Yang Shuang-zi, Taiwan Travelogue, translated by Lin King (And Other Stories, 2020) 

Taiwan Travelogue is a captivating work of historical fiction set in 1930s colonial Taiwan. The story follows Aoyama Chizuko, a Japanese author, as she embarks on a railway journey across the island to research its local cuisine. Accompanied by her interpreter, Wang Chien-ho, the novel unfolds as a “travelogue” that explores the complex power dynamics between the coloniser and colonised. Beyond the lush descriptions of food and landscapes, it delves into the unspoken emotional intimacy and cultural barriers between the two women, ultimately questioning the nature of historical truth and colonial memory. I read both the original and the translation into English, and actually enjoyed the English translation more than the Chinese. The translation is even richer and more layered than the original.

Yilin Wang, The Lantern and the Night Moths (Invisible Books, 2024) 

The Lantern and the Night Moths is a unique and luminous collection that bridges the worlds of poetry and translation. Yilin Wang translates the work of five modern Chinese poets – Qiu Jin, Fei Ming, Mu Dan, Zheng Zhenfeng, and Xiao Xi – while weaving in personal essays that reflect on the act of translation itself. The book explores themes of diaspora, queer identity and resistance, moving beyond mere linguistic conversion to examine the emotional and political stakes of carrying stories across borders. It is both an essential anthology of Chinese poetry and a profound meditation on how we preserve cultural memory through language. I especially enjoyed reading the translator’s elaborate commentary on the unique relationship between the translator and the translated poets.

Jhumpha Lahiri, Translating Myself and Others (Princeton University Press, 2022) 

In Translating Myself and Others, Pulitzer Prize-winning author Jhumpa Lahiri presents a profound collection of essays that explore her transition from writing in English to immersing herself in the Italian language. Moving beyond a simple memoir, the book serves as a philosophical and linguistic investigation into the act of “self-translation”. Lahiri reflects on her work translating the Roman novelist Domenico Starnone and Ovid’s Metamorphoses, while examining the fluidity of identity that comes with living between languages. It is a brilliant tribute to the translator’s craft, framing translation as a creative and transformative mode of existence. I’ve been Jhumpha Lahiri’s fan since The Interpreter of Maladies (1999). By writing in Italian, a language she acquired later in life, Lahiri here embraces a new persona and cultural identity, a total makeover and reinvention.

Michiko Aoyama, What You Are Looking for Is in the Library, translated by Alison Watts (Doubleday, 2020)

In What You Are Looking For Is in the Library, Michiko Aoyama crafts a soul-soothing novel centred around a community library in Tokyo. The story follows five different visitors – ranging from a restless retail clerk to a retired salaryman – who feel stuck in their professional or personal lives. At the heart of the library is the enigmatic librarian, Sayuri Komachi, who senses exactly what each patron needs. Along with their requested books, she hands them an unexpected “bonus” recommendation – a book that is seemingly unrelated yet offers the exact wisdom and perspective needed to transform their lives. It is a gentle, heartwarming exploration of the power of literature to provide clarity and the small, quiet ways we find our path forward. I read this book along with a handful of other books translated from Japanese into English, all dealing with books, bookshops, libraries and cats. This one was the best. My top pick from the unique genre.

Suleika Jaouad, The Book of Alchemy  (Random House, 2025) 

In The Book of Alchemy, bestselling author Suleika Jaouad presents a luminous guide to the transformative power of journaling. Building on the creative resilience she developed during her battle with leukaemia, Jaouad explores how a daily writing practice can help “alchemise” life’s most difficult experiences into meaning and art. The book is structured around ten themes – including fear, memory and rebuilding – and features essays and prompts from 100 diverse contributors, such as Elizabeth Gilbert, George Saunders, and Hanif Abdurraqib. It serves as both a vulnerable memoir and a practical toolkit, encouraging readers to engage with discomfort and use creativity as a compass for navigating life’s “in-between” moments. As a two-time cancer survivor myself, I have been following Suleika Jaouad for years, since her New York Times column “Life, Interrupted”. I am thinking about using this book as a textbook for my creative writing class, if I do start one.

