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An MFA? Really?

First and foremost: it is not wise to pay for grad school. Every adult I have ever spoken with, both professors and workers completely divorced from academia, has told me this. Many Master’s programs are just money-making schemes for universities without all that much value for you. The good news is, there are many MFA (as well as PhD!) programs out there that pay you a stipend for your time on campus.

My decision to apply stems from this fact. An MFA is one of the few ways to be paid as a full time author now, even if it is only for a handful of years. I’m under no delusion that an acceptance means I will become an acclaimed prolific author, or even a published one. But with more time comes more written output. I see it as a chance to write with as few practical obstacles as possible. And yes, I’ll probably return to a different job when the degree is done. So what? Life isn’t linear and I don’t want mine to be.

Another few reasons why I’m interested in MFA programs: I’m at an age and period of my life where I don’t have anyone depending on me, nor do I have any reason to live in any specific place. There are gaps in my writing knowledge, especially when it comes to long form pieces, and I think close guidance will be the most efficient way to fill them. I have done lots of workshopping in the past and I know it is a format that works for me. And, maybe more than anything else, my undergraduate professors told me they think I am a qualified candidate. I lose sight of myself as a writer often, but I trust their input. Without their encouragement I would be much more hesitant to dedicate so much time (as well as potentially money, see below) for the slim chance at an acceptance.

Where I’m Applying (and Why)

I currently have 12 schools on my list. I plan to cut a few, and I will cut A LOT if I don’t qualify for fee waivers. It all comes down to the financial facts. So when I began my search, I only considered schools that fully fund all their applicants. I don’t care if there’s a chance I get a full merit scholarship, I’m not applying if a stipend’s not a guarantee. Sorry NYU and Columbia!

From that list (which is longer than you might think, but still manageable), I considered locations and stipend amounts. I’m not built for rural living, and while I’m pretty frugal, I don’t want to be completely broke during my program time. From there it was pretty easy to figure out which options would work for me. I don’t want to jinx anything, so I won’t share where I’m applying for now, but I’m sure you can guess a few. In the future when all is said and done I’ll definitely divulge!

Drafting, Doubting

After sifting through different program websites during winter and spring, this summer I sat down to start really working on my applications.

First concern: the writing sample. I’m tweaking stories I got workshopped during undergrad, hoping that two short stories will come together to total about 25-30 pages, the amount most programs ask for. I think this has been the scariest part. I know I need as many rounds of revisions as possible between now and December to build them to the best they can be. But it’s daunting, and I’ve been avoiding it. Scold me in the comments so I feel the pressure to sit down and get it over with!

I have this strange fear of changing anything about a story after I’ve already gotten positive feedback about it. What if I make it worse on accident? I’m not at all confident in my ability to make deep edits. So even if April comes around and I have nothing but rejections, I think I’ll be glad the application cycle forced me to sit through serious revisions on a piece longer than I usually would.

Then comes the statement of purpose, the academic statement, the statement of intent, the personal statement, the supplemental with a million names. And its looming question: Why do you want to be a writer, really? I also feared working on this, but once I sat down, the answers came flowing out. Now I’m facing a sort of opposite problem; some schools require you to write separate statements for the academic side and the personal side, when I’ve found the two are so deeply entwined for me.

The other half of my struggle comes from doubt and comparison. There is a lot of information online about what a SOP is supposed to say, so it’s hard to parse out whether I’m providing the right information or not. But I’m mustering up the courage to ask former professors if they would glance it over and I’m trying to trust my gut more than random advice on the Internet.

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If anyone else is applying this year, let’s commiserate! Or I’d love to hear about anyone’s past experiences in the MFA application process, good or bad. Let’s talk books :)

When my friend and I decided to take a last minute weekend trip to Romania, there was obviously some required reading to be done. I had heard bits and pieces about Bram Stoker’s Dracula from Tumblr posts about Dracula Daily—which I only recently realized is actually a Substack. Full circle!

I can see why the people of Tumblr liked Dracula. More than a vampire drama, it’s focused on a found family with sprinkles of polyamory. (Spoiler: three men propose to the same woman and she laments that she can’t marry them all. Later all three give her a blood transfusion, which is linked to the binds of marriage.) Don’t mistake it for being too progressive; Stoker removes women from the action, espousing some benevolent sexism that, if I can go on a tangent for a moment, reminds me of why I will never buy into the whole “divine femininity” sentiment that’s popular at the moment. I guess you can write it off as being of its time. My real main complaints with the book would be the uneven pacing and repetitive plot points.

