153 books like The Inheritance Trilogy

Jemisin combines geological apocalypse, complex magic, and generational trauma with raw power.

That’s something I explore in my own work, so this trilogy was a strong—if abstract—indirect influence. Few books have stayed with me so viscerally.

The writing is sharp, emotionally devastating, and fearless. It doesn’t just tell a story—it tears through it with tectonic force. It made me want to write braver and more honestly about pain, survival, and what breaks beneath the surface.

Imagine waking up to discover you’ve become the City of New York. And meeting the avatar of São Paulo walking around trying to be a mentor. As a New Yorker, I’m all for it, and I was hooked right from the start of this urban fantasy. Aliens are trying to eat the cities of Earth, but the cities fight back by choosing champions from among their populations.

New York, being New York, has six—one for the City as a whole and one for each borough because we do things right here. I got such a kick out of every borough’s particular personality and approach to being part of the whole, when just the other day, these were all ordinary people pursuing their own aims. Sudden, magical, consequential reinvention. Love it.

I have never read a novel so close to prophecy.

Published in 1995, Parable starts in July 2024 amidst the election of an autocrat who, by the sequel Parable of the Talents, literally pledges to “make America great again.” I started my platform in 2015 in the same context.

This novel pulled me into its harrowing tale of how to survive civilizational collapse: the dismantling of systems, norms, and climate change that we are all currently going through.

The lesson is ultimately about embracing change, caring for and trusting each other in community, and coming up with our own ways of being together. So many of our ancestors have survived periods of collapse by the same principles. These ancestral lessons still guide me, and I believe are critical to surviving AI dystopia.

The plot, intrigue, and world-building in this series opener are pitch-perfect, but I'd be lying if I didn't say it was Katsa and Po's relationship that hooked me.

I loved their individual strengths and the way they strengthen each other. I love that their relationship is unorthodox and the way it's built on equality and respect. And I love that when Bitterblue comes into their lives, it brings a new dimension to all three characters.

This is the first in a series.

The first book in the Kingston Cycle series, Witchmark is set in a magic-powered Edwardian era just after the end of a World War. I loved the balance of soaring magic and gritty realism as well as the unexpected revelations surrounding each of the characters.

Miles — a witch who is desperate to keep from being used as a power source by mages — has faked his death and lives in hiding as a military doctor. However, when Tristan Hunter brings a dying man to Miles’ hospital, Miles’ secrets are threatened. But Tristan isn’t interested in blackmailing or exposing him. Instead he needs Miles to help him to track down a murderer and uncover an epidemic threatening to destroy all the magic in their world.

Obviously, the setting and premise had me from the start but the real fun of the book was following Miles and Tristan as they tried… show more.

This book is unhinged in the best way. I love Gideon’s unique voice. Around her is a deadly-serious necromancer murder mystery with interplanetary stakes, and she cares more about cracking dirty jokes and finally eating some warm food. Her relationship with her arch-nemesis/only friend Harrow leaps off the page.

I love the scene where they get into a pool so Harrow can finally confess to Gideon her darkest secret—so hot and so disturbing all at the same time. While this book isn’t technically a romance and the genre feels more like a horror fantasy set in space, I couldn’t resist putting it on the list. As Gideon says to Harrow, “One flesh, one end, bitch.”

This book is prophecy, power, and paranoia wrapped in a sandstorm.

It was the first book that showed me how deeply philosophy and politics could be embedded in a fantastical world. It taught me that “epic” doesn’t mean loud—it means legacy. I still marvel at Herbert’s precision—his control of tone, symbolism, and tension.

It’s the rare kind of book that makes you feel like you’re trespassing into something sacred and dangerous. Every time I return to it, I leave with something new—and a little unsettled.

This book ticked all the boxes for me.

It’s well written (by a fellow Australian author!), has a strong female protagonist, a genuine slow-burn attraction, and is set in a world with a religious system and accompanying bigotry that feels all too real. I love that Mila’s strength is in her resilience and that she’s very much a product of the world in which she exists.

As for the romance, the slow-build attraction between her and Culis is genuinely believable in the context of both characters’ story arcs. And let me just say that E.C. Glynn knows how to tease!

I first experienced this book in 2017, and it’s stayed in my top 5 all-time favourite reads ever since.

This is a well-crafted, beautifully told story. The world-building is meticulous, the characters are complex and real, and the plot is enthralling. The story of the Lumatere people is so heartbreaking that when hope finally comes, it's impossible not to be caught up in it.

What makes this book so exceptional are the characters and their relationships, and the way Marchetta captures the best and worst of human nature. The most compelling relationship is the engaging and complicated romance that builds between Finnikin and the enigmatic Evanjalin.

Love, love, love this book (and series).

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.