Just finished a re-read of Haldeman's Forever War. If you haven't read it, know that its status as a classic is justified (although it's of little use to the cheery scribes at Hallmark or the US Army's ad agency,) but that it's not the kind of book you'd pick up for a quick afternoon cheer-me-up. (Although I always find it darkly uplifting in its own subversive way...)
I especially like the poke in the eye it gives to Clarke's hive-mind Ideal Future; instead, it celebrates the earthy joys that make, say, Heinlein such a pleasure to read.
Faithful Reader: "Gee, Tam, don't you read any books that suck?"
Tam the Blogger: "Not since Jennifer Government. I have a zillion-book personal library to draw on for emergency re-reads during dry spells until I've mined the Pournelle/Anderson/Card vein dry at the local used-book-o-rama. Once I have to start picking new authors by jacket blurbs again, expect the disrespectful reviews to start cropping up like daisies."