Visiting the country of Romania was superior to reading a few passages about Transylvania (the book actually mostly takes place in England). An underrated country for sure; there’s beautiful nature, cool and varied architecture, and fun surprises, if you’re lucky. My friend and I stumbled into a youth cello competition in the Roman Athenaeum!

If you need a reason to try Dracula: there is a Texan cowboy named Quincey Morris. The vampire book does not let you forget he’s a Yank. If you need a reason to visit Bucharest: Therme Bucuresti is part spa, part water park, and it puts the more popular thermal baths in Budapest to shame.

Anna Karenina across ancient temples

I did it! I finished the longest book I have ever read! I decided June would be the month I pushed through to the end. Trips around the Attica peninsula helped; reading sessions on the beach and during scenic bus rides made my effort a lot easier.

In my last post in this series I mentioned being impressed by Tolstoy’s vivid characters, which followed through to the end. Here I’ll add two more major strengths: layered dialogue and command over the scene. There is probably a more technical, intellectual, or official word for what I mean when I say layered dialogue, so if you know it, do tell. What I’m trying to convey is conversation that features what the characters are saying, what the characters are thinking, and how the characters are interpreting the former based on the latter. Late in the novel, there are so many clever conversations between Anna and Vronsky that do just this. It’s complicated and so convincingly real.

As for the second strength: so many moments are elevated by the decision to add a dynamic element beyond the scene’s immediate purpose. The very best example is the scene where Karenin goes to a lawyer to discuss the possibility of divorce. Already, that’s something you want to read. But the scene is so much richer because the entire time, the lawyer is distracted, trying to catch moths that have infiltrated his office and thinking about purchasing new furniture. It’s so brilliant. Tolstoy really knows his stuff! I’ll have to read more Russian classics, but first, I needed a brain break.

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Off Campus on the clock

This June I had a job in the technical sense, but in terms of actual work to be completed, there was nothing. (Not for lack of motivation! If I’m stuck in a place for a set amount of hours, I prefer having things to do, believe me.) I read all four of Elle Kennedy’s Off Campus books in around the span of a week and a half. I’m not proud of it! But I’ll be honest and say that it happened. I was reading these at the same time I finished Anna Karenina, so take it as proof I’m multifaceted.

These books are really, really bad. The prose is juvenile, the characters are flat, the men are misogynistic, the women are too. I started reading so I could have book knowledge going into seeing the TV show, which differs in content and stands worlds apart in quality. Watching and reading the first book side by side, I was outraged that the TV show was making me like Garrett Graham. In the books he absolutely sucks! And Dean? Who all fans inexplicably love? Kinda rape-y. I just don’t understand the decision to write men this way. If you know your audience is women, why include moments like this:

We both check out her ass when she turns around. I don’t even feel perky about it, because she’s pretty much inviting our appreciative glances by shaking that round bottom and swaying her hips as she walks.

The “we” in question (Dean and Beau) aren’t even ogling a love interest. They’re just sexualizing a waitress that never appears again for no apparent purpose.

On the one hand, I’m glad the TV show somehow, miraculously brought out a sweet romance and sensible survivor story from these objectively awful books. On the other, I don’t like that its success will lead to more attention to the author and her work. At points while reading it was hard to believe they were written by a woman, given the objectification of women and the revelry in locker room culture. I think Elle Kennedy wishes she was a college jock who can act promiscuous and abhorrent without consequences. I’m not joking, there’s Freudian penis envy at play. Maybe someday I’ll write more on the fourth book in particular, but for now, I need a long break from lowbrow romance.

The Wedding People in Dubrovnik

What is your perfect day? My friends and I were going through the 30 questions to fall in love and at this point agreed it’s an unfair question, because there are many kinds of perfect days. I have to report in Dubrovnik I experienced one of mine.

To be honest, I’m not sure I would recommend Dubrovnik as a whole. It’s expensive, but I think in comparison to other higher-priced European cities, the real problem is it doesn’t have the history, culture, or activities to back it up. If you love beaches or spending money, you’ll enjoy it. And it is ridiculously beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but if you’re a hostel-and-backpack type of traveler like me, I think you’ll have a better budget vacation elsewhere.

