I've read about 200 of them.
There are loads on there I haven't heard of - and plenty which I will never read (Guns of Navarone? The Mask of Zorro?). I couldn't fathom the categories either, or why there were four novels by Dashiel Hammett on there but only two by Raymond Chandler. And they've missed my favourite Hemingway novel, The Sun Also Rises.
An exercise like this is always pointless, though. I can't imagine why anyone would plough their way through this list, which makes it a dry, soulless exercise in box-ticking. I'd rather delve at the back of a musty old bookshop and find a gem amongst the dog-eared copies of Jaws, or heed somebody's recommendation of a book they've just read and which they have to evangelise about, or even grab something from the shelf in WH Smith's cos it has a shiny cover and I've only got five minutes before my train arrives.
Still, it keeps the Guardian's writers out of trouble, fills a bit of space and stimulates debate.