Andre Aciman Books in Order

Aciman's memoir recreates his Jewish family's life in Alexandria before exile scattered them. Full of relatives, languages, quarrels, and longing, it shows how childhood memory can hold both deep affection and the knowledge that a world has vanished.

Edited by Aciman, this anthology gathers essays on exile, language, identity, and belonging from writers including Eva Hoffman, Edward Said, Bharati Mukherjee, and Charles Simic. It is a slim, thoughtful book about what home means after dislocation.

Across linked essays, Aciman writes about Alexandria, Europe, Manhattan, and the strange work of remembering. It is a book about exile, self-invention, and the gap between the places we leave and the ones we keep remaking in memory.

This compact collaboration with photographer Steven Rothfeld lingers over the signs, doorways, and visual textures of France. It is less a travel guide than a study of how everyday design reveals a country's style, history, and mood.

On the Italian Riviera, seventeen-year-old Elio becomes consumed by his attraction to Oliver, the older scholar staying with his family. Their intense summer affair turns into a story about desire, risk, and the memory of first love.

A young man meets Clara at a Manhattan Christmas party, and the next week becomes a slow dance of hesitation, cinema dates, and emotional brinkmanship. It is a winter love story built on attraction, doubt, and exquisite delay.

These essays roam through Rome, Paris, New York, Barcelona, and beyond, following how memory changes every place it touches. Aciman turns travel into a meditation on longing, identity, and the lure of elsewhere.

In 1977 Cambridge, an Egyptian Jewish graduate student falls under the spell of Kalaj, a volatile Arab cab driver. Their friendship pulls him between Harvard ambition and a rougher, freer life on the margins.

Paul moves through adolescence and adulthood chasing attachments that are intense, unstable, and never easily named. Across Italy, New England, and New York, the novel follows desire as it shifts between men, women, memory, and regret.

Years after one unforgettable summer, Samuel, Elio, and Oliver each find themselves pulled into new love affairs and old questions. The novel widens the world of Call Me by Your Name and asks what desire looks like after time has passed.

In this collaboration with photographer Jeannette Montgomery Barron, Aciman reflects on Rome through short prose pieces and paired images. The book is less a guidebook than a mood piece about memory, color, beauty, and urban contradiction.

As guest editor, Aciman selects essays shaped by uncertainty, curiosity, and emotional honesty. The collection moves through illness, grief, art, family, and public life, showing how flexible and intimate the essay form can be.

Stranded at a hotel on the Amalfi Coast, a group of friends becomes fascinated by a mysterious older guest from Peru. His strange wisdom and intimate story turn the holiday into something dreamlike, romantic, and quietly unsettling.

In these essays, Aciman turns to time, memory, and the lives we almost lived. Moving through artists, cities, and daydreams, he asks how imagination reshapes the past and keeps the might-have-been alive.

Mariana arrives at an academy in Italy and falls hard for the charming, unreliable Itamar. When he drops her without warning, desire turns into humiliation and fury in this sharp portrait of obsession after love goes sour.

Aciman looks back on the year his family spent in Rome after leaving Egypt. It is a coming-of-age memoir about exile, adolescence, reading, and slowly falling in love with a city he first experienced as loss.

This collection of three novellas circles missed chances, obsession, and enduring regret. Set between New York and Italy, the stories follow people pulled toward connections that feel fated, impossible, or already half lost.

This graphic adaptation retells Elio and Oliver's summer on the Italian Riviera in visual form. It keeps the tension, yearning, and tenderness of the original while letting glances, landscapes, and small gestures carry more of the emotion.