Eugene Onegin was Pushkin's favorite among all his works, and although it seems to take a back seat to some of the great late-19th century Russian novels among western readers, Russians themselves tend to prize it above all other works of their country's literature. In case you're not familiar with the story, it deals mainly with two of the title character's ill-fated relationships: one with his friend and neighbor Vladimir Lensky, which ends tragically due to a very unnecessary rivalry over Olga Larin; and the other with Olga's sister Tatyana, which never comes to fruition because Eugene initially rejects her, only to fall in love with her later. Interwoven among all this, Pushkin himself periodically appears to invoke his muse or to digress on such seemingly unrelated topics as his penchant for women's feet.
The work can't possibly be praised enough in a single review, and I won't try to do so; suffice it to say that Eugene's provincial boredom, Tatyana's passion, and Vladimir's poetic romanticism are all splendidly drawn, and many of Pushkin's digressions have justly become proverbs in his native land. Presumably much of the reason that the novel doesn't receive quite so much attention in the non-Russian speaking world is that, due to its verse structure (it consists of 14-line stanzas in iambic tetrameter with a consistent ababccddeffegg rhyme scheme), it's very hard to translate while still retaining both the meaning and the delightfully spirited rhythm of the original. Vladimir Nabokov asserted very emphatically back in the 1960s that any faithful translation would have to almost completely sacrifice the original's lyric quality, and Nabokov's translation is notoriously dull, if extremely adherent to Pushkin's exact meaning. Not speaking Russian, I haven't read the original, nor have I read any other translations than the one I'm reviewing, so I can't say for sure how it compares, but I can say that Falen's translation is extremely good. It adheres, for all intents and purposes, exactly to Pushkin's meter, and does so without any particularly awkward diction, resulting in an end-product that must at least approach the beauty of the Russian version. Some others seem to agree with me: in the preface to his own recent (1999) translation of Onegin, Douglas Hofstadter praises Falen's translation so highly that he has to spend a section explaining why he bothered with a translation when Falen had already done it so perfectly. While most bilingual readers would probably state that to call Falen's (or anybody else's) translation "perfect" would be a stretch, it is still a delightful work, and hopefully other English-speaking readers will acquire, as I have, a better appreciation of the beauty of Pushkin's greatest work as a result of it.