ian banks starts writing straight novels, yeah slightly strange, a little surreal but straight. and then one day after perfecting his craft into some sort of high art he writes a science fiction book that is fucking brilliant under the name iain m banks, it is a vast space opera set in an society called the culture, a utopian socialist ideal, i'd like to live there man. 
the novels are published alternatively with his straight novels, one a year, they span galaxies and each story is remarkably different than the last. humans just live well, on orbitals, space ships and planets, artificial intelligence is everywhere and runs the show, spaceships have personalities and a collective intelligence called the mind, there are no secrets. i read them all except the second one which is called 'player of games.'
i'm not sure why that one slipped past me, but i have just finished reading it and it really matched all my expectations. the inner science fiction circles all say this is a work of genius and i agree, it's very good.
a player of games is asked by special circumstances, the branch of the culture that deals mostly with trouble to represent them in a game on a newly discovered planet where the game is life itself. we follow our player as he is forced to make a decision and participate in this strange alien world. is he the player of games or is he being played in a game? 
banks writes really well, his imagination is unlimited and he knows how to make his readers laugh. those inner sci fi chaps are spot on, this is a classic read.