I’m home for winter break from college right now, so the picture right here is actually of my bookshelf at college. I filled about ⅔ of one shelf with all the books I wanted to bring with me from home: a mixture of my favorites in addition to books that I’ve yet to read but thought would be pertinent for my first year away from home.
My bookshelf is mostly poetry, some essays, two novellas, and two full-length novels. I like to think about my teenage years in terms of which poetry collection felt most formative for me at the time. In 2022, it was Hard Damage by Aria Aber, 2023’s was I Do Everything I’m Told by Megan Fernandes, and 2024’s was The Moon That Turns You Back by Hala Alyan. I know Anne Carson’s Autobiography of Red is technically a novel written in verse, but I think of it as a poetry collection, so I’ll say that for 2025. There are other novels I love, too, of course, like James Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room or Andrea Lawlor’s Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl (not on my shelf!), but I think I’m a writer who usually wants to talk more about poetry.
I associate a lot of my favorites with loved ones in my life, so for example, I’ve come to associate I Do Everything I’m Told with my friends Mimi and Andrew, both of whom also love Megan Fernandes’s work. I first read her brilliant sonnet crown “The False Beloveds with One Exception (or, Repetition Compulsion)” online in The Kenyon Review a few summers ago, and I just couldn’t get it out of my head. When I read and reread her poems, I also become obsessed with the orbits of devotion, distance, and the sense of wonder and charm that can lend itself to the messiest, most transitional periods in life.
One collection I always bring with me everywhere is The Year of Blue Water by Yanyi, which I first read in the fall of 2023 and have reread two or three times since then. It’s quite a short collection—being almost entirely untitled prose poems—but I recommend it to everyone I know and even pulled quotes from it for my Gender Studies project this semester. Dorothea Lasky’s Rome is one I read almost entirely in the waiting area of a Chinese restaurant in Richmond, Canada, and I read Hala Alyan’s The Twenty-Ninth Year in my favorite park, spread across a few days’ sunsets last June.
I love my book(shelf) collection at school partially because it fits into such a small space, partially because it’s the first thing I see when I exit or enter my dorm room, and partially because on top of it, I can set the Smiski figurines my friends have gifted to me over time. I don’t plan on buying new books anytime soon because I’m trying to take full advantage of my college’s extensive library, but I’m so grateful to have my own bookshelf-library that gets to stay with me through the years.
Ruoyu Wang (they/them) is a writer from Seattle. Their poems appear in Sine Theta Magazine, COUNTERCLOCK, and The Shore, and have been recognized by YoungArts, The Adroit Journal, and Narrative Magazine, among others. Currently, they serve as the Founding Director of the SUNHOUSE Summer Writing Mentorship and study Critical Race and Political Economy at Mount Holyoke College. They love linguistics, postcards, live music, and jasmine milk tea.
The bookshelf in my room contains different literary genres and book forms—manga, graphic novels, poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. Many of these books center on diverse characters, histories, and cultures, or are written by authors from traditionally marginalized communities. I have always enjoyed reading global literature and stories that highlight underrepresented voices. Growing up as a queer and first-generation Bangladeshi-American in small-town North Carolina, I actively sought out books where I could see identities and experiences like mine in the pages, as well as books that taught me about different time periods and regions of the world.
The top shelf is dedicated to my manga and graphic novel collection, which mostly consists of shoujo and josei manga (genres that explore the experiences and perspectives of girls and women), queer and yuri/GL (Girls’ Love) manga, and queer and feminist comics and graphic novels. As a teenager exploring her queer identity, comics like Lumberjanes and manga like Bloom into You were some of the first stories I read that showed wholesome, positive representation of queer and sapphic teenage characters and relationships. Coming from a South Asian household and a small, conservative high school, it comforted me to see BIPOC and Asian queer characters who could be happy, loved, and even fall in love.
The bottom shelf holds YA and literary fiction, nonfiction, and poetry books. My favorite reads have tended to lean towards historical fiction, or books that address social and historical issues, such as war, gender-based violence, and racial discrimination and oppression.
For instance, Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys follows Lina, a Lithuanian teenage girl and artist who is arrested alongside her family and deported to a Siberian labor camp under Stalin’s regime. I first read this book in the seventh grade and it opened my eyes to a chapter of World War II history that I did not see often in YA or children’s historical fiction. This was also the first time I had read a book for young readers that did not censor or avoid talking about the cruelty and violence of war, and the generational trauma it leaves behind. Sepetys’s writing style Between Shades of Gray became a key inspiration for my own YA story on the Bangladesh Liberation War of 1971.
Khaled Hosseini’s A Thousand Splendid Suns traces the intertwined lives of two Afghan women, Mariam and Laila, their bond, and their experiences facing war, patriarchy, and domestic violence from the 1960s to the early 2000s. As you can see from its well-worn condition, I’ve read this book more times than I can count. Hosseini’s ability to weave Afghanistan’s history into the narrative and illustrate the country’s cultural heritage, social structures, and sociopolitical issues is something I deeply admire. Coming from a Muslim family myself, I could also relate to Mariam and Laila’s stories on a personal level, such as their relationships with their families and the patriarchal systems around them.
One of the things I noticed while reading different YA and literary historical fiction books was that there were not many that focused on South Asian history, and more specifically Bangladeshi history. This quest led me to pursue a Special Studies in creative writing during my senior year at Smith College, where I conducted academic and literary research in order to write a YA historical fiction set in Bangladesh. The Song of Our Swampland by Manzu Islam was one of the books that I read and referred to in my project. What makes this book especially interesting is that, compared to how much of the English-language nonfiction and fiction on Bangladesh is based on the city center of Dhaka, this book looks at the progression of the war and development of the independence movement from the perspective of rural and marginalized communities in the region. As a Bangladeshi-American born and raised in the United States, reading The Song of Our Swampland and working on this creative writing project was impactful for me because it helped me to learn more about my family’s country of heritage and understand the nuances within collective memories of war.
This bookshelf only represents a portion of all the books in my collection. After my parents and I moved from Cary to Holly Springs, North Carolina, many of my books are scattered all around the house. The children’s books I grew up with, ranging from The School for Good and Evil to Faith, Hope, and Ivy June, take up three out of four shelves on a bookshelf in the garage (the last shelf holds my father’s chemistry books and Bengali-language books). Having recently finished my master’s thesis in Global Development, my academic books on development theory and practice, gender, and Bangladeshi and South Asian history are piled on my work desk, while the British and postcolonial literature, confessional poetry books, and creative writing books I used in my English degree are sitting on a small shelf right behind me. Each of these books has shaped me into the reader, researcher, and person I am today.
