Samuel R. Delany, Stars in My Pocket like Grains of SandThe Delany was research and I really enjoyed it*; I've had difficulty sometimes with his novels but for a while after reading this one I kept wanting to go back and spend time in that world. (Which is unlikely, alas, since he doesn't publicly expect to write the sequel.) The Coetzee was for class.
Emma Bull, Falcon
Diana Wynne Jones, The Homeward Bounders (reread)
JM Coetzee, Disgrace
(* This has not been a universal experience. It turns out I can't stand Spider Robinson's writing anymore, at least when he's writing about sex. I read over a bunch but not all of Callahan's Lady anyway, because I'm feeling dedicated and quixotic.)
I hadn't read The Homeward Bounders for long enough that my memory was more of a description of it than of the experience of reading. I've kept naming it when people ask me which books are her best kind of on faith, and in fact it really is one of those, in large part because it is (despite being the sort of children's fantasy that never even swears) so willing to be brutal.