The 47 books I read for my MFA, ranked
Four semesters & now a list
Regan’s newsletter publishes book recommendations on a theme and the occasional essay. Past newsletters have covered building translator syllabi, reading routine, author completionism, and more.
Hello again! It’s been just a little while since my last newsletter, but I am very excited to be back in your inbox. I wrapped up my final semester of grad school this month and will be spending the summer writing and teaching; my thesis (the novel) is due in August, and after August the plan is more teaching, more writing. And of course, I’m always reading.
Over the past few months, I’ve started maybe ten different newsletter drafts that are just sitting and waiting for me to finish them up, and then earlier this week, the wise Substack algorithm ushered me towards Cristin White’s very fun piece, “Ranking All 70 Books I Read for My MFA.” All of a sudden I had a new draft open and found myself sorting all the books I’d read for my own MFA into ranked categories. So thank you, Cristin, for the inspiration!!
Go give her list a read—
Before I get down to it, some logistics
I’m not including:
Assigned books that I didn’t finish, even if I read half or over half or almost to the end (however confident I am I’ll return to them someday); a few at the top of my priority list include Theresa Hak Kyung Cha’s Dictee, Jane Bowles’s Two Serious Ladies, Norman Rush’s Mating, and the essay collection on translation Violent Phenomena
Any single short stories, groupings of stories, or books from which I was only assigned excerpts
Books I’d already read before the program and didn’t end up re-reading in full when they were assigned (gems incl. Giovanni’s Room, The Lover, Middlemarch, & more)
I am including:
Books I’d read before the program then re-read when assigned
A few books I ended up reading in full after professors assigned excerpts or partial collections
My only other note is that, unlike Cristin’s own precise and commendable list, the order of titles within each of my categories doesn’t mean anything. I think I’d actually combust if I were forced to decide on one true and final favorite.
& without further delay!…
Sorry but I did not like these books (which is not to say they are without merit)
Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs - I can admire the way Burroughs changed the game for transgressive lit while still admitting this was one of the most unpleasant reading experiences I’ve ever had.
The Names by Don DeLillo - I liked White Noise a while back, but I just don't think things are working out between Mr. DeLillo and me and that is ok. I can hardly think of any other book I’ve found this annoying.
Cosmopolis by Don DeLillo - This wasn’t for me either. I’ll admit I listened to the audiobook, though, and the narrator’s faux-husky voice could’ve been what put the last nail in the coffin for me. Still, I really can’t imagine how I’d devil’s-advocate my way into appreciating this one.
Hausfrau by Jill Alexander Essbaum - This book is divisive, but I remain in the camp that the Anna Karenina/Madame Bovary-esque energy Essbaum is going for here simply doesn’t work in a contemporary story the way she’s desperate for it to—because women are no longer dependent on their relationships (esp. not this protagonist) the way they were hundreds of years ago, society isn’t constrictive in the way it once was, etc. Everything could’ve been solved if she got a job or hobby! This book drove me nuts.
Frisk by Dennis Cooper - This one is graphic and honestly pretty horrific. Yes, I recommend Dennis Cooper, but start with The Sluts! which I felt I could stomach better—Frisk doesn’t feature any of the inventive form, alluring mystery, or strange humor that The Sluts uses to bring readers toward its content (more on that one below).
Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald - I read this in high school, didn’t like it, but figured I might be a fan this time around, which I wasn’t. I found myself intrigued more so by the differently structured versions Fitzgerald wrote, both of which were ultimately published, rather than any aspects of the story, characters, style, etc.
So I wasn’t hooked but I swear there are things I appreciate & admire about each
Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton - This one was a reread for me. As ever, Wharton’s prose and descriptions are beautiful, but I still find Ethan Frome underwhelming (and the tragic ending… a little silly! Sorry!).
The Shadow Line by Joseph Conrad - Perfect if you’re looking for an unexpectedly spooky little novella with a hearty dose of seafaring.
Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad - I was intrigued for the first third—maybe even the first half—especially when paying attention to the novel’s narrative structure and first-person POV, but I took a break from Lord Jim at the end of a semester and when I finally picked it back up, it was a slog to get to the end.
The Fox by D.H. Lawrence - Lovely prose, depressing little novella.
The Ministry of Fear by Graham Greene - Reading Greene here felt like an upgrade from my only other experience with detective noir (not a Dashiell Hammett fan unfortunately), but it might be that the genre is just not my cup of tea.
Adua by Igiaba Scego, trans. Jamie Richards - An informative and original novel about a Somali immigrant in Rome and the impact of Italian colonialism in Africa, weaving between decades.
Indian Summer by William Dean Howells - A late 19th-century novel that reads like fanfiction (the good, the bad, the ugly): love triangles, miscommunication, long conversations that circle the same unspoken things time and time again, big parties, self-loathing, etc. I enjoyed this, but never in an especially serious way; I was amused but ready to be done by the end.