Tara Rahman (she/her) is a Sundress editorial intern with a BA in English Language and Literature from Smith College and an MSc in Global Development from SOAS, University of London. She is also a recent graduate of the Columbia Publishing Course in Oxford, UK. With a strong interest in culture, identity, and global history, her personal writing often focuses on intersectionality and the untold stories and experiences of marginalized communities. In her free time, she enjoys reading literary and YA fiction, watching anime, and spending time with her tripod cat, Tuntuni.
My bookshelf, alongside being scattered across innumerable shelves and cubbyholes around the house, is characterised by the books most beloved to me (so those are the ones I’m going to cover in this blog post). However, due to the spread of genres and styles my taste tends to encompass, I’ve decided use this time to encourage you to broaden your taste outside your usual genres––read something unfamiliar.
This article is formatted with a top three for each genre, although it brings me great pain to miss out so many wonderful novels and collections. Please enjoy perusing your favourite genres, as well as the genres you avoid or prefer to read around, and I hope you find something worthy of brightening up your 2026.
First, because it’s probably my favourite category (a sentence which feels vaguely like choosing a favourite child), is speculative and science fiction.
1. The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness
The first novel in the Chaos Walking trilogy, each book deals with different themes around coming of age, and what it means to be human (pretty basic stuff, right?). The Knife of Never Letting Go is set in a new, alien world as humans continue to colonise further away from Earth. Todd Hewitt, our young protagonist leads the book’s adventure plot, following a journey of self-discovery and pondering the terrible subject of violence being an inherent characteristic of human nature.
2. Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card
Another young boy suffers from the manipulations of adults, who wield his circumstances against him. Scott Card creates a frighteningly straightforward depiction of nationalised Earth as a meritocracy, and of eight-year-old super-intelligent Andrew ‘Ender’ Wiggins. In a practical exploration of how to ruin a child’s life and also make them a god among men, Scott Card shows readers what not to do. It was a true pleasure to be so outwitted by this fictional teenager.
3. Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut
One of the most surprising and beautiful recollections of the First World War I have ever read. As in most things, Vonnegut breaks from the mould and surprises the reader with a roster of alien abductions, chronological mischief and a bedridden, failing sci-fi author. Slaughterhouse Five is autobiography at its greatest, and I would recommend it to anyone wanting to learn about the human experience of coping with incalculable loss.
Classics. Any bookshelf would feel intellectually incomplete without some classics. My preference in ‘classic’ literature is slightly unorthodox, however. I tend to steer away from the Brontë sisters and Dickens, instead going for the likes of Waugh, Vonnegut and Márquez.
4. One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez
I finished this book most recently, and I still haven’t quite concluded my book-finishing grieving period. Reading this in English is, I’m sure, nowhere near as rich as reading it in the original Spanish, but that didn’t stop me from finding the entire novel lovable. The most accurate depiction of the simultaneous burden and miracle of family, the story follows 100 years of the Buendía family. As a reader you grow with the children, watch them fall in love, suffer and cause tragedy, argue, and love one another (occasionally too much). This book is perfectly curated mess, and I love it all the more as a result.
5. Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh
In a novel that is both surreal and reflective, Waugh creates a sprawling narrative with a cast of glittering, esoteric characters (looking at you, Aloysius), and a series of beautiful locations. What begins as a tender, homoerotically charged relationship between two boys at Oxford University in the early 1900s builds into a life-long tangle of hurt and love and Catholic guilt all coming to an abrupt halt as war is declared across Europe.
6. Perfume by Patrick Süskind
Chilling but wonderfully lyrical, Süskind brings the reader alongside a man with a superpowered sense of smell, set on becoming the world’s greatest perfumier. The novel is far from sweet or satirical however, bringing some of the darkest aspects of the human character together with enormous ambition.
Last but absolutely not least, fantasy. I’ve spent my life surrounded by fantasy books, so it was difficult to choose, but I think the three I’ve gone for represent the variety the genre has to offer the best (while offering credit to the authors that truly made fantasy what it is today).
7. The Earthsea Quartet by Ursula K. Le Guin
It seems a little strange to have Le Guin on this list as a fantasy author, when her sci-fi has been just as much if not more influential over the years. Still, The Earthsea Quartet, with its creeping melancholia and dazzling descriptive passages never fail to inspire me. In 2025, I visited an exhibition of her maps called ‘The Word for World‘––supposedly, Le Guin began her world building process with map drawing, and in stories like The Tombs of Atuan, second in the Quartet, it shows in the best possible way.
8. Magyk by Angie Sage
A novel intended for children and first installation in a series of seven, Sage’s prose is energetic and alive with humour. Quirky but brilliant world-building surrounds a story of family, loyalty and overcoming darkness in spite of it. I read this book at 20 years of age and would heartily recommend it to anyone with an interest in good stories and good fun. The characterful hand illustrations from Mark Zug don’t hurt, either.
9. The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien
The best book I could think of to round of this list. A prelude to one of the greatest fantasy books of all time, The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit is a beautiful fantasy romp through a safer Middle-Earth than in Tolkien’s later books, with an excellent array of dwarves for company on an epic (but comparatively mundane) quest to the Lonely Mountain. The legacy of this novel speaks for itself, and I implore you to read it if you haven’t before.
So there you have it, my bookshelf. As mentioned before, there are a hundred other books I could mention––a good deal of them children’s books (C. S. Lewis, Cressida Cowell, you name it, I’ve read and loved it)––and lots of excellent stories in each. I am an avid supporter of a varied bookshelf so please, if you spotted something here that takes your fancy, go out and find it in a second-hand shop, borrow it from a friend or from a library and read something unusual.
To finish on, my favourite short story of all time––The Dechronization of Sam McGruder by George Gaylord Simpson. A story written by a palaeontologist in the margins of his diaries and published by his daughter, this book is everything literature should be: a person sharing their unabashed passion through the most wonderfully unhinged 170-page sci-fi survivalist novel. Happy reading!
Rachel Bulman (she/her) holds a BA in English and Creative Writing as well as an MA in Publishing from the University of Exeter, specialising in interactive and children’s fiction. Her written work has appeared in The Book of Choices, Velvet Fields, and Exeposé, among others. Find her on Instagram @worm.can.read, through her online portfolio, or ask the bridge troll who taught him his riddles three.
I have the smallest room in my house, meaning that I hardly have any storage. Last summer, I ordered a £50 bookshelf from IKEA and practically forced it into the little box that is my bedroom. I moved things around, sacrificed clothing space, and somehow it worked. Organising the books was a mess of its own. It took me a few days since I was so overwhelmed. Do I organise them by genre or by how often I reach for them? Even now, when I look at the bookshelf on my right, I get a tad confused, and it takes me a while to find the book I want to read.
