start typing. The result is, the plot goes off in directions that are neither planned nor intentional, like a pinball... and that sometimes this would work and often it would not, and you'd end up with stray characters and plot strands (as here), or with a recoil..., that is, with a very self-conscious fear of the genuine and wonderful pathos he had himself unleashed (see my review of Electric Sheep). In other words, he (Dick) lacked discipline as a writer. Perhaps he was too inventive and thought it didn't matter -- (but it does matter). Or maybe there was a certain fatal insecurity beneath the swagger.... I don't know...

I have no idea if this is correct. And I'm certainly willing to read more of him. It's certainly a far cry better than most of the SF I've read this month. Still, I'm left with a certain sadness -- of missed opportunities.