Ranking All 70 Books I Read for My MFA
Using the definitive and scientific method known as "vibes"
My MFA program used to advertise using the slogan read one hundred books, write one. Catchy, but also not quite accurate. I ended up reading seventy by graduation, and the MFA was such a whirlwind that I hardly remember what I read. So I decided to revisit my reading list and notes, and decide what I actually liked the best.
I rarely finish books I genuinely dislike, and luckily there was enough flexibility to change the list on the fly, so even the disliked ones weren’t truly terrible. I think there are a couple controversial placements on the list, starting with #70 itself…
Edit: I had 14 subscribers—all of whom i knew personally—when I posted this, and now 20,000 people have viewed it! That’s cool! But also, as the subtitle implies, this is an unserious ranking based on how much I enjoyed reading each book, not a statement on their literary or artistic merit. So please don’t be weird in the comments <3.
The Duds
Demon Copperhead, Barbara Kingsolver – I know. I added this to my reading list because everyone seemed to love it, but I thought it was poverty porn, and so hamfisted in trying to educate the reader about the opioid crisis the characters’ actual stories felt secondary.
Death in Her Hands, Ottessa Moshfegh – I wrote a twenty-page paper about Ottessa Moshfegh so she shows up on this list a lot, yet I’m still unsure if I like her writing or not. Either way, this was easily my least favorite. Billed as a psychological thriller, and yet so dull! And the dog dies!
Lapvona, Ottessa Moshfegh – I put this book down halfway through my first attempt to read it. Ottessa is a shock jock, and this whole book I just kept thinking, what’s the point? But then, she made me feel something (disgust), so maybe she accomplished what she set out to do.
The Apprenticeship or the Book of Pleasures, Clarice Lispector – I really want to be someone who likes Clarice Lispector (and all her book covers are SO good) but alas, I find her very difficult to get through, and honestly don’t remember much of this book.
All My Puny Sorrows, Miriam Toews – I wanted to like this more than I did. The dynamic between the sisters was interesting but I just don’t think Miriam Toews is for me.
Pond, Claire-Louise Bennett – Nothing wrong with it, but a little too slow and quiet for me.
O, Caledonia, Elspeth Barker – No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get myself to care about how poor Janet died.
Veronica, Mary Gaitskill – I loved Bad Behavior and expected to like this more, but there was a lot of superfluous meandering that made me feel like I was looking at the story through dirty glasses. (I’m sorry Katie.)
Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier – I expected to like this more than I did. I tend to like a gothic, moody novel, but this one just didn’t hit for me.
Who Will Run the Frog Hospital? Lorrie Moore – I love Lorrie Moore’s short stories and girlhood and upstate New York, and theme parks (the character literally works at my local childhood theme park). This should have been a home run for me, but alas, it was just fine.
I Am Homeless if This is Not My Home, Lorrie Moore – I really want Lorrie Moore to be a great novelist, but her short stories are just so much better than her novels.
Classics I should probably rank higher if I want people to think I’m a serious writer, but just weren’t that entertaining
Dubliners, James Joyce – I have in my notes “sharp and precise,” and I remember the characters feeling like real people, even in the shortest stories, but to be honest I don’t remember much else. Sorry James Joyce!
Excellent Women, Barbara Pym – I read this in my first term, and I’m glad I did, because if I read it after I got divorced—about a just-north-of-thirty spinster in post-war London—it might have hit differently. So mannerly I kept forgetting we were in the 1950s and not the 1800s.
A Good Man is Hard to Find and Other Stories, Flannery O’Connor – I admire how her stories are fairly conventional, yet with an undercurrent of violence. But also felt like schoolwork.
The Portrait of a Lady, Henry James – Ranked poorly because I will confess I didn’t actually finish this in time. I got a little too ambitious in choosing a 650 page book to read in a month where I also needed to read four other books. And write twenty pages. And work. Anyway, Henry James is actually great and I should really give this one a re-read with enough time to actually get through it.
A Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf – My first Virginia Woolf and I didn’t realize until I read it that it’s not a novel. Whoops. I found her focus on the total separation of women’s and men’s intellectual histories and styles interesting, if not necessarily believable in the 21st century. Still, get that room of your own, preferably with a lock, girlies.
Emma, Jane Austen – I hesitated to put this here, because I’m supposed to like Jane Austen. I was once a bookish young girl, and she’s Jane Austen. The 2005 Pride and Prejudice movie is even one of my all-time favorites! And yet. I didn’t actually enjoy reading Emma.
