There isn’t a single book that I always give as a gift.  I often give books as presents, but there’s nearly always an attempt to suit the gift to the recipient.  Isn’t the urge to give the same book to everyone a secular version of the Gideons, or of those evangelical characters in Dickens who are always handing out their tracts to people?  In that vein, the vein of spreading the word, I’ll admit I have gifted one copy of J. H. Prynne’s Poems and one copy of R. F. Langley’s Collected Poems, but that’s about the limit, and the puzzled response to the Langley book suggested it should stop.  There’s one author whose works I’ve consistently given to people, especially to my partner and my parents, and that’s me; but even then I choose a different work each time.