A lot of people talk about the best books ever, but I’m often wishing that many of the authors I respect were represented on these lists a little better. Somewhere along these lines, I wondered to myself: Which books do I want to be buried with? In light of this thought, I’ve put together a little a list of books that, when I die, you’ll have to rip from my cold, dead fingers.

1. The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald

Ok, I know, you are probably thinking that this choice is obvious, over-rated, or worn-out. Considering, however, that the last page of this book might be the best English ever written, I’m happy to see that many people still consider this a great book. Discussions about the identity of the main protagonist, symbolism, and genius execution of the novel never get tired.

2. Fire and Flower, Laura Kasischke

The intermingling of sexuality, destruction, hope, and deceit make this book, when considering its use of image and openness to allusion, a conglomerate among mom-and-pop shops. No book has had me return to its pages so many times.

3. 31 Letters and 13 Dreams, Richard Hugo

When considering forms in contemporary literature, the epistolary is often disregarded. Perhaps because of its deeply personal nature. This, however, is the exact reason I love this book so much. Your connection to characters (or here, real people) is more like the experience you receive in novels. You may even, in some fallible deception, confuse your own identity for that of Hugo’s as you experience images, narrative, and the pure, unashamed reality of these poems. At the least, you will sing the same songs of embarrassment, melancholy, observation, and happiness.

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