The best books that shatter genre limits

This book takes the tired and worn trope surrounding mankind’s search for the fountain of youth, twists it violently, and asks, “What if this were viable, although exorbitantly expensive, tech?” I loved not only this fresh, original angle, but Morgan’s thoughtful treatment of it.

With immersive world-building and a gritty protagonist, Altered Carbon dragged me through a truly surprising and original murder mystery that kept me guessing through the final reveal – though it wasn’t the murder plot that kept me hanging on.

Morgan’s not-particularly-likeable protagonist not only darkened the story, he pressured me to revisit difficult moral questions and to reconsider them from his perspective. He pulled me into the story, shook my moral compass, and then made me believe that perspective was standard in his world.

This book quickly immersed me into its alien culture, mysterious science, and surprisingly impactful character development – I was nearly an instant fan of this superbly fresh approach to interstellar combat.

I love space fiction and its myriad of conflicts arising from exploring new worlds, but apart from rare standout exceptions, I feel that a military focus weighs down a story and handicaps it with deafeningly overworn tropes.

Halo was the first military read that never left me drifting from the story because of thoughtless tropes or corny dialogue. Instead, it kept me engaged through continual mysteries, worldbuilding, and a fresh take on personal growth within a military framework.

I found the books vastly different from the film adaptations, but they were also a surprisingly fresh compliment to one another.

Although heists and team-driven stories are difficult to mess up, I rarely find a gem with fun, snarky, and interesting characters like those delivered by Bardugo.

Clever banter effortlessly drives the storyline from beginning to end. When you start to feel the characters are proving to be one-dimensional and predictable, they begin to change and evolve (albeit a bit slowly for my tastes), which made for a surprisingly satisfying read (I’m including book two in this observation).

Worldbuilding is intelligent enough to keep you trusting the author when you grow concerned that the ending will be unrealistically implausible. Okay, maybe that last observation is my personal pet peeve with modern authors, but Six of Crows pulled off the credibility factor reasonably well.

My personal author coach (David Farland) suggested this read.

The premise of a teenage, self-diagnosed sociopath who works at a morgue but doesn’t want to become a serial killer was far too intriguing to pass by. Well’s background research into sociopath profiling and morgue duties kept me engaged, but never felt intrusive or information-dumpy.

Refreshingly, Wells keeps the teen character intelligent. Instead of the overwritten, arrogant teen who makes stupid decisions, the main character is thoughtful and bright, and recognizes beforehand that his choices driven by curiosity are a tad foolish.

Although I won’t read the sequels because they dive into a subgenre I’m not fond of, I consider I Am Not a Serial Killer one of the most innovative reads of this century.

Rarely do I find a sequel as good as the first book. 

When clever ideas from the first book peter out, sequels lose their freshness and sense of wonder, turning them into stale, unremarkable remakes. Then, my fandom for the author diminishes as well. Despite my enthusiastic admiration of Sanborn’s creative prowess, I couldn’t finish the Mistborn sequel for that very reason.

Words of Radiance worldbuilding is a notable exception. It keeps digging deeper and grows more and more complex.  Similarly, the characters continue to evolve.

For me, character growth and worldbuilding drive a story more than any other factors. Thus, the plot resolution to Words of Radiance was surprisingly satisfying precisely because of this strong foundation.