With that being said, if you are in Dubrovnik, the boat ticket over to Lokrum Island is absolutely worth it. This is the setting of my perfect day. I was on the beach, warm but tucked back in the shade. Glittering blue water and rocks to climb on stretched out ahead, peacocks weaved between tourists’ towels. A friend had loaned me Alison Espach’s The Wedding People. Goodreads has spontaneously recommended it to me more than once, which made me skeptical. But I spent my entire day on that beach reading it from front to back.

The luxury of reading a good book in one day, uninterrupted. Is there any better feeling in the world? Espach writes simple prose, yet from it emerges such lifelike characters. Flawed but still very likable. And the chemistry between them wowed me; Phoebe and Gary might be my favorite romance of the year so far. A book that absolutely deserves its hype. I recommend going in blind like I did and enjoying the pleasant surprises it will hold for you.

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I hope your summer has also included some beach reads. Anything you’d recommend? Let’s talk books :)

At Northwestern University, my undergraduate alma mater, it used to be the case that in order to take English 207, Introduction to Fiction, you had to take English 206, Introduction to Poetry. A confession: I’ve never liked poetry much. But I knew I needed to get into Introduction to Fiction as soon as possible, so there I was, newly nineteen, sitting around one long wooden table with twelve seniors, antsy to graduate, and one other freshman. I wanted to be her friend. This desire was not reciprocated.

Freshman year hadn’t been a disaster so far, but it wasn’t ideal, either.

I had exactly two friends, and by spring they decided they didn’t like each other much, so my fragile friend group had collapsed. Clubs rejected me. The director of the non-major concert band essentially humiliated me into quitting. I peed on the floor of my dorm room. Not for any fun reason, like being too drunk, but because I had been absorbed in homework for so long I had forgotten to get up to use the bathroom until it was too late.

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My random roommate, on the other hand, was having a first year from the movies. In terms of getting alone time, our schedules were ideally opposite: she would leave to pre-game and party while I got ready for bed, without any invitations to be anywhere. The next morning I would leave early so I could arrive at the library right when it opened, and she got the space to sleep in.

My friends from high school were also ecstatic about university life. So when we called, I kept my struggles to myself. I wouldn’t lie and agree when they raved about how much fun they were having, but I didn’t have anything positive to contribute, either.

I had it in my head that the English Department would be my answer. I would find other people who weren’t going to become consultants or engineers or doctors, who liked quieter pastimes, who might be a bit more lenient towards my awkward tendencies.

So I was dismayed when Introduction to Poetry was almost all upperclassmen looking for an easy way to cash in a few credits, and my fellow freshman had an intimidating and impenetrable East Coast sorority polish.

But I was reintroduced to an art form I had written off too soon. We read Mark Doty’s “Homo Will Not Inherit,” Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “I, being born a woman and distressed,” and my favorite, Mark Jarman’s “Ground Swell.” And, through weekly journal assignments, I dipped my toes into a new way of expressing myself. I truly believe these few months transformed my writing style. Even though I stick to fiction (and now I’m experimenting with creative non-fiction), developing an ear for lyricism was invaluable.

There was one problem.

All students were required to have one poem workshopped. A peer would read it out loud for everyone, and discussion would commence, while you sat in silence, absorbing critique without response, as if you didn’t even exist.

I had endured countless situations wrought with social anxiety at college so far, but this went a step beyond.

I chose what I had written for our portrait poem assignment. (You can read it here.) Despite the fact that the whole assignment was to write about another person, this poem was a deep cut into my soul. Really, what isn’t?

I came to class the day of my workshop in a rush of nerves. It was one of those moments that my body, still wired in its prehistoric way, interpreted as life or death. I was genuinely concerned I would throw up in front of everyone in the build up to the discussion of my poem.

A kind senior with bangs and square glasses volunteered to read my poem for the class. She had a gentle voice, but even so, every word sounded absolutely ridiculous to me. Had I really thought this was any good? What had I been thinking? I should’ve edited it more. Why hadn’t I—

“I really liked this poem.” The first comment from a classmate.

And nods of agreement all around me. The workshop that proceeded was mostly complimentary. To say a weight was lifted off my shoulders is a bit cliché, but in that moment I understood where the phrase had come from. So it wasn’t terrible. So I wasn’t a worthless writer.

