The one hundred and fourty-fourth book: #84 Eugene Onegin - Alexander Pushkin
Some forms of works translate better than others - a normal novel, where a translator can adapt the structure a bit to fit their language, becomes easier to read than a poem-like structure like that of Eugene Onegin, where the metre of the poem doesn't translate well to something that's as readable. It felt unnatural, not because of the work, not because the translator couldn't do it well, but because it's hard to do justice to that original feeling. The work is poetic and does feel lyrical, but it feels like the diversion and word choices never translated in a way that worked for me, and it led to a story that got boring because it lost its focus so much.