NEW YORK, NY.- When I started traveling, I came to realize just how different Buenos Aires, Argentina, was from other literary cities. Maybe we all have similar thoughts about our hometowns, or maybe my revelation is just one more confirmation of the arrogance for which we porteños — people raised in the port city of Buenos Aires — are famous throughout the rest of Latin America.

But that arrogance is also what gives rise to our literature. Around here, we like to boast of being one of the cities with the greatest number of bookstores per capita in the world — and about how, even in the depths of an economic crisis, Argentina has more than 200 independent publishers. One of our great problems, we like to say, is having more people who want to write than people who read.

We grow up steeped in the idea of a city built by European immigrants yearning for the cultures of other continents. “Everything here is a kind of replica of some other place,” writer Graciela Speranza once said. But the past of this land that was sacked and forsaken for generations now bubbles up all around us.

Maybe Buenos Aires does spend all day navel-gazing, but it’s not out of mere arrogance. It’s a city still trying to understand where it comes from, and what it means to have a past and a future — two fictions we are still hard at work on. Nervous and vital, our literature is constantly dusting itself off, and it doesn’t mind getting its hands a little dirty in the process.

What should I read on the plane?

In the time it takes to read a novel, you can read five stories. If you want to land with a certain big-picture understanding of the place, start with the shortest texts.

On the plane ride over, begin with “The Slaughter Yard,” by Esteban Echeverría, translated by Norman Thomas di Giovanni — one of the foundational works of Argentine literature. After the first nap, go straight to “The Aleph,” by Jorge Luis Borges, translated by Anthony Bonner.

After the meal, pick up “House Taken Over,” by Julio Cortázar, translated by Paul Blackburn, followed by “White Glory,” by Sara Gallardo, translated by Jessica Sequeira. And 15 minutes before landing, read “Early This Morning,” by Pedro Mairal, translated by Kit Maude. This way, you’ll have the city’s layout (and a few escape routes) sketched by various voices.

What books can show me other facets of the city?

“Optic Nerve,” by María Gainza, translated by Thomas Bunstead, is a good guide for any visitor who wants to wander through neighborhoods and art museums while bumping into all kinds of ideas and cultural references. If you want to dip into different social strata, take a look at “Ghosts,” by César Aira, translated by Chris Andrews. Aira is one of the city’s most prolific writers, with over 100 publications to his name. Or tour one of the city’s most traditional high schools with a historical perspective on the 1980s in Martín Kohan’s “School for Patriots,” translated by Nick Caistor.

What writers are everyone talking about?

The phenomenal triad: Mariana Enriquez, Gabriela Cabezón Cámara and Selva Almada. Enriquez is Buenos Aires’ sorceress of horror. Cabezón Cámara has an admirable ability to renew prose and language. And Almada has a deferred and murky restraint that never fails to fascinate me.

In addition to being from the same generation (to which I belong as well), these writers are united by a furious drive to rethink history, and a brave determination to name what has been silenced.

Compelling things are also happening in Argentina’s most recent literature. Authors are recovering lost lexicons, recording new ways of speaking, traversing the most marginal social strata, thinking about new identities as well as new literary genres. The only problem with such divine ebullience is that sometimes decades can pass before it is translated.

If I have no time for day trips, what books could take me there instead?

Hebe Uhart’s travel pieces about the Argentine interior are small gems meant to be savored slowly. Many of them can be found in the anthology “A Question of Belonging,” translated by Anna Vilner.

Take an imaginary trip to the rural areas of Córdoba in Federico Falco’s magnificent story collection “A Perfect Cemetery, ” translated by Jennifer Croft. Or stick to the province’s capital city with Camila Sosa Villada’s “Bad Girls,” translated by Kit Maude — a literary and poetic manifesto that talks frankly about the world of travestis, a term sometimes used in Latin America to describe people who were assigned male at birth but develop a female identity.