The only link I can make out from my top shelf is that those stories revolve around people, from Sally Rooney to confessions of a forty-something f##k up. I also have books that were either recommended to me or given as a gift. Think Like an Anthropologist was provided to me on my very first day of lectures as a first-year university student. Everyday Sexism was gifted to my entire class by my drama teacher on my last day of sixth form. The Full Diet was recommended to me by my doctor. How to Job Search in Book Publishing was recommended to me during ‘Publishing Week’, where I was desperate to find insights on how to get a role in the Publishing Industry.
My second shelf contains the classics – and the Bridgerton series. I binged season 1 when it was released and immediately bought the series. Jane Eyre, Little Women, Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, The Great Gatsby, Anna Karenina, The Picture of Dorian Gray… All stories that I had zero interest in during English class, but immediately sought out during my early 20s.
It is no secret that my favourite genre is fantasy. To be able to escape to something so different, where there are different worlds, magics and powers, is my favourite pastime. I have two shelves dedicated to this genre – with a splash of dystopian worlds. From ACOTAR to the Shadow and Bone series, Hafsah Faizal and the Shatter Me series. And of course, the classic Hunger Games series. My fourth shelf also contains books that just truly hurt. Although I know what happens in A Thousand Splendid Suns, As the Lemon Trees Grow, and Alchemised – I cannot bring myself forward to read them just yet, for fear of just breaking my heart.
My final shelf contains classic YA and mystery books. I have not read many mystery stories (I know myself well enough that, although I would enjoy the plot, I would also get incredibly frustrated with myself for not figuring it out sooner). But Twilight is the book that I probably reach out for the most on this shelf, simply because one of my friends is obsessed with it and is a vehement team-Jacob supporter.
Looking at my bookshelf, I am aware that I have not read the majority of my books. I used to feel embarrassed about it – about being so eager to buy new stories yet constantly only reaching for my comfort reads. But a few months ago, when I was in Waterstones, I had a discussion with this lovely bookseller. He confided in me that he had not read most of the books in his collection, but he also told me that it didn’t matter. His collection reflects what he wants to read, what he would like to explore and open his mind and heart to. He told me that life can easily get in the way of getting into a good book, and that it was completely okay; that one day, when I was less stressed and busy, I would find the time to sit down with a nice cup of tea and a fresh read.
Nafisa Hussain (she/her) holds a BSc in Anthropology and Sociology from Brunel University, where she primarily focused her work on race issues in the UK. She has published book reviews in the Hillingdon Herald Newspaper and volunteers for the Books2Africa charity.
There are many genres represented on my bookshelf, but I find that a few things are true across the board. I gravitate toward books that I relate to in some way and that address issues I care about. I primarily read fiction as I often find that it conveys its message in a more moving way than nonfiction. Below I have listed some of the fictional works that have resonated with me throughout the years.
Fair Rosaline by Natasha Solomons
I personally love a great feminist retelling. I am also a theatre kid at heart, so the works of Shakespeare are favorites of mine. I love Romeo and Juliet so much that I have a line from it tattooed on my arm. However, a fresh perspective on a story I love is right up my alley. This book centers on Rosaline, the girl Romeo left to pursue Juliet.
Icebreaker by Hannah Grace
This book was wildly popular for a reason. It rekindled my love of reading for the first time in my adult life. When I was burned out by academic reading after finishing my undergraduate degree, a cheesy romance is what got me out of my reading slump. I’ve grown to love romances, and they make up a majority of what I read. My fiancé and I have even created a fun game that we play when we are walking through a store’s book section together. He reads blurbs on romance books and tries to pick out ones he thinks I will like. He’s gotten quite good at this game. Although he is not much of a reader himself, talking about my favorite romances has become a particularly sweet part of our own romance.
How to Survive Your Murder by Danielle Valentine
I believe we are intrigued by horror because it gives us the opportunity to work through our greatest fears without actually putting ourselves in physical danger. I would classify this book as a slasher. In my opinion, this is the scariest type of horror because it is the most likely to actually occur in real life. I have gifted my physical copy to a friend, but this is one of the best murder mysteries I’ve read. I love trying to figure out who the killer is, and this book kept me guessing until the page before the big reveal. I recommend it to people often.
Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson
This book fundamentally shaped me in my high school years. It centers on a young girl who is struggling with an eating disorder while grieving her best friend’s death. It was instrumental in giving me the motivation to start my own eating disorder recovery. While I would suggest being cautious of potential triggers due to the novel’s graphic nature, I would highly recommend it to anyone who either has dealt with or known someone with an eating disorder. My copy is currently in storage, but I thought it was worthy of being included on this list. I still think of it often.
Heartstopper by Alice Oseman
I return to this graphic novel series fairly often because it fills me with pure joy. I did not realize that I am bisexual until my early twenties, but it is so comforting to read about the kind of wholesome queer teenage experiences I didn’t have. In a way, it feels like connecting my current self with the younger version of myself who did not yet know she was queer.
Caylin Moore (she/her) is currently pursuing a graduate level certificate in book publishing from Pace University, and SAFTA is her first internship in the publishing industry. Her previous work includes copyediting, social media marketing, and project management. She hopes to use these skills and those gained during this internship for a job in either editorial or marketing one day. As someone who has often felt seen by the stories she reads, she is passionate about bringing stories into the world that help others feel that same comfort. She is planning her wedding to Nathan, the love of her life, for next August. In addition to her fiancé, she also loves romance novels, murder mysteries, musical theatre, and her pets Stitch and Oreo. Stitch is a hound dog named after objectively the best Disney character of all time, and she will hear no debate on that matter.
I can’t fit all the books in my personal collection in one photograph. Some of them are stacked in my television console while others are on my counter, and the majority are shoved onto two bookcases: a larger one downstairs, carefully organized into genre, and another in my bedroom that I’ve dubbed “The Romance Shelf” for all my favorite romance and Young Adult novels.
Even with all these books scattered around my apartment, I still have another full bookshelf in my childhood bedroom in Texas, filled to the brim with all the books I couldn’t afford to house here in Tennessee once I moved for college. And once a book becomes mine, it’s hard for me to let go. While most readers are incredibly careful with their books, trying their best to keep them pristine, I view the imperfections on my books as a badge of honor. Almost all of them have signs of love, even if they’ve barely been touched. To me, the wear and tear of a book can show you how much it means to its owner (as seen by the tear stains inside several of of my favorites).
Many people would hear that information and assume that I’m incredibly well-read. While that is correct in some aspects, there’s a lot more to the story. In truth, I love to collect books. There’s nothing quite like the rush of going into a bookstore, whether it be a Barnes and Noble or a well-used thrift books establishment, and finding a title that you want to dive into. The issue for me is that I can never say no. So, the book ends up coming home with me to collect dust on a shelf until I find the energy to pick it up.