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, Carson McCullers – Love the ensemble cast, and I think McCullers does a particularly masterful job of writing child characters who feel real and complex despite their youth. But this was too long for me, and eventually became a slog.
The murky middle where everything is good but not amazing
Intermezzo, Sally Rooney – I’ve read Conversations with Friends at least six or seven times, so I’m sort of shocking myself with ranking this one so low. Cool to see her experimenting with form, but by far my least favorite Rooney novel.
Cathedral, Raymond Carver – I read this after the other Carver collection so I’m sure this has to do with the order in which I read them, but by the end of Cathedral I was beginning to feel bored by the starkness of the prose.
Your Duck is My Duck, Deborah Eisenberg – I’ll be honest, I don’t really remember this collection, and have nothing in my notes.
A Member of the Wedding, Carson McCullers – I loved Frankie, and though I really love Carson McCullers, I find her difficult to get through.
The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath – Exactly as I expected—the origin of the sad girl lit trope, and like those WWII “Keep Calm and Carry On” posters, unfortunately very 2014 Tumblr-coded.
The Force of Such Beauty, Barbara Bourland – A lighter read (kind of), about a young Olympic marathoner from South Africa who marries a fictional prince and is consumed by the rigid structure and demands of that life. It was good, it was easy to read, but ultimately felt like eating one of those slightly upscale ice cream bars.
My Year of Rest and Relaxation, Ottessa Moshfegh – If you’ve read an Ottessa Moshfegh book, it’s probably this one. This was a re-read for my critical paper, and I appreciated it more the second time through. I still hated the ending.
A Manual for Cleaning Women, Lucia Berlin – I liked this, but not as much as I expected. The stories were full of rich characters and were emotionally resonant, but not very exciting. Maybe I’ve just read too many similar collections.
The Garden Party and Other Stories, Katherine Mansfield – Loved the sharpness of many of the details in these stories. A quote I wrote down “[the daughter] put her arm around her mother and gently, very gently, she bit her mother’s ear.”
The Rachel Incident, Caroline O’Donoghue – A Sally Rooney-esque story of messy people in their twenties. I read a lot of books like this, and while I generally enjoy them (and know lots of people loved this one!) it just didn’t do it for me.
Ghost Wall, Sarah Moss – I had a hard time getting through this little tiny book, because the main character was so frustratingly helpless. I’m not sure if I wanted her to have more agency, or if my discomfort was the point.
The Office of Historical Corrections, Danielle Evans – Bright, splashy stories where heavy themes are explored at various exciting places. No one is sitting in a restaurant, they’re at a water park, on a ferry to Alcatraz, or in a model of the Titanic. I read this my last term though, and I was so burned out from reading story collections it kind of blurs together with all the other ones.
Delicate Edible Birds, Lauren Groff – I admit I’m not a fan of Lauren Groff’s novels, but I really like her short stories. She can cover entire lives, multiple generations in a short story, yet still gives the impression of a deeply, richly, rendered world.
Reading Like a Writer, Francine Prose – I went through a whole highlighter on this book. It was very helpful as a framework for reading fiction, as a writer of fiction. I should probably re-read it at some point.
Drinking Coffee Elsewhere, ZZ Packer – Interestingly, I don’t remember much of this collection, but I wrote in my notes “Adored this collection. Packer is the type of writer that makes me want to give up she’s so good.”
The Hunter, Tana French - Tana French writes about murder and Ireland, and I love all her novels. This, her most recent entry, is a little more experimental, with a body not showing up until 2/3 through the book. Not my favorite of her novels, but still very good.
The Guest, Emma Cline – This was very stressful to read, and I inhaled it. The stakes feel so high, and the clock is running out the whole time. But like cotton candy, it seemed to dissolve as I read it, and I never think about it after the fact.
I would casually recommend these if we were chatting at a party
The Candy House, Jennifer Egan - Several years ago I read and loved A Visit From the Goon Squad, which was the first book I’d read that could be considered either a novel or story collection, and really opened my perspective of what a novel could be. The Candy House brought about that sense of possibility again. Egan has a tendency to circle around the same characters, elevating minor players from past stories to starring roles of new ones. This always makes me think of that concept of realizing that everyone around you has as complex and rich a life as you do (isn’t there a German word for that?).
Washington Square, Henry James – I loved Washington Square, and should probably put more Henry James on my summer reading list. His characters are like prisms, where viewing them from a different angle gives a completely different impression. For instance, Morris Townsend is either a charming, desirable suitor, or a gold-digging grifter, depending on who you ask. It makes total sense why Henry James is a major influence of Sally Rooney.
