PECKERWOOD BOOK CLUB: What Are Your Favorite Trashy Books? Plus "The Fury!"

Welcome, fellow book sluts, to the latest edition of "The Peckerwood Book Club!" Let's get right into it: who's your favorite trashy author? Or your favorite trashy books, the ones you can't resist, no matter how scorned they may be by friends or reviewers? Dearly departed critic Pauline Kael was once asked the same question and responded that she only read non-fiction and literary novels, since "movies more than satisfy my craving for trash." I believe her. I also believe that my craving for trash is not as easily sated as hers was.

How else do I explain my teen devotion to "Lucky Santangelo," the sexy, gutsy-as-all-get-out heroine of ten compelling Jackie Collins novels? Ten! Or my ravenous consumption of Ken Follett thrillers or anything by Sidney Sheldon? And I could go on forever about the irresistible Dominick Dunne. I think I've read "The Two Mrs. Grenvilles" at least four times over the years. And yes, I much prefer his work to that of his supposedly more high-minded brother and sister-in-law, John Gregory Dunne and Joan Didion, respectively, the later whose "Play It As It Lays" is perhaps the silliest "great book" of all time. But I digress!

The point is, good trash is to be treasured and celebrated. I've had many sleepless nights when excellent trashy books have gotten me through, or delighted me at airport lounges, or kept me on edge in the subway, or in the tub, or anywhere it's possible to lap up an unputdownable yarn. I'll even admit to tearing through "The Da Vinci Code," marveling at Dan Brown's sometimes twelve sentence chapters, and I'm a sucker for Gillian Flynn thrillers and Michael Crichton's sci-fi opuses. I do have my limits. I've never enjoyed James Patterson or Dean Koontz, for instance, and Lee Child's "Reacher" books leave me cold. But then good trash is in the eye of the beholder. And for me, it's a must. It can't all be Ian McEwan, Toni Morrison or Jeffrey Eugenides, right?

Speaking of good trash for late night or a long subway ride, "The Fury," by Alex Michaelides, truly satisfies.

In this brisk, old-fashioned murder-mystery set on a private Greek Island, Lana, a beautiful movie queen, is found dead from three gunshot wounds - and everyone in her small group of servants and invited close friends, including a lovestruck playwright and a fellow actress, is a suspect. So far, so familiar, but like the original "Knives Out" movie, this chocolate bonbon of a novel delivers the glossy mystery goods with panache and several startling twists and turns. With its overheated scenario, which is helpfully buffeted by luxurious settings in Greece and moneyed London, you get the patina of insider showbiz sniping, plus the spectacle of two glamorous, aging stars fighting over the same man, as well as two men fighting over one seriously glamorous star.

They include Lana, the childhood star turned untouchable movie goddess, since retired and moving through the world in a suitably vainglorious manner. There’s also Kate, the bawdy, hard-drinking stage star and Lana’s good friend, who's secretly sleeping with Lana’s husband; and Barbara, perhaps the campiest character, a preening, aging Barbara Cartland-type novelist who rescues Elliot, a dashing, starving playwright, from the streets and brings him to her bed. The novel is a shuffled deck of cards, moving from present to past and back again with remarkable ease. Whodunit? It wasn't a huge surprise to me, but the ride was thoroughly entertaining. Is it one for the ages? Of course not. It doesn't need to be. 

Meanwhile, your cheerful Bibliophile Bendy Boy™ is yearning for hot trash, so you know what you to do. Who are your favorite trashy authors or books? And what are the good trashy books you're reading right now? Don't hold back. 

Photo Credits: Celadon/Macmillan; Shutterstock