Vintage Stuff by Tom Sharpe

so-so.  first half strong, second half falters. as the line goes from Bad Santa, "They can't all be winners, kid."

The Great Pursuit by Thom Sharpe

Another winner, this time squarely in the sights is the world of authorship, publishing -- and penmanship. All farce-y and crazy until the last 30 pages, when it takes on a new serious weight of its own and Sharpe pulls some Borges-ian tricks out.  Mirrors, copies of copies, posthumous pre-quel diaries by dead men.  Has to be read to be believed. Profoundly funny.

Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff

Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself,
And so shall starve with feeding.

Groff writes terrific brainy evocative prose.  Seems incapable of less than a shining sentence.

The cabdriver, his nose besponged by pores, looked at her for a long while in the rearview mirror and asked her if she was all right.  When she didn't answer, he said soothingly, "You may cry here, cabbage.  Cry as much as you wish.  It is no hardship to watch a pretty woman cry."

Overwhelming, at times though, in how rich the outer and inner lives of her characters seem.  Mathilde, for one:  a super-sweet character:

She did mind something she never said out loud:  she'd wished her husband was better at what he chose to do.

"And she can fuck herself lingeringly with a white-hot pitchfork.  In her dark shit-star of an asshole," Mathilde said.