I still remember the main negative comment I received that day: that the start to stanza four didn’t make sense as the others did. This feedback delighted me. Because from my perspective, with the knowledge I drew upon while writing, it absolutely did. But to the reader, it became something abstract and open to interpretation.

It sounds obvious, but for me, this was the first time I realized that the words I put on the page do not inherently mean what I intend for them to. Listening to different interpretations go around the table, I watched my poem leave the world of my mind and become something new to each person who read it. Was this scary? Yes, a bit. But I moreso found it enthralling. I’d always been on the reader’s side of this process, almost unaware it was occurring. But this, to create something that others make into their own, was magical. I wanted to do it again.

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This is my first time writing something like this! I guess you would call it a personal essay? My fear of sharing my work is alive and well, even online; I think of my Substack as a new attempt at besting it. I’d love to hear from you guys about your experiences with sharing your writing, either here on Substack or in the Real World. And if anyone has advice to cure my phobia, please let me know! Thanks for reading :)

I started Emily Bronte’s book in Rome and finished it at home. (That was part of this post). Charlotte Bronte’s book, on the other hand, has been with me all over. (Spoilers below, if you need it for an old book.) First I took it with me on a weekend trip to Bulgaria. I was reading the Lowood Institution section, Jane’s schooling, on a grey, muted day, watching snowflakes fly by from the window of the bus taking me to Rila Monastery. It really put me in the right gothic mood, and I loved young Jane’s strong will. A friend of mine recently finished this novel and told me she liked it, but found Jane annoying. I couldn’t disagree more!

I started to get to the Thornfield Hall section, when Jane becomes a governess, while I was in Plovdiv. (These are the two coolest places in the country, by the way. I didn’t care for Sofia much.) I was really tickled by Mr. Rochester, he’s such an odd man. The first time he meets Jane felt right out of a contemporary romance novel, but also, why was he so surly and evasive? I was even more amused when he dressed up as the fortune teller just to fuck with everyone. What an absolute weirdo. But at the same time, I’ve met men in real life that, despite their lack of estates and dress-up shenanigans, act very similarly.

I actually did like Jane and Rochester’s relationship, but what I appreciated the most was the period of time between their engagement and their almost-wedding. It was like a switch had flipped; all my excitement for their romance turned to a slow-creeping terror. I loved quotes like this:

“I am not an angel,” I asserted; “and I will not be one till I die: I will be myself, Mr. Rochester, you must neither expect nor exact anything celestial of me—for you will not get it, any more than I shall get it of you; which I do not at all anticipate.”

I read this and thought: so it’s an experience that transcends time! Because I’ve also had men elevate me to the status of icon when all I want is for him to love me as the human I am. For me, this was the moment where I understood completely why this book is a classic: it captures a woman’s experience across time.

After a little hiatus from Bronte, I was reading the Moor House section (after Jane leaves Thornfield) while on the bus to Patra, a city in Greece known for its carnival celebrations. I was upset when we arrived because by then I was hooked and wanted to finish! But I had to take a break for visiting the local castle (which is a free public park!) and watching some of the grand parade.

Through vague pop culture osmosis, I knew of the Thornfield section and Mr. Rochester’s secret. Once she left him, I had no idea what to expect. There was something so raw about Jane wandering the countryside, without connections, without prospects, forced to beg. And that slow-creeping terror returned with St John’s proposal. I think the vividness of the male characters is another one of the book’s real strengths, because St John was just as compelling as Mr. Rochester, another kind of man I’ve absolutely encountered before.

If you haven’t read Jane Eyre, I really think you should! And if you have, I also recommend Adrienne Rich’s essay about the novel as it relates to the broader experience of womanhood, “The Temptations of a Motherless Woman.”

Animal Farm on an airplane

I have nothing to say about Animal Farm besides that it is a good size for traveling with and a good length for reading on a flight. Pictured below: a man sticking his shoes all the way underneath my seat to intrude on my foot room.

Either/Or…in my room

If you read my favorite reads of 2025, you know The Idiot by Elif Batuman is one of my favorite books of all time. There is so much I admire about that text and about Batuman’s writing. However, I did not like its sequel quite as much. For one, I think my lesser enjoyment stemmed from a selfish place: I really related to Selin in The Idiot, but our experiences diverged quite a bit in this book. My other gripe was that this book included a lot of questions. Not thematically or metaphorically, I mean in the prose itself. Maybe I disliked this because my professors always told me not to ask rhetorical questions in my papers. This doesn’t have to apply to fiction, of course, but it’s probably influenced my stylistic taste. But I think The Idiot’s best observations and ideas were allowed to sit with the reader. In Either/Or, I think I felt more of Batuman’s hand trying to guide the reader to conclusions, and the prose’s incessant lines of questioning contributed to that.

