The best novels with a great twist on spaceships

Frankly, I want to be friends with Captain Desiree Quicho. And not just her. I want to be friends with the entire crew of the Aerie, along with their assorted bunch of allies, acquaintances, and hangers-on. These include a street-smart psychic with great hair and an even better ass, a NASA engineer, Saharan troglodyte elves, Atlanteans, Bigfoot, a Hellbilly, and a Giant Pacific Octopus named Bobo the Mag.

This book's unique, omniscient-whacky prose style makes you feel like you’re swimming through every character’s mind, not just reading but experiencing their fears, thoughts, and dreams. This is all to say that reading this book really does make me feel like these characters are my friends—and sisters; it feels good. Except for Bigfoot. That guy’s an asshole.

AI has been coming for my day job for a while now, so I was honestly conflicted when I heard that the talented Megan E. O'Keefe wrote a book about a rogue machine intelligence controlling a deserted spaceship. However, the first few chapters of this spooky, thoughtful, riveting novel made me think again. After finishing… well, I don’t want to spoil it, but let’s just say the themes rang very, very true to someone on the sharp end of the AI revolution.

Storytelling like this embodies the best of science fiction: using a futuristic setting to explore the issues most relevant to the present. That’s why I’m a science fiction fan, and it’s why I adore this book.

Reading the first couple of chapters of this book is like being thrown into the deep end of a pool and asked not just to swim but to do some calculus homework while you’re at it. The setting just doesn’t seem to make any sense, physically or morally. But I kept treading water until this book had a grip on me that wouldn’t let go. By the time the concept of “Calendrical Heresy” came up, I couldn’t put it down.

In this book, spaceships (and their horrifying, inhumane weapons) run on forces that depend on the calendar. Change the calendar and you change the rules of reality itself. This unique bit of worldbuilding lays the foundations for a gritty, unwavering exploration of personal identity under the heels of oppression, and holy crap, is it a wild, profound journey.

For someone who’s read every book in the Hornblower and Aubrey-Maturin series, it’s hard to find an age-of-sail book that has anything truly new to add.

Or so I thought until I picked up this book. It asks the question, what if Jack Aubrey could have sailed a wooden frigate to a Barsoomian version of Mars? The obvious answer, of course (and the one in this book) is that Britain would have extracted every plank of Marswood, ounce of Marsspice, and bag of Marstatoes it could get its imperialistic little hands on.

That’s Arabella’s world, where cannons boom in the interplanetary air currents, and spaceships are driven by sail power. As a fan of both sea stories and space operas, I’m there for it.

Lady astronauts are all the rage these days, but what would it have taken to get women into spaceships in the notably more misogynist 1950s? According to this book, it would take the threat of a world-destroying cataclysm—which sounds about right.

This book doesn’t stop at sexism, though. It tackles a variety of -isms, and doesn’t hold back in showing how absurd it would be to hold onto them as the world burns. Some critics have even suggested that there are too many types of bigotry on display here, to which I would reply, “Dude, wait ‘till you hear about real life.”

Ignore all the yucky, uncomfortable stuff if it pleases you, though, and this will still be a fascinating look at mid-century America, but with ladies in space.