As a mood reader, I find it very difficult to stick to a pre-planned “To Be Read.” To choose a book to read, I have to ponder on what I’m currently feeling, what I want to feel, and how much is going on in my life. However strange this may be, I have noticed that waiting to read a book you’ve been anticipating adds an incredible amount to the experience. In fact, most of my favorite novels are ones that I put off reading for months or years. So, this list of novels on my shelf falls in that category. Each of these are books that I had been wanting to read before I actually picked them up, whether by force through classwork or my own volition. Now, they sit on my shelf with pride, and I am all the better for the knowledge they’ve brought me.
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
I anticipated this book for a year before I read it. The first time I had heard of it, I was a junior in high school, and I watched as the seniors filed into my AP Environmental Sciences class with tears on their faces. When I asked what was wrong, they just shook their heads. Later, I would learn that each of them had just finished reading The Kite Runner in Mrs. Bing’s AP Literature and Composition class, which I knew I would be taking next year. Fast forward a year later, and the book was already sitting on my shelf, begging to be cracked open. Throughout the course of reading this novel, I shed several tears and felt things I didn’t know books could make me feel. For the first time, I felt like the class discussions I was having with my peers meant something important, and I knew they all felt it as well. To me, this book is a beginning. It started my love of literary analysis and discussion, my craving for knowledge about worlds outside of my own, and made me wonder if I could ever be as good of a teacher as Mrs. Bing was one day (still to be seen!). Even more, it was a revelation that opened my eyes to the world around me and changed the way I viewed the world.
The Kite Runner perfectly blends themes of friendship, family, and political conflict, highlighting the effects of the Afghan conflict on Amir, our main character. More so, it tackles the ideas of forgiveness and atonement, painting a beautiful picture that allows readers to both understand and identify with Amir. Plus, the novel’s rich descriptions of Afghan culture, both in Afghanistan and as refugees in America, are absolutely amazing. I truly recommend this book to everyone, no matter who you are!
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
This one is a little more embarrassing. When I was in middle school, I was obsessed with Cassandra Clare’s The Infernal Devices trilogy. In the trilogy, two of the main characters bond over their love of Dickens, particularly A Tale of Two Cities, and constantly make references while using themselves as metaphors for the characters in the novel. I begged my mom to take me to the mall, where I bought a Barnes and Noble Classics edition of the novel. But the moment I cracked it open, I couldn’t read it. For years, I tried to get past the first few pages, but I could never understand what exactly Dickens was trying to say. It felt too profound, so I gave up, resolving to read it eventually, whenever that may be. Imagine my pleasant surprise when I walked into Dr. Nancy Henry’s 19th Century British Literature course at the University of Tennessee and saw A Tale of Two Cities on the syllabus! Reading it as an adult and finally understanding those small references that I wanted to know so desperately as a child healed me, but it also opened my mind up to a world of new history and literature. Once again, I felt connection with my peers through class discussion, and I firmly believe those discussions and interactions are the reason it is cemented as my favorite classical novel. Well, other than the fact that I cry every time I read the last few paragraphs!
Before reading this book, I didn’t know much about the French Revolution. However, Dickens’ use of imagery and metaphor, especially in the scenes with Madame Defarge, are insightful into the conflict itself. Each character is so lovable in their own ways, even the “bad” ones! They make you root for them and sympathize with them, and by the end of the novel, I was fully invested into each and every one of them. I never wanted it to end!
The Fifth Season by NK Jemisin
I felt the opposite of anticipation before reading this book. I had only ever heard of it in spaces that praised incredibly complex fantasy, and quite frankly, I never thought I would get into it. Knowing that a third of the book is in second person point-of-view intrigued me, but the more I thought about it, the more I felt too intimidated to actually purchase it. Imagine my surprise when I saw the syllabus for my Science Fiction and Fantasy class in college, and The Fifth Season was the second to last book on the list! I was told by my professor, Dr. Amy Elias, that it was one of the best books she had ever read, but I couldn’t get rid of the dread lingering in my stomach leading up to the moment I cracked open the novel. But from the moment I read the first page, I was hooked. Each line brought more questions that I needed answered, and the only way to get them was to continue reading. By the end of the novel, I was left with even more, yet I was still completely satisfied with everything I’d read.
It’s difficult for me to talk about how much I love this book without spoiling it, so I’ll be brief. Jemisin does something so beautiful with her writing, and each point of view is so rich and vibrant. The way she tackles oppression and family throughout the entire series is masterfully done, and although it is confusing at times, I have never felt more satisfied by learning the answers I’d been longing to know by the end. Even better is the worldbuilding and intricate magic system, using the earth and magic in a way I’ve never read before. For those who love fantasy and are looking for something new, this is my number one recommendation!
Turtles All The Way Down by John Green
When I was younger, I was an avid fan of John Green. Like most people my age, The Fault In Our Stars was one of my first heartbreaks caused by a book, and I read the rest of his repertoire rather quickly. When Turtles All The Way Down was finally published, though, I had moved on to other things. I had always wanted to read it, but I never had the chance. In fact, I was told not to read it. Because I am someone who suffers from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) like the novel’s main character, several people told me that reading it would do nothing but trigger a mental spiral. However, that made me want to read it more to see if its depiction of OCD was realistic.
This book did trigger a mental spiral for me, but I think that shows how good of job Green did with his depiction of OCD. I found myself relating to every sentence and every thought. Although it is easier for me to control my obsessive-compulsive thoughts than Aza, I could complete understand the way her mind works, as it is the same as mine. It almost scared me to see my own thought processes reflected in a novel not written by me. I truly would recommend this book to anyone who knows someone with OCD or obsessive-compulsive tendencies. It will make you understand them and their brain a lot more!
The Autobiography of Malcolm X by Malcolm X and Alex Haley
I first learned about Malcolm X in high school, but he was characterized as “the opposite of Martin Luther King Jr.” My peers and I were told that he had more “radical” ideas and that he supported the use of violence during the Civil Rights Movement. Immediately, I was intrigued to learn more about him, but I was never a big fan of autobiographies. Once again, I was gifted the pleasure of reading this novel through a class syllabus, for Dr. Urmila Seshagiri’s memoir course. Opening those pages and reading their contents was one of the hardest things I’ve done. I had to come to terms with a lot of information that made me feel sad, uncomfortable, and downright angry, but it helped me gain a new perspective into this integral part of American history. I am so grateful for the chance to glimpse into Malcolm X’s mind, and I feel that it helped me understand so much more about the Black experience in America, both in the past and today.