Barry H. Lopez, Embrace Fearlessly the Burning World (Random House, 2022)

Posthumously published in 2022, the legendary nature writer Barry Lopez offers a final, soaring meditation on the sanctity of the earth. This collection of essays serves as both a memoir and a moral compass, moving from his childhood in California to his extensive travels across the Arctic, the Galápagos Islands, and the deserts of the American West. Lopez writes with a profound sense of ecological urgency, imploring readers to move past climate despair and toward a deeper, more intimate “autobiography of place”. He weaves personal history with natural history, exploring how we can find beauty and purpose even as the landscapes we love are changing. It is a swan-song call to live with greater curiosity and reverence for the “burning” world we inhabit. I also highly recommend Horizon (2019), his final major work published during his lifetime. It is a sprawling, autobiographical “epic” that recounts his travels to six different regions, from the High Arctic to Antarctica, reflecting on the future of humanity.

Min Jin Lee, Pachinko (Apollo, 2017)

Pachinko is a sweeping historical family saga that follows four generations of a Korean family living in Japan. The story begins in 1910 with Sunja, a resilient teenager whose unplanned pregnancy sets off a chain of events that leads her family to migrate to Osaka. Spanning nearly a century, the novel explores the harsh realities of discrimination and the struggle for identity faced by Zainichi Koreans (Koreans living in Japan). Through the lens of the family’s involvement in the pachinko parlour business – a symbol of chance and systemic exclusion – Min Jin Lee examines themes of displacement, endurance and the profound sacrifices made for the sake of the next generation. I watched the Apple TV series Pachinko (2022) before reading the book. The television series is a very good translation of the book, even though Lee Minho is way too young to portray Hansu. Having spent my formative years in Seoul, I got to know the Hwaqiao (Chinese living in Korea) pretty well, and their life experiences in Korea are similar to those of the Zainichi.

Ken Liu, The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories (Head of Zeus, 2016) 

The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories is a landmark collection of speculative fiction that blends science fiction, fantasy and Chinese folklore. The title story, which made history by winning the Hugo, Nebula and World Fantasy Awards, follows a biracial boy and his mother, who can bring origami animals to life by breathing into them. Throughout the anthology, Ken Liu explores the emotional weight of the immigrant experience, the ethics of future technology, and the preservation of history. His “silkpunk” aesthetic and lyrical prose serve as a bridge between cultures, offering a poignant look at how we navigate memory, language and the bittersweet ties of family across different worlds. In this book, Liu offers a moving reflection on the nature of language and the necessity of the translator’s craft. One of his most resonant passages reads, “Every act of communication is a miracle of translation.” He expands on this idea by suggesting that even when two people speak the same language, the process of turning private thoughts into shared conversation is a form of translation. In the context of his stories – which often feature characters navigating the gap between English and Chinese – he illustrates that translation is not merely about exchanging words, but about bridging different worlds, histories and emotional landscapes.

Clarissa Wei and Ivy Chen, Made in Taiwan: Recipes and Stories from the Island Nation (Simon & Schuster, 2023)

The book serves as a definitive guide to the distinctive culinary traditions of Taiwanese food away from mainland China. Clarissa Wei argues that Taiwanese cuisine is a vibrant, evolving fusion shaped by the island’s complex history, including Indigenous traditions, Fujianese and Hakka migrations, Japanese colonial influence, and the post-1949 influx of KMT [Chinese Nationalist Party] soldiers and their regional specialities. It contains over 100 recipes, covering everything from iconic street foods like stinky tofu and beef noodle soup to home-style comforts like three-cup chicken. Beyond just ingredients, the book explores the “QQ” texture (the bouncy, chewy mouthfeel beloved in Taiwan) and the island’s unique “bento” culture. It is more than a cookbook: Wei doesn’t shy away from the geopolitical realities of Taiwan and uses food as a lens to explore the island’s sovereignty and the resilience of its people. As a foodie and photographer, I am also impressed by the vivid, documentary-style photography by Ivy Chen that captures the grit and beauty of Taiwan’s wet markets and kitchens.

Jessica J. Lee, Two Trees Make a Forest: on Memory, Migration and Taiwan (Virago Press, 2019)

In Two Trees Make a Forest, Jessica J. Lee delivers a lyrical blend of nature writing, memoir and colonial history. After discovering letters written by her immigrant grandfather, Lee travels to Taiwan to reconnect with her ancestral roots. She skilfully braids the island’s dramatic geological landscapes – its mountains, forests and fault lines – with her family’s history of migration and memory loss. The result is a profound exploration of how the physical environment shapes our identity, offering a delicate, scholarly and deeply personal look at what it means to belong to a place. As a diplomat’s daughter, I grew up in different countries and different languages, and have never “belonged” to any particular place, group or language. Books that deal with this topic always fascinate me. .