4. You're having an open house party and I'm invited. As I arrive, I notice that the (front) door (to your place, flat, suite, room) is kept wide open by a book, which book is it?
Through some sort of miracle, this imaginary dinner party comes into being (though I think I would make a few swaps; Tennesse Williams and Mae West don't quite hold my attention as much as David Bowie and Jennifer Saunders). While I'm finishing primping in the mirror with my significant other (who ever that may be), I decide to prop open the door, with a note saying to come on in and make themselves a drink. I reach over to the bookshelf (I love old books).
I reach down, and grab this monstrosity of a book, House of Leaves and throw it in front of the door, propping it up. To paraphase Dorothy Parker (who will be attending the dinner party), this is not a book to be tossed aside lightly, but thrown with great force. It's an ugly disgusting book for ugly disgusting people. I won't even bother to give you a synopsis, but it's fucked up and way too long.
The author's sister, Poe, released a soundtrack album which I am fond of. That's probably the only reason why I bought that damn book. I'd never read it, so at least it has some value as a doorstop. Which is the only thing that book is good for.