The thing that shocked me the most about this novel is how much of Malcolm X has been erased or dimmed in current American history classes. It spans all the way up to X’s assassination, and Alex Haley chronicles some of the time afterwards. Through the entire memoir, one thing is obvious: Malcolm X wasn’t a man that craved violence, he was a man that craved change and autonomy. Because of the gross mischaracterization that mainstream society places on X, I believe every American should read this memoir.
The Poppy War by RF Kuang
I had this book endlessly recommended to me before I read it. Everyone told me it was one of the best fantasy books ever written while also warning me about its dark nature. “This isn’t what you normally think when you think of fantasy,” they said. “It’s hard to read at times, but it’s worth it.” Eventually, I bought it, and like several other books, it sat on my shelf collecting dust for a few years. It wasn’t until a very close friend of mine sat on my couch and finished the third book in the trilogy with tears streaming down her face that I knew I needed to pick it up immediately. Turns out, everyone was right. Immediately upon finishing it, after I had already cried three times, I knew that this book had dethroned another and taken the spot of my Favorite Book.
Much of this novel is heavily inspired by Chinese history, the Sino-Japanese War, and acts of genocide. As the main character, Rin, learns more about the world around her, she becomes entangled with the empire’s gods, realizing that the line between the spiritual and physical world is thinner than she previously believed. When war comes to Nikan, she is forced to throw herself into battle at the cost of her own mind and sanity. I feel like Kuang perfectly uses history and mythology together to create a story centered around incredibly complex characters. Truly, her writing perfectly blends plot with character in a way that I’ve never seen before. I felt like reading it helped me understand what I want to accomplish in my own fantasy novel, and I believe it made me a better writer. I want everyone under the sun to read this book!
The Pairing by Casey McQuiston
Casey McQuiston is an author I’ve loved for a long time. Red, White, & Royal Blue and One Last Stop were both five star reads for me, and I consistently reread them when I want to feel something again. Their novels center around some of the most beautiful and difficult parts of queerness, and I’ve always appreciated their ability to make me laugh and cry two pages apart. The Pairing was a novel I had been looking to read since its publication, but I wasn’t able to get to it until a month ago. However, I was shocked (in a good way) by how different this novel was compared to McQuiston’s others.
I enjoyed every part of this book. The writing made me feel like I was truly traveling across Europe with Kit and Theo, and the different foods and wines they tried made me desperate to take my own trip across the sea. Queer culture is littered throughout its pages, and Theo’s gender identity struggles in learning they are nonbinary were included in such a natural, raw, and beautiful way. However, the main reason I am including this book is because it changed and reframed my perception of love. Kit and Theo are exactly what I believe love should be— they see every single part of each other, including their flaws, and love each other because of them rather than in spite of them. The way that Theo and Kit talk about each other in this book is magical, poetic, and realistic all at once, and I feel that everyone should aspire to find this kind of love. If you want to read the happiest ending, pick this one up immediately!
Shelby Hansen (she/her) is a creative writer and self-proclaimed fantasy maestro hailing from the northern plains of Texas. She recently graduated from the University of Tennessee’s English program with a focus in Literature and Creative Writing, where she won several awards for her fiction. Her writing often focuses on womanhood, identity, and the reclamation of the self. This is reflected in her debut novel, which she hopes to publish soon. When she is not writing or teaching today’s youth, she enjoys reading, crocheting, swimming, and spending time with her two cats, Stella and Gemma.
As of the moment, my bookshelf is overflowing. It came to the point where my books are now thoughtfully and meticulously stacked on top of each other. My main shelf is located behind my bed, so I make sure to place paperbacks, as opposed to hardcovers, at the top of the pile just in case it falls on me while I’m sleeping (they’re actually very stable). Even though this may be an inconvenient spot for a bookshelf, I personally love it. I’ve had this shelf in this precise location for years and never wanted to change the layout because of the fact that I can conveniently reach behind me and choose my next read.
I also consider the books on my Kindle and the ones I borrow on Libby as part of my personal library, but here is a peek into my physical bookshelf, shown above. This is just a glimpse into some of my favorite books. I love to read anything and everything, but I do particularly love fantasy and romance. One of the most magical things about any type of story is that you can experience a different life every time you read. That feeling of living someone else’s life through words is irreplaceable. You aren’t just experiencing these characters’ lives but also the authors’. Each word was intentionally placed on the page to create this amazing story that can bring out so many different emotions at once. I felt like I was getting a warm hug when reading Yours Truly by Abby Jimenez or the fact that I was definitely spiraling during Powerless by Lauren Roberts. I get to bask in these beautiful, powerful feelings through each unique read.
This picture above consists of my favorite poetry books and the books I read for Literature in middle and high school. Literature class was always my favorite subject because I loved analyzing the small details of a text and then learning about the different perspectives of my classmates. I loved the discussions we had and how the debates became so passionate that we were on the edges of our seats waiting to share our opinions. That buzz of excitement in the air when we came into class after reading the ending of The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde the night before is something I still remember.Everyone was talking about it and I felt a sense of community with my classmates. As you can probably tell by the spines, I had heavily annotated each one and I was always that person who wanted to highlight everything because a book was so good. Now these stories live on my bookshelf, where I can reread them. It’s always so fun for me to go back to my annotations and see what thoughts changed as compared to the ones I had when I was a teen.
Books are like a magical device, not only because they teleport me into different worlds, but because they also hold some of my most precious memories and I can play them back like a film reel. When I look at my well-loved books and go back to my thoughts I wrote in my reading journal, I can relive the feelings of experiencing a story for the first, second, or third time. I would remember staying up late reading Percy Jackson and the Olympians by Rick Riordan, even though I had classes at 8 in the morning, or how I was sighing dreamily while reading Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Books tuck these memories warmly into their pages, and I get to reminisce about all the different versions of me in each book.
Marian Kohng (she/her/hers) is a proud Korean American and an Editorial Intern at Sundress Publications and a Traffic Copy Editor at a local news station in Tucson, AZ. She also has a Bachelor’s in Neuroscience and Cognitive Science and a Master’s in Marketing. She loves to get lost in a good book and will read just about anything, including the back of the shampoo bottle.
When someone asks where I’m from, sometimes I say “the mountains,” both because it’s true and because it’s fun to see people’s reactions. After all, why should we identify with a political state rather than an environment? Many times I’ve felt that I have more in common with someone who also grew up in wild places, whether in Alaska (like me) or in Africa, rather than someone who grew up in an urban setting. The natural environment we’re raised in, or the lack of one, affects us more than changing politics and monetary systems.