Seize the Day by Saul Bellow - I understood quickly I was reading Bellow for the sheer magic of his sentences rather than any other aspect of the novella.
I undoubtedly enjoyed these, they just didn’t quite linger with me long enough to join my personal canon
Axiomatic by Maria Tumarkin - This essay collection has a much looser, more associative, and occasionally diaristic style but still reminded me of Rachel Aviv’s Strangers to Ourselves.
The Enlightenment of Kazuo Nakayatsu by Higa Augusto Oshira, trans. Jennifer Shyue - I never managed to adjust to the claustrophobic, paragraph-long, repetitive rhythms of the sentences here, but I nonetheless admired Oshiro’s poetic prose/Shyue’s translation, the way it meanders and descends. “When death comes, it will have your eyes.”
The Pine Islands by Marion Poschmann, trans. Jen Calleja - This was another reread for me, and I was prepared for the protagonist’s grating personality this time around. The novella is a slim, interesting take on the “man leaves everything to find himself” trope as he travels impulsively from German to Japan, and I appreciated that classmates offered a couple of interpretations I hadn’t considered.
Chronicle of a Death Foretold by Gabriel García Márquez, trans. Gregory Rabassa - I enjoyed the weirdness and brutality and detail here—and the narrative frame of reportage—but never found myself entirely engrossed.
Spatriati by Mario Desiati, trans. Michael Moore - Although set in contemporary Italy and Germany (mostly), I felt there was a classic, almost Victorian aspect to the narration of this novel—which is about queerness, intimacy, and intense friendships across time.
A Blind Salmon by Julia Wong Kcomt, trans. Jennifer Shyue - A collection of stunning, surprising multilingual poetry that moves across cultures.
These books were very engaging; I found myself underlining, annotating, and eager to discuss—and I will likely find a way to recommend them to you
Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography by Roland Barthes, trans. Richard Howard - This text came up on the syllabi of multiple courses, and I’ll forever be viewing art and literature through the lenses of studium and punctum as a result.
Suite for Barbara Loden by Nathalie Léger, trans. Natasha Lehrer & Cécile Menon - A captivating layered portrait of a director and actress, her film’s protagonist, the real woman the film is based on, and the author herself.
Stranger Faces by Namwali Serpell - This “undelivered lecture” was academic and referential in a way I found surprising and exciting (188 footnotes/citations across 163 pages). The last two essays of five were my favorites: on Herzog’s film The Grizzly Man and on emojis.
Blood and Guts in High School by Kathy Acker - I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Acker is like a punk-rock Clarice Lispector x Kurt Vonnegut hybrid—but really, she’s unlike anyone I’ve read.
Dubliners by James Joyce - I have no doubt I’ll return to this collection for a reread! Its stories feature the best kind of “slice of life” fiction: moving, grating, immersive, unexpected. Of course, “The Dead” is a standout.
The Sluts by Dennis Cooper - I read through this in a haze that I'm hoping will have prevented certain images and scenes from sinking into my memory. Still, skirting around a lot of the really really horrific content, this was a page-turner. The form (online posts, message boards, emails) was brilliant and at times, shockingly, very funny. I felt totally pulled into unravelling the puzzle Cooper's set out for us to solve, with twists and new characters at all the right moments.
Dust Sucker by Jen Calleja - Why is it that I’m always surprised when I feel moved by poetry! Calleja’s book-length poem about mortality, infertility, translation, etc. made me slow way down to focus in on every line.
Notes of a Crocodile by Qiu Miaojin, trans. Bonnie Hue - I found this diaristic account of a queer Taiwanese university student’s life in the late 80s to be striking, sticky, and lively yet difficult.
Cowboy Graves: Three Novellas by Roberto Bolaño, trans. Natasha Wimmer - I remember feeling like I was in a sort of suspended state after finishing this collection: admiring of Bolaño’s work and glad for the experience although on wobbly footing re: what I felt I could take away from it. Perhaps due for a revisit sometime.
Death in Venice by Thomas Mann, trans. Michael Henry Heim - Imagine a season of White Lotus about an aging writer vacationing in a plague-stricken Venice and getting his hair dyed, makeup put on in hopes of catching the attention of a beautiful young boy; and simultaneously, it’s about mythology, spiritual realization, the pursuit of aesthetic perfection, obsession and art-making, etc.
Chemistry by Weike Wang - Reading this little novel about a PhD student grappling with her desires, aspirations, and expectations was like teetering back and forth on a seesaw, anticipating at which of two conclusions the story would eventually land.
Lines of Flight by Madhu Kaza - I will never not enjoy an experimental essay-pamphlet-manifesto about the art of translation.
There’s something that keeps pulling me back toward these (recurring, spiraling bouts of obsession); there’s a good chance I’ve already recommended them to you
These Possible Lives by Fleur Jaeggy, trans. Minna Zallman Proctor - Tell me you aren’t also spellbound by the idea of Jaeggy having written whimsical, deeply researched, and dreamlike life-spanning biographies-in-miniature of Thomas De Quincey, John Keats, and Marcel Schwob.