My Brilliant Friend, Elena Ferrante – This was the very first book I read for my MFA, and I flew through it. I didn’t want to “waste” two more books on my reading list to finish the trilogy, so maybe this summer I’ll tackle all three.
Eileen, Ottessa Moshfegh - My favorite of Moshfegh’s novels. Perhaps ironically, it’s also the one she wrote using the Alan Watts’ book The 90-Day Novel, and once described in an interview, “So … it started out as a fuck-you joke, also I’m broke, also I want to be famous.” Icon? Or kind of an asshole? I can never tell.
Bliss Montage, Ling Ma – First of all, killer title. At the time I read this I was on the fence about speculative fiction, but this collection is more like reality with the volume turned up. I devoured it.
Homesick for Another World, Ottessa Moshfegh – I’m surprised no one ever talks about Moshfegh’s stories, because they might actually be better than her novels. The grotesque details are certainly easier to stomach in a shorter format, at least.
Meander, Spiral, Explode, Jane Alison – One of the better craft books I’ve read, and really made me re-think plot.
Big Swiss, Jen Beagin –The concept of a transcriptionist who knows the dirty secrets of everyone in town was so good—who doesn’t love eavesdropping? The writing is hilarious, and the characters are all so odd and compelling. Also, it takes place in Hudson, and is accurate down to the poetic wine tasting notes at Lil Deb’s Oasis, so that was fun.
Self Help, Lorrie Moore – More Lorrie Moore! So many unconventional forms here, and they never feel gimmicky. I once attended an event with Jennifer Egan who, in answering a question about the same subject, said that unconventional forms work only when the story won’t work in any other form. Based on this collection, I think Moore would likely agree.
Normal People, Sally Rooney - This was a re-read for me, and as you already know, I’m a Sally Rooney fangirl. If somehow you still haven’t read this, you should. Then watch the show. Technically a low-stakes high school and college love story, it feels incredibly high stakes and reads like a thriller.
The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison – Obviously brilliant. Hard to read at times because Morrison writes so directly about all the ugliness and humiliation her characters endure.
What We Talk About When We Talk About Love, Raymond Carver - Seemed fitting because David Gates, my first term teacher, was my personal Gordon Lish (entire pages crossed out, the only comment “no.”). I love a short declarative sentence, so I do love Carver.
The Secret Lives of Church Ladies, Deesha Philyaw – Loved this one. The tension between religion and sexuality was great, and just a lot of brilliant stories.
Martyr!, Kaveh Akbar – I kept seeing this recommended online, and ended up reading it in one sitting on a plane. It deals with addiction, identity as an Iranian immigrant, and death, woven together through several points of view. Martyr! reminded me a lot of There, There and in the acknowledgements the first and most prominent was to Tommy Orange, so there was a real connection!
Jesus’ Son, Denis Johnson – I mean, there’s a reason this book is so well-known among writers. It’s just so good, and the details were so strong I felt like I was totally saturated in every story.
Now we’re really cooking
August Blue, Deborah Levy – I loved this, even though it was written in the style of, as Joyce Carol Oates once tweeted derisively, “wan little husks.” I love those types of novels. August Blue featured a repeating motif of mechanical horse toys and encountering the same woman repeatedly, an interesting parallel to her book Swimming Home, which has a full scene repeated throughout.
Olive Kitteridge, Elizabeth Strout – I couldn’t stop thinking about this one. Something so real about the characters and the world. The type of writing that inspires me to write more myself. But also, it took me forever to get through.
Painting Time, Maylis de Kerangal – Beautifully written, gorgeous prose, and I love the freaky cover. Some books seem to shoehorn in an author’s niche interest, but I genuinely liked learning about decorative painters, though at some points I’ll admit it felt like the author was just killing time.
Jernigan, David Gates –The “alcoholic mess of a bad man neglects his family and does bad things” is probably considered overdone, but maybe it wasn’t in 1991, but also I don’t care, I loved this book. You may recall from earlier in this list that David was my first term teacher. The writing voice is so similar to his actual speaking voice I felt like I was hearing him narrate it the whole time. If you’ve ever read anything written by Anthony Bourdain you know what I mean.
The New Me, Halle Butler - An entry in the more recent niche of “Millennial woman is a mess and makes bad choices.” She’s hilarious and so very real. I saw her read a few months ago and she’s among my favorite readers—and her new book Banal Nightmare might be even better.
The Marriage Portrait, Maggie O’Farrell – I bought this in the cursed Dallas airport when I found myself about to board a flight without any reading material. I read it cover to cover on the flight and loved it.
Swimming Home, Deborah Levy – So many perfect details. Here’s one: “She turned around to see Isabel stub out her cigarette with her bare foot.”