I’m sharing some book recommendations on nature writing and Indigenous Peoples today, for those of you that desire to immerse yourself in nature, even for just an hour. Take a mental break from urban life and pick up one of these unique reads. I’m presenting this bookshelf in three sections: nature writing, Indigenous Peoples, and nature-themed poetry. I’ve also selected one book to be the special feature of this collection. Feel free to skip to your section of interest, or dare to be tempted to read them all. Each book listed here is selected for its distinct content. Some are famous in their genre, and some are obscure treasures. For an immersive experience, read these outside in nature, at a local park, or even just by your window. I will give some immersive reading location ideas for each book below, tips on whether the physical book or e-book is recommended, and a suggested tea pairing for each. Enjoy.
Tristan Gooley, a.k.a. The Natural Navigator, is one of my top three favorite authors. This book is exactly what the title says: It literally teaches you how to read water. Learn what different types of waves mean, how to forecast weather, and how even the reflection of light can reveal what’s beneath. From humble puddles to rivers to the big, open ocean, everything is discussed here in lovely prose. This book works well in both print and digital editions. Note that the hardcover edition pictured here does have a few glossy pictures inside. His other books are wonderful as well and can be found on The Natural Navigator website.
Best Places to Read:On the ocean, by a lake, or near a river. Imagine you’re out in the Atlantic, sailing from the UK to Iceland.
Few authors have the ability to draw huge in-person crowds like Robert Macfarlane. Now practically a celebrity in the nature writing genre, he got his start with this book: Mountains of the Mind. Just as I like to say I’m “from the mountains,” Macfarlane writes about his own “forays into wild, high landscapes,” and combines those with a fascinating history of mountains’ impact on the human psyche. This book works well in the e-book edition so it can be easily transported and read outside, if you’re not married to paper versions in general. It has some black and white photographs that view fine in the e-book as well. All his books are treasures, and I detail two more of them below. Note that Macfarlane doesn’t have his own website, but a quick google will bring up all his books, which have been published by a variety of different publishers.
Best Places to Read: On or near mountains, or with mountains in your distant view. Imagine you’re in the Cascades of America’s Pacific Northwest.
If you’re in the mood for something mysterious with perhaps a bit of Gothic vibe, Robert Macfarlane will take you through the deep holloways (a “hollow-way” is a tunnel formed by trees and erosion) of England, formed over centuries and millennia, some dating as far back as the Iron Age. This is a quick read that includes some shadowy poetry and swarthy black-and-white pictures, which look just as spooky in the e-book as the hardcover.
Best places to read: The forest, the subway, or a cemetery. Imagine you’re deep among unknown, small roads in some backwoods of England.
I have a signed copy of this one—Robert Macfarlane’s latest release—that I scored after getting to meet him at his packed book release event in Seattle last month. There must have been several hundred people there. It seemed like half of Seattle poured in to get their signed copy and meet one of our planet’s most-revered nature writers. Macfarlane was just awarded the 2025 Thoreau Prize for Literary Excellence in Nature Writing last month as well. Starting with an introduction titled “Anima,” Macfarlane takes the reader on a journey of both philosophy and travel, profiling rivers in Ecuador, India, and Canada, and exploring their souls and fates. Although I’m proud to own this special signed hardcover edition, the e-book of this is also just fine. Stay tuned for future titles by Robert Macfarlane as well. I’m convinced anything he writes will be outstanding.
Best Places to Read: By or on a river, or with a river in view. Imagine you’re floating along the Mississippi river, streaming through time as well as space.
Imagine setting off on an epic backpacking trip, bringing artists’ supplies, and stopping at whim to paint interesting tiny things you see along the way … That’s exactly what author Rosalie Haizlett did, and the result is this lovely book. She strikes an amazing balance of creating a book that has bright appeal to both adults and children, comprised of research, personal trip notes, and charming watercolor illustrations. This is one book you really want the hardcover edition of, and currently it’s only sold as such.
Best Places to Read: Somewhere out in nature near an ecosystem boundary, where there are mountains as well as lowlands nearby. Imagine you’re in the Appalachians of West Virginia, in the middle of nowhere.
Quite simply, I think Helen Thayer is one of the greatest women explorers of our time. She has walked across the Sahara, Gobi, and Death Valley deserts, kayaked the entire length of the Amazon river, lived with wolves, climbed some of the world’s highest mountains, and, in this book, skis to the magnetic north pole alone, with only her dog to help alert her for polar bears. This official National Geographic Explorer writes of her journey to the magnetic north pole (and back!) in this real-life explorer thriller. She survives polar bear stalkings and forms a close bond with her brave dog Charlie in this harsh tale of the reality of doing things no one else has ever done before. This book has some compelling black and white photos that show well in the e-book as well the paperback.
Best Places to Read: Somewhere cold, with a blanket. Turn up the AC and imagine you’re in the arctic.
This book is famous throughout Alaska, and you’d be hard-pressed to find an Alaskan who hasn’t heard of it, and most have read it. “An Alaskan Legend of Betrayal, Courage, and Survival,” this story by Velma Wallis is a retelling of an Athabascan Alaska Native legend, telling how two old women who were abandoned by their tribe not only survived, but … (I don’t want to spoil the story!) This is a must-read if you’re interested in Indigenous or arctic culture, and is a wonderful lesson about the value of elders as well. This is one book that would be excellent as an audiobook. The original legend was passed down orally.
Best Places to Read/Listen: Somewhere you can see elderly people, perhaps a retirement community or local garden. Imagine you’re out in the wild somewhere that is foreign to you, and the elders might have knowledge to pass on.
This book has wonderful epigraphs and structure, as well as authentic content. There are other arctic survival-type books, but none of them quite capture the reality of a tough expedition combined with real research, news articles, and journal entries. This is the story of a young Iñupiaq woman just trying to make some money by signing on as a seamstress for an expedition, who ends up being the sole survivor. This is a bit heavier, but very engrossing, read. There are photos that are best viewed in one of the physical editions. I haven’t seen the hardcover in person, but the paperback contains photos on special, glossy photo paper.
Best Places to Read: Somewhere you can be alone and totally absorbed in the book. Imagine you’re in a remote cabin somewhere, and no one knows where you are.
A collection of classic Indigenous lore, mostly from Washington and Oregon, including creation stories, animal stories, and stories that pass on values. There are many different editions of this book, but the e-book is clear with good pictures. This would also be a wonderful audiobook, but is not currently available as such as of this writing.
Best Places to Read: In or around an Indigenous community center or museum, such as Daybreak Star in Seattle, or the University of British Columbia Museum of Anthropology in Vancouver. Imagine you’re sitting in a quiet corner, and an elder sees the book you’re reading, stops, and tells you a story.
