There is a gap between new fiction and old classics. For instance, Shade Those Laurels is an unfinished novel by Cyril Connolly finished by Peter Levi. Entirely forgotten now.
I have just finished reading it, and really enjoyed it.
"Creepers and climbers mostly... so feeble and so aimless, yet they get exactly where they want; they rise by doodling: oh the cruel strength of the weak!"
"...the manna of humanism which made everything else seem either insipid or bitter."
"...it's so terrible, the wickedness in the world. And because we in England are kinder and saner than anyone else we're in the greatest danger."
"The public still want book reviews although they don't want books".
"...action is what defines a man."