Still, I continue to adore (worship, even) Batuman’s writing style and skill, and like The Idiot, this book is full of interesting ideas and funny moments. It’s a parody of life in some ways, while also portraying it exactly as it is. Top strength of this book: Selin’s various observations about the women around her beginning to date and the looming threats of sex and marriage. Small spoiler: Selin and Svetlana became very Jo and Meg March in this book. Selin wonders why their friendship can’t be something more, can’t overcome the power of boyfriends, even ones yet to be, and then once Svetlana does begin to date a man she disappears from the narrative. It’s a melancholy tale as old as time, unfortunately, but I loved to read it being represented again.

Anais Nin at ancient Mycenae

Another trip, another book borrowed from a friend, another gloomy day ripe for reading. A friend’s parents were visiting her and rented a car for their stay, so three of us packed into their backseat like middle schoolers being shuttled to day of terrorizing the local mall to visit the ruins of Mycenae. I brought Henry and June with me. I knew Anais Nin’s reputation: the original erotica writer. Her personal life, as I quickly learned while reading, was (somehow) a lot wilder than that. One of the aforementioned road-tripping friends had read this book and disliked it because she’s morally opposed to cheating. I am, too, but I guess the enjoyment I get from spectating messiness is stronger. Because I ate this book up! Cheating and cheating and more cheating. The drama!

Anais is no role model, but I don’t think she would really claim to be. It was really fascinating to watch the gears in her mind turn right there on the page, articulating her overflowing emotions and rationalizing her immoral choices. Her writing voice is just utterly beautiful. I cannot believe her casual, day-to-day journaling was done in such stunning prose. The way I write these posts is maybe one step above the level I’m writing at in my journal, and, well, you can judge the quality of prose we’re working with for yourself. An aspirational, hypnotizing read. Not everyone will like it, but I think most prose-appreciators would.

Anna Karenina across continents

Confession: It’s been two months and I’m still not done with this book. I’ve taken breaks, I’ve gone through stints where I’d sit down with it for an hour a day, I’ve adjusted to the writing style so the dense pages go by a bit quicker, but my God, it really is just that long. (~390,000 words, for the curious.)

The reading journey starts in Cairo. Can you believe I saw the Great Pyramids of Giza? Because I still can’t. My friends and I splurged on a tour guide and he was determined to move us through the park and on to the Grand Egyptian Museum, so we were circling around the last standing ancient wonder of the world just past 8am. The definition of surreal. He was also somehow the quickest walker alive, because we kept on finding ourselves running after him even though he never appeared to be going that fast. Lack of sleep and overwhelming disbelief made this all hysterical to us. Other highlights of Egypt: delicious food, beautiful mosques, and the freshest, thickest juice I’ve ever tasted, from strawberry to mango to guava.

I actually have somehow been shielded from most of what Anna Karenina is about, and I’ve been trying my hardest to keep it that way, but my phone apparently hears me mentioning it because the algorithms spoiled part of the ending for me. Sigh. I don’t want to say too much before I can give a final review of the whole piece, but I will say this: Tolstoy is a master of character. It’s not like I’ve discovered some secret here, but this is my first of the big Russian authors, and now I understand why one of my creative writing professors was obsessed with them. Even the most minor characters that exist for only one scene are made so vivid. It just really feels like he understands humans at their core.

While in Egypt, we took a day trip to Alexandria to see the new Library of Alexandria and the site where the Lighthouse of Alexandria once stood. I brought Anna along because I find transportation times are the best way to make small but meaningful progress through tougher reads. What I didn’t think through were the implications of bringing a book from one library into a completely different library. When security glanced through my bag, he pulled out Anna. I tried to explain that this was from my local library, not here, and I have no idea if this was clear across the language barrier, because all he did was open the book and stamp it.

Was this some kind of reference to the fact that the ancient Library of Alexandria would copy every book that came into its port? Unclear. But now a random copy of Anna Karenina in a Greek library has a stamp from Egypt because the book was due. Since I’ve been back I’ve been making slow but ready progress. As I’m posting this, I’m in middle of Part 5 out of 8. At my current pace, I would done by the end of July, but I’m aiming to really grind it out in June. Wish me luck and all the reading stamina!