This is an older book—pictured above is my signed first edition hardcover from 1966—that details daily life of the Inupiat people of Alaska in the early half of the twentieth century, when many more Inupiat traditions than today were still practiced. It gives a glimpse into Indigenous Alaskan customs from a kind outsider’s point of view. The author, Claire Fejes, lived in villages there for a couple years and wrote about the people and customs. Some of the details strike home for me, like reading about how she would play pinochle with the villagers, which was also the most common card game I played with my family growing up. This book is only available in physical editions, and I recommend getting an older, used edition for the charm.
Best Places to Read: This is a good book to read casually on the sofa with family around. Bring this one home for holiday reading and discuss various tidbits with others in the room.
Read about the fascinating uses of masks by my people, the Yupik of Alaska. This book draws on the remembrances of elders born in the early 1900s and is a treasure trove of traditions and values.
Best Places to Read: This read invites reflection and is best read alone somewhere quiet. Somewhere in your home that has artwork helps to prompt thoughts.
This Indigenous classic is on almost every Indigenous reading list. It won several awards, and although it’s in the young adult category, it’s a fun read for older adults as well. It reminds me a bit of an Indigenous version of the Little House on the Prairie series, which personally I still enjoy.
Best Places to Read: This is an easy read that can be enjoyed just about anywhere. Bring it on your commute, on vacation, or home for the holidays.
This is the definitive, and enjoyable, reference guide to learn about Navajo (Diné) sandpaintings. Another part of my cultural heritage, I appreciate that Diné traditions are still strong throughout much of the Southwest. This is a slim book with many photos and works well as a coffee table book and a craft guide. It’s only available in paperback, which works well since this is one you really want to be able to look at the pictures in a physical edition.
Best Places to Read: At your project table at home, where you can start making your own sandpainting after reading it.
This is a large, museum-type book that deserves a hardcover. Full of color photos of Inuit and Inupiat carvings, this book discusses the traditional legends of the Inuit and Inupiat people, and the meanings behind various carvings. It makes an intriguing coffee table book, and is best read piece by piece, to enjoy and contemplate the discussion of the artworks.
Best Places to Read: Your coffee table, when you need an art-viewing break, or perhaps a cabin if you want to sit, do some serious study of it, and maybe do some carving of your own.
This magnificent work of art is a collector’s item. With a sewn binding and elegant Japanese artwork with each poem, this haiku collection is a beauty just to gaze at. Add in the poetry, and you’ll find yourself reading this every day. This book is rightly only available as a hardcover.
Best Places to Read: This high-quality book shouldn’t be damaged by transporting it around. This is best read at home, with clean hands (no snacking with this one) and natural light to appreciate the artwork.
A collection of poems from around the world on full-page National Geographic color photographs, this beauty can be enjoyed by the whole family, kids and adults alike. I often open it up to a random page, read a few poems at a time, and gaze at the photos. With all the high-color photographs, it’s only available as a hardcover.
Best Places to Read: This is a larger, heavier book, so is best read at home. It’s pleasant both alone or with family and friends. Try leaving it open to a favorite poem when you’re expecting a visitor.
Featured Book: Native Plant Stories by Joseph Bruchac
From the origin of cedar baskets to why evergreens stay green, this set of stories from eight different Native American tribes explain plants’ connection to humans and our mythology. It’s easy to read one story at a time, or read the whole book in one sitting on a quite afternoon. Illustrated with light sketches on many pages, it’s a read for the curious mind.
Best Places to Read: At the edge of a forest, by a meadow or lake. Imagine you’ve gone back in time and need to learn to use the plants in your environment not only survive, but make a comfortable life for yourself.
Ana Mourant (she/her) is an editorial intern for Sundress Publications and a recent graduate of the University of Washington’s editing program. She holds a Certificate in Editing as well as a Certificate in Storytelling and Content Strategy, and a BA in English Language and Literature, with a minor in Professional Writing. Ana conducts manuscript evaluations, developmental edits, structural edits, line edits, copyedits, proofreads, and beta reads, as well as authenticity and sensitivity readings for Indigenous Peoples content. Ana loves nature writing and Indigenous cultures, and, when she’s not working, is often out in the wilderness tracking animals, Nordic skiing, or just enjoying nature.
I love ebooks as much as the next person. Last year, some of my most impactful reads—Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson, Idlewild by James Frankie Thomas, and Sundress’s own Transmasculine Poeticsedited by Remi Recchia (which you can download for free!)—took a digital form. Still, the physical sensation of turning a page and weighing it in my hands comforts me. So, even though I live in a tiny unit that can’t accommodate all the books I own (the rest remain in boxes), I continue to acquire more paperbacks.
Looking at the stack of books next to my desk fills me with pride because most of them are written by Filipino authors and published by local presses. It feels like an accomplishment, since I can’t help but consider that, until I was eighteen, I could probably count on my fingers the number of books I read that were set in the Philippines. I wish I had read more Philippine literature in my childhood, but it doesn’t escape me that foreign titles still dominate the shelves of major bookstores in Metro Manila, where I live and grew up. Now, I just do my best to stay updated on independent booksellers and the titles they carry.
A sidenote on books I read as a kid
Some Filipino stories that were formative to me: Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo by Jose Rizal, The Woman Who Had Two Navels… and Tropical Baroque by Nick Joaquin, my high school favorite Dear Distance by Luis Katigbak, and Smaller and Smaller Circles by F. H. Batacan (I also love her short story “Accidents Happen”). I also read the poems of José García Villa, Conchitina Cruz, Isabela Banzon, and Mookie Katigbak-Lacuesta repeatedly as a teenager.
This list could be longer, but I still feel like my childhood was full. I’m glad I inherited my mom’s love for books like Earthsea and Letters to a Young Poet (the Stephen Mitchell translation is very important). I poured over her Jeanette Winterson essays, her collections of Italo Calvino and Jorge Luis Borges stories. Even my interest in plays and graphic novels was sparked by her. As for my dad, well, he owned every volume of Gary Larson’s The Far Side comics and I laughed a lot reading those.
My mini collection has many fond memories attached to it, since I came by these books during my time in university and in the past six months post-grad. I can still recount where and how I got each one because tracing those circumstances matters to me. It helps me form a map of my local literary community, which was once just a nebulous concept to my freshman self. By going out to read, and by seeing what I read as a way to widen my world rather than shrink from it, I hope to run against the perception of readers as quiet, inward creatures who live in bubbles and armchairs. (Please, we can be cooler than that!)
To me, reading is most thrilling when I feel like I’m occupying two spaces at once. Like the time I finished Conchitina Cruz’s Dark Hours while stuck at home during the COVID-19 lockdowns in Manila—the jarring effect of having her poems place me in traffic or on familiar streets, being re-immersed in the cities I was removed from. Or the time I observed Assembling Alice, a novel that takes place in Baguio during the Japanese occupation, come alive when author Mookie Katigbak-Lacuesta shared her family history to a rapt audience at Mt. Cloud, a bookshop located in and named after the mountain city.
