One I anticipate rereading. Chris Marker is a fantastic writer with a voice as immersive and elusive as the Japan he travels/photographs/invents.  I arrived at Le Depays (as I imagine most readers do) through his cine-essay Sans Soleil.  But even on its own, I think this work gives a sense of Marker as a peripatetic, multimedia Proust of the 20th century’s second half, crossing spatial and temporal borders with the agility and irreverence of his beloved cats.  (If there’s a madeleine moment here, it involves a cat named Whisky.) Also, I was really impressed by the translation, then found out Marker did it himself.