What have you been reading lately, and would you recommend it? Let’s talk books :)

I have to make a disclaimer that I’m not usually an avid reader of the classics. But, I’m currently living abroad in Greece, and for English texts, my selection of free library books is limited to a university’s academic selection. I’ve been using this constraint to fill in reading gaps because even though I have a literature degree, there’s still so many significant texts I haven’t read. I started here:

Fahrenheit 451 on Aegina

For a day trip to an island, I decided to try Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. On the long ferry ride at either end of the day and on the bus between sights, I slogged through this one in one day. Just wasn’t a fan of the prose.

Aegina, however! If you are in Athens and you haven’t already decided to hit a Greek island, this is a good day trip option. (Although I prefer Agistri, the smaller island nearby.) It has the classics: churches, beaches, and ruins, as well as their specialty, pistachios. My personal highlight pictured is a temple that may be for Afaia, the local goddess, or may be for Athena, but only when she’s invisible. Wikipedia and my terrible rambling tour guide had conflicting stories.

Wuthering Heights in Rome

I could go on about Rome forever so I’ll limit myself to two things. The well-known touristy thing you have to do is the Borghese Gallery (top). The hidden gem you need to visit is the Baths of Caracalla (bottom).

As for Emily Bronte: It’s always fun to read a book and come across a line you’ve seen quoted a million times but never knew the context before. I am Heathcliff? Drive me mad? Cathy and Heathcliff, the freaks that you are. But I have to say, I was not very interested in the first half of this book, even though their relationship is the book’s biggest cultural mainstay. I found it really difficult to get into. And even if it is the purpose, when every character kind of sucks it’s hard to be invested.

Now, I’ve never seen a Wuthering Heights film, but to my understanding there is not a single one that has adapted the second half of the book. This angers me more than anything Emerald Fennell could have put in her movie. The second half is the better half! Evil Heathcliff is so awesome (to read about). You guys want an obsessive romance but you won’t include the part where he digs up Cathy’s dead body? I was captivated watching the second generation of characters retrace the steps of their parents, like a reflection in a distorted mirror. You know how it ends and you’re watching the gears click into place. A satisfying sort of tragedy. To me, this was when it became clear why this book is a classic.

Bride (by Ali Hazelwood)…on My Phone

Sometimes you’re visiting cities steeped with history and culture while reading some of the best literature of all time, and sometimes you and your friends joke about werewolves enough that you end up reading a cross-species romance on the bus while headed to work in the morning. Listen, I believe in evaluating books for what they are attempting. Was Ali Hazelwood trying to create a deep, reflective exploration of the human condition? No! She sat down to write an indulgent vampire x werewolf arranged marriage romance with a bit of mystery, and she succeeded. I have to admit I devoured this one.

Percy Jackson in Portugal

I reread The Sea of Monsters ahead of the second season of the TV show, and wow, I forgot how addicting these books are. And since I was at most twelve when I last read the series, it’s like I’m reading them new! I sped through the third and fourth books, so by the time my family and I were off for some holiday travels, I was in too deep to pause my reread.

I swear I was overall living in the moment (see evidence above). But when, for example, waiting for a table at a restaurant? I was reading. On the metro? Reading. At the end of the day unwinding in the hotel room? Reading and reading some more. Yes, they’re quick, simple reads because they’re children’s books, but I think Rick Riordan deserves a lot of credit for his ability to tie storylines together in a satisfying way, and I’d also say he’s a master of Chekhov’s gun. And Percy and Annabeth? From The Titan’s Curse to The Last Olympian, every moment they shared made me just as giddy as I felt discovering their compelling romance as a kid.

Lisbon is beautiful, by the way. The architecture is amazing everywhere you look, but if you want to go beyond the tiled buildings, I’ve got two suggestions. Right in the city center is the Carmo Archeological Museum (left), which has the ruins of a convent that was partially destroyed in an earthquake. If you’re willing to take a tram to Belem (it runs beside the water!), there’s the Jeronimos Monastery (right). Both are beautiful, and you can fit them in amidst climbing hills in downtown Lisbon or a walk along the Tagus river.

What have you been reading lately, and would you recommend it? Let’s talk books :)