I was recently talking to someone about a book I’d just read and loved, and it struck me that many of my favorite books are actually translated works. That wasn’t intentional, but it got me thinking. How does literary translation work? How do translators manage to carry over the tone, the style, the vibe of the original? What happens to cultural nuances embedded in language? I imagine there are countless decisions involved at every turn, which is interesting to consider. I also just enjoy reading books from around the world. There’s something about them, rich with history and perspective, that feels full of possibility and expansion. So, if you’re in the mood for an adventure, and want to experience a new place through the magic of a novel, here are a few gems you can find in our catalog to get you started.
Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk, translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones
I have a special place in my heart for unreliable narrators and the eerie unpredictability they bring to a book. Janina, the protagonist of this novel, lives in a remote Polish village where she spends the long winters studying astrology. She much prefers the company of animals to that of humans, so when her beloved dogs are found shot dead, she’s devastated. Her grief warps and deepens when she later discovers the body of her hunting-obsessed neighbor, Big Foot. But that’s not all…an ominous photograph is found next to the corpse. We’re not told exactly what’s in it, but it’s clearly disturbing, and it propels Janina into a fervent quest to uncover the truth. And what’s a murder mystery without the tension steadily climbing as the bodies start to pile up? As the story spirals into the bizarre, Janina becomes convinced she understands what’s really going on. The question is: will anyone else believe her? I love the stark, desolate setting, the sense of isolation, the hazy line between sanity and madness, and the cry for justice from the natural world. If you’re open to a thriller with a near-mythical twist, I can’t recommend this book enough.
Frankenstein in Baghdad by Ahmed Saadawi, translated by Jonathan Wright
This is a reimagining of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, which is always going to be something I’m excited about. The novel follows three distinct but loosely connected characters in U.S.-occupied Baghdad. Hadi, an eccentric junk dealer, collects scattered human body parts and stitches them together into a corpse he names Whatsitsname. His hope is oddly noble: that the government will finally acknowledge these body parts as belonging to real people worthy of proper burial. What he doesn’t expect is for Whatsitsname to disappear — or for a string of murders to begin terrorizing the city soon after. Meanwhile, Mahmud, an exiled journalist, documents the unfolding chaos, unintentionally fueling widespread panic. Whatsitsname eventually finds shelter with Elishva, Hadi’s elderly neighbor, who has never fully recovered from the loss of her son during the Iran-Iraq War. Though the story is gothic at its core and cracks open some weighty social commentary, it’s also laced with fun and dark humor. I had a good time with this one, and it marked the first time I’d read something by an Iraqi author. Hopefully it’s not the last time.
Still Born by Guadalupe Nettel, translated by Rosalind Harvey
At just 224 pages, Still Born isn’t a long read by any means, but I took my time with it, savoring each conversation and detail. The book tells the story of Laura and Alina, two friends living in Mexico City who are passionate about their work and largely ambivalent about motherhood. When Alina has a change of heart and decides she wants to have a child, Laura fears this shift will put their friendship at risk. Alina navigates pregnancy and devastating news, and Laura begins spending more time with the young son of her next-door neighbor. While Alina confronts medical professionals who don’t always listen, Laura becomes increasingly entangled in the complex mother-son relationship unfolding next door — a dynamic that both unsettles and captivates her. I love the sparseness of the writing, how it can be so restrained yet still land emotional blows without warning. At its heart, this is a book about motherhood in all its forms and the many ways caregiving can take shape across different lives. If you’re looking for something deeply heartfelt, and don’t mind shedding a tear or two, I do think this one is well worth your time.
My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante, translated by Ann Goldstein
I’m not sure I have an all-time favorite book, but I definitely keep a mental list of novels that have really stuck with me. These are the stories I still think about years later. My Brilliant Friend, the first volume in the Neapolitan Quartet, is one of them. Set in 1950s Naples, it follows Lila and Lenu — two girls from a working-class neighborhood shaped by poverty, politics, and violence. From childhood, they’re bound together by mutual admiration and rivalry. Lenu is quiet, reflective, and diligent, while Lila is wild, magnetic, and intimidating. Both girls show promise early on, but when Lenu stays in school and Lila is forced out to work in her father’s shoe shop, their paths begin to diverge sharply. That crossroads marks the beginning of two very different journeys, each with their own outcomes and consequences. Their friendship, affectionate and fraught at once, remains the emotional compass for both, even as their lives pull them apart. This is a series I will gladly yell about to anyone who will listen. It’s a story about female friendship in a post-war country undergoing a tumultuous time. It’s full of sleazy and dangerous antagonists who mirror real life a little too closely. It has stunning prose and relentless intensity. Okay, I will now stop waxing poetic about this book. I hope you all read it, that’s all.
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