Oh, books! I also read them!
There are so many interesting suggestions in here! I haven't read a single, really, not one single book of the ones you mentioned. I did read The Gambler by Dostoevsky many years ago, and some Haruki Murakami books I found at the local dump (they weren't that bad), and I know Terry Pratchett exists. And I think I must have read I Spit On Your Graves by Boris Vian, only my copy was in French and my French is not very good. I did get and like the notion of a fake America, built from collective media memory like films and music, though.
I got an ebook reader about a year ago, and ever since then I've been reading a lot of badly formatted and sloppily OCR-scanned pdf copies of the great works of fiction. I just finished Italo Calvino's Castle of Crossed Destinies, which is an amazing collection of metafiction about the act of narrating. Before that, I read the second part of John Updike's Rabbit Tetralogy, a really, really intense book. I had read the first part some years ago and just discovered that Updike wrote one book at each turn of the decade, starting in 1960, and let his characters age in real time, which seems absolutely fascinating to me. It's as much an exercise in writing as it is a part of (fictional) cultural memory, totally embedded in the history of the US.
At the moment I'm reading Post Office by Charles Bukowski, which is great if you like Charles Bukowski, and not really great if you're sitting on a crowded bus with a headache. I have it in pdf form on my ebook reader, which is probably the lousiest way ever to read Charles Bukowski. In case of sudden battery death (which happens all the time and makes me want to break the reader in half, bring it back to the store and say "I only wanted to turn the page!"), I carry The Voices of Marrakesh by Elias Canetti in paper form. It oscillates between beautifully described literary snapshots of the city and moments of unbearable postcolonial gaze upon the "totally foreign and uncomprehensible" people. Like, a black coal vendor standing in front of his coal and you can only make out the eyes. Geez, and that guy was awarded the literary nobel prize?