Books like Night Boat to Tangier

I’m cheating a bit here because this one isn’t a novel but a collection of short stories by Argentina’s greatest writer.

Beautifully translated, it shows Borges at the height of his powers. I also got a sense throughout of the extraordinary range of his intellect – he certainly liked to show off.

Among my favourite stories are "The Garden of Forking Paths," which anticipates the many worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics, "The Lottery of Babylon," a meditation on luck, "Three Versions of Judas," which comes to a shocking conclusion about who Judas was and why he betrayed Jesus, and "The Immortal," which shows us what a curse immortality would be. And I thought his description of a dream in Ragnarok was spot on.

A history of the early 1960s in America, leading up to the assassination of JFK, seen through the eyes of the mobsters and criminals, crooked cops, spies, and sleazos who power the machines of history.

A comprehensive romp through the underbelly of American crime and politics (and you might, after reading this book, wonder what’s the difference), it’s a novel about characters you don’t like—but they’re vivid and fascinating.

Much more than a gritty gangster novel, it’s a tale about the people in history’s shadows, and, ultimately, history and the “never innocent” America itself. 


Literally, this is the Godfather of Mafia novels and the book that made, “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse,” part of the American vernacular.

It’s a great read, and it later became a great movie. I quote Michael Corleone from Godfather III in my novel. Marlon Brando as Vito Corleone was the reigning king of fictional Mafia dons until Tony Soprano walked onto the small screen.

Author Mario Puzo wrote The Godfather to get out of debt. He succeeded and magnificently so.

Early in this book, a character uses his kitchen oven to dry out some psychedelic mushrooms harvested from the rooftop garden at his flat in World War II London. Dosing the characters (and somehow the reader) with Amanita Muscaria is an appropriate way to set the tone of this book.

Mushroom experiences are fun and giggly and clever, at times, but they can also open the mind to the evils mankind is capable of and the intricate conspiracies seemingly hiding in plain sight. Which is what I love about Gravity’s Rainbow – Pynchon’s writing is hilarious, but then he’ll hit you with a gut punch so poignant it will linger in your mind for decades. 

I loved this book because it contains everything that attracts me to this time period, the thirties.

There’s Prohibition, a popular mobster who paints himself as a religious member of the community, politically corrupt NYC, and the story of a young man’s journey from rags to riches.

Doctorow’s brilliant pacing kept me awake, provoking me to jealousy of his genius.

Retired hitman Frankie Machianno thinks he’s left the past behind and can focus on the things that matter—wife, mistress, daughter, surfing, perfect kitchen, roasting coffee, cooking.

But someone is coming for him and wants him dead. The problem is: Frankie doesn’t know who. As he tries to figure it out, we learn about Frank, his family, his lover, and his past, from San Diego beach bum to mafia “button man.”

He’s my favorite kind of gangster—the good guy bad guy—and I couldn’t help but like Frank and fear for his life, as the novel hurtles toward its bittersweet conclusion.



When I moved to Scotland for my postgrad year studying writing at the University of Edinburgh, the apartment I rented had one book in it – this collection of short stories, set in the same city.

I was pretty sure Trainspotting was the best novel I’d ever read, but I wasn’t aware of this collection of three works of Irvine Welsh’s short fiction. My first night in the apartment, I sat on the one chair and read the one book. And what a buzz!

I loved the mix of grittiness, euphoria, and dark-as-night humour. The focus on club drugs was more relatable than the heroin culture of Trainspotting (although to my delight, Spud Murphy makes a cameo appearance – twice!). 

I imagine just being in the same room as Shane MacGowan would have given me a contact high, and that’s the effect this book had on me.

It’s a series of conversations (one imagines over many, many drinks) with the woman who was his longtime partner and who would become his eventual wife, writer Victoria Mary Clarke.

Besides the absolutely unbelievable stories from this genius of Irish music’s childhood (which I loved), some of the best parts of the book are when Victoria is trying to get into his head around his unparalleled levels of drug and alcohol consumption. When he tells her he started drinking at 5, standing on the kitchen table and singing for bottles of stout, it’s understandable.

I loved hearing the real stories behind his public, on-stage persona, which were as real, drunk, and gritty as his music and voice. 

This book appealed to me because of its strong central character, Helena, who’s carrying around a big secret. Let’s face it—we all have secrets. But most of our secrets are comparatively minor. Helena’s is anything but. Helena’s past is complicated, which makes the plot complicated, just the way I like plots, but the book is still easy enough to follow.

I was interested to see how Helena appreciated some aspects of her past life, even if most people would consider her present life much better. I kept wanting to know more about this imagined place in the U.P., which seemed so strange even though it’s not that far from St. Ignace or Sault Ste. Marie or even the Mackinaw Bridge. 

Melanie’s memoir is a testament to how love and grief can live side by side.

Her story of grappling with faith, family, and loss resonated deeply with me, and her prose is simply luminous—elegant, honest, and profoundly moving. Like my own path, Melanie’s journey is about making peace with life’s messiness—finding the courage to create beauty in the ruins and hold fast to love, even when faith itself is in doubt.

I came away reminded that doubt is not the opposite of faith, but the companion that keeps it real and tender.