My youth was consumed by Clive Barker, Stephen King, Anne Rice, H.P. Lovecraft, Dean Koontz, Peter Straub, Richard Layman, and the like. Pretty much, I dedicated myself to "genre fiction", and didn't stray too far outside that realm.
Later on, I discovered new (to me) arena's of fiction. Walter Mosley - love him. John Banville - ditto. Carl Hiaasen - fantastic. Michael Swanwick - Yum. Neil Gaiman - modern-day goodness. It was so fantastic to read these stories by these authors who, in my prejudiced, I would have written off as "uncool".
Now, I have jumped into the fray with Philip K. Dick - he of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, which is the novel that the movie Blade Runner is loosely based on. I am currently reading The Man in the High Castle, which is widely considered to be the seminal work of speculative alt-history fiction. It is such a fantastic book, and I would suggest that anyone who wishes to broaden their horizons when it comes to literature should start up with him. Dick writes from a dangerous place, and it is through this paranoia and preternatural understanding of human frailty and faults that makes (at least the novel I'm reading right now) him great.
I will write a review of this book when I'm finished with it. Until then, pick it up for yourself. You'll be glad you did.