In those ways, I love entering a book with its context in mind, and it’s a gift to read in the context of my present, no matter (or perhaps because) that present is so harrowing. It puts me in closer touch with my surroundings. Seeing my life mirrored in a story, or noticing when a narrative tries to test its own reflection (say, by warping the facts of a historical event or imagining alternate versions of our lives), both excites and alerts me. There’s something both magical and grotesque about it that keeps me on my toes.
Some of the books that I can’t help but link to my own life, though they aren’t pictured because I lent them to a friend, include Narcissus by Mark Anthony Cayanan, a poet and mentor who has influenced me more than I can express in a sentence; Dream of the Divided Field by Yanyi, a transmasculine Asian poet (like me!) among the first I’ve encountered; and will you tell me what I look like? by Raphael Atienza Coronel, a poet who combines text with collage art, and whose ekphrastic practice inspires me.
Other books in my collection include: a heavily tabbed copy of The Material Kinship Reader, edited by Kris Dittel and Clementine Edwards, which I leaf through every now and then despite having read it cover to cover; a dog-eared copy of The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin, which fully electrified me; poetry collections by Fine Arts and English professors from my alma mater; the senior folio of the student publication I was previously an editor at; and a stack of chapbooks by my lovely Creative Writing batchmates and alumni.
I’d like to highlight two titles which resonate strongly with me now. Testo Junkie by Paul B. Preciado is my current read. I bought the last copy from Everything’s Fine bookshop in Makati last November. I view this book of autotheory as part of my education—a follow-up in my mental list of self-assigned LGBTQ readings (which also lists Fun Home by Alison Bechdel and Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg, both vital to my trans coming-to-terms). Although I’m making slow progress, it feels invigorating to read about BP’s life on T, as well as the conditions that shaped and inform those moments, as I sit on the cusp of my own transition.
My Eyes on Palestine by Momoe Narazaki is an autobiographical comic I return to often. I discovered it while visiting Tokyo. After googling “queer spots” and “bookstores with English,” I landed in an infoshop called Irregular Rhythm Asylum, where I spent two hours reading comics, magazines, and other printed matter. In My Eyes, Momoe cares for her newborn while witnessing the ongoing genocide in Gaza through her phone. She wrestles with privilege, heartbreak, and injustice, which erupts in organized action. I cry upon every read, knowing it is necessary to feel this affected, and that I can’t afford to distance myself from this unprecedented atrocity.
Lastly, I want to share a picture of some prints, comics, zines, and chapbooks I got from recent art and small press expos, such as the Manila Illustration Fair and BLTX or Better Living Through Xerography (though, a few are from other publishing events and at least two are from Japan). It makes me so happy to have these on my “bookshelf.” These are such gorgeous forms of art and literature, and we’re seriously missing out if we keep overlooking them or viewing them as illegitimate. I celebrate how vibrant and diverse my local scene is, and I’m confident that I’ll always find joy in reading works that are rooted in, and created by, my community.
Aylli Cortez (he/they) is a transmasc Filipino poet and creative writing graduate of Ateneo de Manila University, where he received a DALISAYAN Award in the Arts for Poetry in 2024. His work has appeared in VERDANT Journal, en*gendered lit, Bullshit Lit, HAD, and like a field, among others. Based in Metro Manila, he is currently a poetry reader for ANMLY. Find him on Bluesky and Instagram @1159cowboy or visit his website.
My bookshelf is as eclectic as a thrift store quilt, with books and anthologies from every age and every style. It’s almost as if I learned my love of literature through trial and error, but I promise that is not the case. Truth be told, I am a harsh god to my bookshelf and am quick to throw out or gift away any book that does not intrigue me in the way I hoped. Here lie the survivors, the chosen few I continuously return to due to their lasting impacts on me as an academic, a woman, and a human.
Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen
In what world could I, this hopeless romantic, not include my leatherbound copy of Pride and Prejudice? The very first enemies-to-lovers left me hungry as a pre-teen watching Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth. After taking an Austen class and rereading the novel with a more analytical eye, I opened more to its charms and quirks. I don’t care how much the movies remove from your personality, Darcy. You’re still my number one book crush.
The Prophet – Khalil Gibran
A book of 26 different poetic fables written by Lebanese-American Khalil Gibran. I am a woman of Lebanese descent who grew up in the Caribbean and immigrated to the US. Gibran’s poetry spoke so many impossible truths to this patchwork woman. The themes surrounding religion, life, and the human condition roused something pure in me that I thought I had once lost. Everyone deserves to read this book. Everyone.
Affrilachia – Frank X. Walker
The very same man who coined the term ‘Affrilachia’ in order to remove the stereotypical view of Appalachia wrote a poetry collection 9 years later. This collection was handed to me in an Appalachian Literature class, fresh off of reading some gory McCarthy, and I dove right in. This anthology is a testament to Black creatives in the region and their true lived experience. As a non-Black reader, most poems were clearly not meant for me but still left lasting impacts. I cannot recommend Affrilachia enough.
Voices of Cherokee Women – Edited by Carolyn Ross Johnston
Something that still strikes me as odd today is the difference between the treatment of Natives in America versus my home country. In Guyana, the Native population is revered and cared for. There are still a great many remote tribes living in the thick of the Amazon and they do so happily. Imagine my shock as I moved here and saw the polar opposite. This compilation of true Cherokee voices aided my understanding of the treatment of Native peoples, especially as I read it in my apartment on stolen Cherokee land.
Roots, Branches, and Spirits: The Folkways and Witchery of Appalachia – H. Byron Ballard
This book is a little out of left field, I know, but it is a core tenet of my bookshelf. As an immigrant, I had to leave a large part of my witchcraft behind in my hometown and learn the practice anew in an unfamiliar place. Ballard’s knowledge combines with Southern charm to teach both the history and modern practices of witchcraft in Appalachia.
Under the Skin – Linda Villarosa
If there is any book you pick up from my bookshelf, let it be this. Villarosa explores the connections between race, gender, and medicine through a non-medical lens that any reader can digest. As heartbreaking of a read as this may be, trust Villarosa to back up any and all claims with necessary evidence and historical context. Despite being painfully aware of the yawning maw of systemic racism in this country, Under the Skin introduces yet another way to be angry.
Rachel Mekdeci (she/her) is a foul-mouthed, mixed-race, Caribbean-immigrant Taurus with a bleeding heart passionate for the arts. As an undergraduate Literature student at the University of Tennessee, she takes every opportunity to write about queer literature and intersectional feminism. Her number one mission in life is to further the reach of the arts and maybe own a house?