Collection of John Cheever stories – “The Swimmer” is a classic for a reason, it’s so, so good. The pacing is perfect, and the shift to surrealism is so incremental I was shocked by the end, and immediately re-read it. Do I need to read more John Cheever?
Leaving the Atocha Station, Ben Lerner – If not for sexism, Ben Lerner belongs in the sad girl lit canon for this one. I am a sucker for a novel about a directionless twenty-something thinking deeply and getting drunk and high a lot, and I absolutely loved Leaving the Atocha Station.
The Lives of Girls and Women, Alice Munro – I read this immediately before Alice Munro got cancelled, so I feel like I missed the opportunity to talk to anyone about it. It was so good I kept saying “are you kidding me?” and reading passages aloud to whoever was nearby.
I would absolutely re-read all of these, and would recommend them to you with a frankly unsettling level of enthusiasm
Also known as the top ten
Happy Hour, Marlowe Granados – This was one of those books where nothing much happens, plot-wise (two young girls go to glamorous parties and struggle to pay rent one summer in New York City), yet was totally absorbing. Every sentence Granados wrote is so vibrant and fresh, like biting into a juicy peach. The ideal summer novel. I can’t believe it didn’t get more attention.
Giovanni’s Room, James Baldwin – So much happens in every sentence, and they go down so smoothly. I found myself highlighting nearly entire pages.
The Summer Book, Tove Jansson – Or as I like to call her “the Moomins lady.” I have a Finnish exchange sister, so I was glad to read Finnish literature for the first time. I adored this book. It’s about a grandmother and granddaughter living on a small island off the coast of Finland, and nothing much happens, but it’s never dull. As advertised, a perfect summer book.
Acts of Service, Lillian Fishman – One of my all-time favorites, I’ve probably read it four or five times. It’s like Sally Rooney if every other scene was a sex scene. It was, however, a re-read, so feels a bit like cheating to rank it higher.
Foster, Claire Keegan – Like all writers I think Claire Keegan is a perfect angel genius and can do no wrong. I wrote in my notes “I’m overwhelmed by how good this is.”
Small Things Like These, Claire Keegan – Another perfect Claire Keegan. Honestly I don’t even know how to rank them against each other, so it’s a tie.
Knockemstiff, Donald Ray Pollock – loved, loved. The characters behaved in such strange yet believable ways (an alcoholic father drinks liquor from the car’s ashtray, someone sticks a match in their ear like a q-tip). The voice was so strong and the details so pungent I’ll be thinking about it for a long time.
Friday Black, Nana Kwame Adjej-Brenyah – Looooved this one. Adjej-Brenyah grew up in upstate New York and went to UAlbany, and many of the stories take place there. It was inspiring to read such inventive, fascinating stories about things I once considered too banal to write about, like working at Crossgates.
There, There, Tommy Orange – This book is structured with 12 points of view that eventually come together at the end, all relating to the Native American community in Oakland. It’s also beautifully written and super readable.
Also in the acknowledgements there’s a note about how Claire Vaye Watkins basically discovered him in a class he took and referred him to an agent to launch his career. And as someone who is both a Claire Vaye Watkins fangirl and had a workshop with her and was not referred to an agent, I am unbelievably envious of Tommy Orange.
All Fours, Miranda July – The unnamed narrator of All Fours is inspired by impending menopause to embark on a bizarre, horny quest of self-discovery. It’s also a novel that’s impossible to not tear through.
I don’t think I can overstate how much I love Miranda July. I have long adored her story collection No one belongs here more than you, and so naturally I loved All Fours. Her stylized writing is so strange, and her plots are sometimes verging on unhinged, but it all just works. I don’t even know how to explain it, but I did write a two-page annotation about this scene:
We stopped to look at the view and catch our breath and he took his sweater off, and as he pulled it over his head his T-shirt lifted, too, and in front of me was his chest. I don’t want to describe it. I’ll just say that there were only a few hairs around his nipples. That’s all I want to say at this juncture. Skinny but muscles. That’s all, enough. The word ripped comes to mind, The End.
She then goes on to describe it for another eight sentences, in which at one point she compares him to Jesus, and how anyone would feel compelled to kiss Jesus’ bare chest. Icon. Legend. You’ll always be famous, Miranda July.
I don't agree with some of the things you hated but I'm here to overwhelmingly agree about All Fours. Beautifully written and such an unhinged, navel gazing main character that you can't help but roll your eyes at and still want to be friends.
Taking inspo for this for when I’m done with my MFA! Such an awesome post 👏