To be fair, my criteria for it being my most favouritest book ever was that I read it in Greece in the late 80s whilst sitting on a beach which had two pert, topless, blonde Scandanavian birds running around. The fact that I was able to read it with that sort of distraction was impressive, I thought.
A Bright Shining Lie would be up there, as well. I really do prefer American writers for some reason.