During the summer that nominally finished hours ago, I read Miller’s A canticle for Leibowitz. It is an impressive book in multiple ways. It is also a (sci-fi) writers’ sci-fi book: published in 1959, it seems to have had parts of it lifted by people as diverse as DeLillo, Kubrick (in his Doctor Strangelove), the folks that gave you Mad Max and — surely — Neal Stephenson (in Anathem, more precisely) and Mary Doria Russell (in her underappreciated Sparrow).
This leaves me now with just the two Gore Vidal’s books, a mere four years on.
"... neither reveals nor conceals" 
“1876” is a must read. “Julian” might be sidestepped, I think with the wisdom of years.
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