Hell Has No Limits by José Donoso, trans. Suzanne Jill Levine - This 1960s novel zooms way in on a cast of misfit characters living in a Chilean olive-growing town: a transgender sex worker, her daughter, politicians and landowners, nosy neighbors, &c.
A Woman’s Story by Annie Ernaux, trans. Tanya Leslie - Another reread: I will forever be transfixed by the way Ernaux pulls readers into the details and routines of an individual’s life, creating a portrait that reflects Ernaux, her relationship to the subject, but also the individual—here, her mother—as starkly real and independent from her, too.
Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima, trans. Meredith Weatherby - A deeply disturbing but strangely transcendent Japanese classic about a young man’s coming of age and sexuality pre- and during WWII.
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark - Fun, smart, hilarious, and so witty. What’s not to love. I’ll be reaching for more Muriel Spark this summer.
Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert, trans. Lydia Davis - Flaubert and Davis are having fun and it shows. Literature with a capital “L.”
This Little Art by Kate Briggs - Kate Briggs, the genius you are. This is a fascinating collage of fragmented essay and thought about translation—but also about thinking itself, about writing, about art and living and the practices we take on in our lives and the joy (and nuance) they can bring to us.
Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, trans. Pevear and Volokhonsky - Have I ever before read such a long novel so quickly! Consumed Tolstoy with the intensity of binge-watching a favorite limited series.
The select few absolute favorites I’ve been thinking and talking about since the moment I turned their last pages
Shade and Breeze by Quynh Tran, trans. Kira Josefsson - What’s sticking with me all these months later: sharp photographic memories, how we see our childhood in snapshots; the adolescent sensation of going somewhere new, wondering for how long; Má, the narrator’s older brother Hieu, and the feeling of being at the sidelines, always only watching; hot air, the girl’s red hair, the apartment, the aunties in the woods. A poetic, atmospheric dreamscape, grounded in real story and tension.
The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford - A twisty tale about two couples that takes readers backward and forward in time. I was startled by how contemporary Ford’s classic felt, despite being written over a century ago: love affairs, deception, quick shocks, cliffhangers, and reveals told in fractured fragments. Loved how much I hated these characters, especially our unreliable narrator.
Blue Light Hours by Bruna Dantas Lobato - This has become a comfort novel of mine. A campus classic that encapsulates the tenderness of starting something new, feeling uncertain, and eventually beginning to understand oneself. But nothing big—beauty in the mundane, etc. And Dantas Lobato’s novel is nothing if not tender, beautiful, quotidian.
A Book of Common Prayer by Joan Didion - I fell deep, deep into this novel and, however many hours later, finishing it, felt like I was coming up for air. Hypnotic.
Say Translation is Art by Sawako Nakayasu - Another translation manifesto I find myself returning to time and time again:
“Say translation as process, say translation as pedagogy, translation as pastime, translation as navel gazing, translation as close reading, translation as language study, as therapy, as training, mouthing, wearing, playing, running, jumping, skipping, translation as amateur sport, translation as playing in a field, as dancing at a club (LNND), as not site but zone (EA), as porous, fluid syntax, translation verbs over all over the place nouns.”
The Wall by Marlen Haushofer, trans. Shaun Whiteside - The post-apocalyptic pastoral of my dreams. If a book were written to tick boxes down a list of everything I’d find compelling, this might just be the result.
Berlin Childhood around 1900 by Walter Benjamin, trans. Howard Eiland - Vignettes of a pre-war childhood encompassing domestic and public spaces. I so admire the way Benjamin’s writer’s voice intertwines with his childhood observation and memory, and the way his retroactive knowledge of what is to come presses in against the edges of each small scene he’s composing.
Thank you for reading! Promise I’ll finish up and send out all my semi-drafted newsletters before long. If you’re looking for more in the meantime…
Emily at The London Desk wrote “People Reading in Public, London edition” after coming across my little three-part newsletter series, and it was so fun to hop across the pond and glean some insight into what everyone’s reading on the tube
My amazing friend & the amazing writer Brigid at What Brigid’s Thinking has a piece out about her solo trip on the California Zephyr Amtrak cross-country last summer; it’s part one of a moving, beautifully written essay that’s ultimately about her relationship with her grandmother. Read, like, comment on part one so she has to write part two…
And a quick update on some of my own writing! A translation of my short story “Sebastian” is out in Edit’s spring issue, Nº96:
I’ve written about a few of these titles at more length in past newsletters! Linking a few here:
Good to see the Good Soldier make your list, A hidden literary treasure
The few, the brave, the James Joyce denialists. Since Dubliners is the James Joyce for people who hate James Joyce that would appear to wrap it up. You might enjoy it more if you listened the Jim Norton reading. You read enough Flannery O’Connor short stories and you begin to wonder if it’s possible for a young person to communicate his liberal social beliefs to a conservative elder without driving said elders to their deaths.