I have come to the sad conclusion that I am an airhead.
I have just been glancing through the books on John's side of the bed, and they include: Why Us? by James le Fanu ("how science discovers the mystery of ourselves"); The New Machiavelli by Jonathan Powell ("how to wield power in the modern world"); State of Emergency by Dominic Sandbrook ("the way we were: Britain 1970-1974"). There's also The Tommy Cooper Joke Book (probably a Christmas present) and Andrea Levy's The Long Song (which I want him to read because I loved it).
On my side, there's The Summerhouse Trilogy (Alice thomas Elis); The Beginning of Spring (Penelope Fitzgerald); Why We Ride ("women writers on the horses in their lives") ; Writing Magazine; and a book and CD on improving my French, which I've had for a year and have hardly looked at.