15 books like The Licanius Trilogy

Everybody talks about the shock value of this series, but they forget that these books have the greatest and most realistic character developments of all time.

Sansa, Daenerys, and Jon Snow are the most obvious ones, but I chose Jaime because I can relate to him the most. Sometimes everything goes your way, and you feel invincible. But remembering the fall of Jaime keeps my feet on the ground.

I had similar experiences several times when I acted like a jerk because of my job titles before reading his story. Now I never get ahead of myself. 

I was deeply moved by Rin's relentless struggle to earn a spot at Sinegard, the elite military academy.

I loved how the story started with rigorous academic and martial testing before plunging into the grim realities of war. The shamanic magic system felt wild, dangerous, and atmospheric. I resonated with Rin's fierce determination as an outsider forced to prove herself among privilege and political intrigue.

R. F. Kuang created an uncompromising, emotionally heavy narrative that shows the true, brutal cost of power and vengeance.

This was my first introduction to Sanderson’s work, and I knew within a few pages that we were going to be a good fit. I’d just gotten off of reading through Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, and the “multiple POVs” angle of the book was a big pull for me.

The frankly bizarre world of the book (and the series of which this is book 1, The Stormlight Archive) was so full of strange creatures and patterns–so studded with interesting, resourceful characters–that I couldn’t put it down over the course of days to finish it.

If you’ve read all of the books on this list and are looking for something new, this book is the story of Robin Hood with all the backstabbing, politicking, and civil unrest of A Game of Thrones. Though not “Fantasy” (there is no magic, second-world, divine intervention, etc), this historical fiction novel was no less epic, and I would be remiss to leave it off this list.

As someone who exclusively reads fantasy and some sci-fi, I find this story (and its sequel, Lionhearts) to fit right into my reading list. The use of character perspective was so powerful because despite there being six primary POV characters who are diametrically opposed to one another in different ways, I somehow found myself rooting for all of them. Each character was so convincing in their justifications and righteousness that every chapter constantly reflected on who was in the right.

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I enjoyed The Eye of the World because Robert Jordan makes his world feel vast before the greater story fully reveals itself.

It may not be the most entertaining book in the series, but as the plank-holder novel, it patiently establishes the cultures, magic, history, and conflicts that shape everything to come. I especially value Rand’s beginning. He is not a polished hero, but a frightened, naïve twenty-year-old whose later confidence, arrogance, and acceptance of his destiny feel earned across several books.

I love experiencing that growth through Jordan’s storytelling. For me, the novels and audiobooks remain the truest way to enter this world. I recommend skipping the streaming show because I believe the adaptation fails at every level to capture what Jordan built.

I listened to the audiobook edition of this story and was completely blown away.

The narration is superb, with the reader performing songs and really making the story come alive, but the prose was just wonderful. Seriously, I would hear lines and think, “Oh my God, I wish I could write like that!”

I haven’t read much fantasy that was written in the past 20 years, but I can see why this is regarded as a modern classic. I loved it and wish he would finally complete the trilogy! 

I never thought I’d cheer for a crippled torturer, but somehow Abercrombie makes me do it.

The characters in The Blade Itself feel raw and jagged, like real people rather than fantasy archetypes. What I loved most was how no one is truly heroic—everyone’s broken, desperate, or scheming, yet still magnetic. The dialogue crackles with wit, and the shifting perspectives kept me hooked.

It’s grimdark, yes, but never bleak for the sake of it. Instead, it reveals how ugly and fascinating people can be when survival and ambition collide.

I was completely spellbound by the sheer tension and tactical brilliance of this academy narrative.

I could not stop listening because the protagonist, Vis, operates in a constant state of mortal peril where every choice carries catastrophic weight. I loved how the hierarchy magic system forced him to navigate an unforgiving social ladder without sacrificing his core morality.

The academy trials felt genuinely impossible to survive, and the end left me wanting so much more. It set a monumental new standard for how high-stakes academy fantasy should be written.

What if elevator inspectors had their own influential guild? Not science fiction, not fantasy, and not even alternative history. Just a riveting, delightful, challenging ‘what if’ that does not fit in a box. In a shaft. In a skyscraper. When I first heard about this book, I thought elevator inspection might be, let’s say, resistant to novel-sized interrogation.

To this, I now say, behold the umbrella that fits in the purse or the king-sized mattress that arrives in a toddler-sized box. This book unfolds and puffs up deliberately and warmly, and eventually, you find yourself curled up, reading about the very nature of thought. In a person. In a society. You don’t want to turn out the light and stop. 

What if extinctions could be traded like carbon? There’s an idea that doesn’t come up too often over dinner. It’s odd, awful, and yet somewhat plausible, as our hyper-capitalistic world keeps thinking it can buy its way out of physics.

Beauman chooses not to hash out the details in the Journal of Political Economy. He chooses to have it read instead. As you should, because I found the novel that fully examines this terrible concept to be terribly interesting, terribly inventive, and terribly funny. Not in a LOL kind of funny (though there are moments) but in the smirking, wry, ‘of course’ realm of humor ruled by the line of succession that runs from Jonathan Swift to George Carlin.

I love jokes that last long enough for you to realize they were so much more than whimsy.