If you want to travel through time, turn to Antonio di Benedetto’s novel “Zama,” translated by Esther Allen, which is ideal for taking a deep dive into northern Argentina during the 17th century, in the midst of Spanish colonization. Top it off with the 2017 movie adaptation of the same name, directed by Lucrecia Martel — an atmospheric spectacle filled with landscapes from the past.

Incidentally, di Benedetto is also one of my favorite short story writers, and his collection “Nest in the Bones,” translated by Martina Broner, is an excellent place to start for English-speaking readers.

Sticking to the north, travel back a couple more centuries with “The Witness,” by Juan José Saer, translated by Margaret Jull Costa. Saer is considered one of the greatest Argentine authors, and he is still little known outside his country.

What’s a good place to curl up with a book?

Our botanical garden is small, but it’s an oasis where you can read peacefully right in the middle of the city. Buenos Aires has a strong cafe culture, and it’s not frowned upon to order just a cortado and sit reading for hours. But above all, visitors should be warned that Buenos Aires — even its literary parts — is nocturnal. On any given night, there are myriad book events and readings in houses, clubs, radio stations and bars where writers read what they’re working on to small but attentive audiences.

Any bookstore recommendations?

Walk around any neighborhood to find bookstores. The Ateneo, widely known as one of the world’s most beautiful bookshops, is the one you’ll find in most tourist guides. The Ávila Bookstore, founded in 1785, is the oldest in Buenos Aires. Eterna Cadencia, in the neighborhood of Palermo, is the kind of bookstore Argentine readers like most, with reading nooks, a unique curatorial vision and overflowing shelves.

Then there’s the famous Avenida Corrientes, where you’ll find six or seven blocks lined with used bookstores. They were once open 24 hours a day, just in case someone — perhaps after attending a play, followed by a long dinner with friends and a quick stop at the bar — urgently needed to buy a poetry book at 4:00 in the morning. Today, a majority of the shops are still open until midnight.

What audiobook would make for good company while I walk around?

If you’re interested in the world of artificial creations, digital consciousness and immortality, you will adore “The Invention of Morel,” by Adolfo Bioy Casares, translated by Ruth L.S. Sims. Inspiring series and movies such as “Lost” and “Solaris,” among others, it’s hard to believe the book came out more than 80 years ago. It’s a major nerve center of Argentine literature and a classic example of the endemic genre that we call “fantástico rioplatense,” or fantasy from the Rio de la Plata.

And if you speak a little Spanish, don’t miss Julio Cortázar’s voice on the album “Cortázar lee a Cortázar.” Back in the ’80s, as a teenager, I listened to that on my Walkman as I went out to discover Buenos Aires for myself.

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Samanta Schweblin’s Buenos Aires Reading List

The Slaughter Yard, Esteban Echeverría, translated by Norman Thomas di Giovanni

The Aleph, Jorge Luis Borges, translated by Anthony Bonner

House Taken Over, Julio Cortázar, translated by Paul Blackburn

White Glory, Sara Gallardo, translated by Jessica Sequeira

Early This Morning, Pedro Mairal, translated by Kit Maude

Optic Nerve, María Gainza, translated by Thomas Bunstead

Ghosts, César Aira, translated by Chris Andrews

School for Patriots, Martín Kohan, translated by Nick Caistor

The Dangers of Smoking in Bed, Mariana Enriquez, translated by Megan McDowell

The Adventures of China Iron, Gabriela Cabezón Cámara, translated by Iona Macintyre and Fiona Mackintosh

The Wind that Lays Waste, Selva Almada, translated by Chris Andrews

A Question of Belonging, Hebe Uhart, translated by Anna Vilner

A Perfect Cemetery, Federico Falco, translated by Jennifer Croft

Bad Girls, Camila Sosa Villada, translated by Kit Maude

Zama and Nest in the Bones, Antonio di Benedetto, translated by Esther Allen and Martina Broner

The Witness, Juan José Saer, translated by Margaret Jull Costa

The Invention of Morel, Adolfo Bioy Casares, translated by Ruth L.S. Sims

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.