12 books like The Licanius Trilogy

This was the first fantasy book that made me afraid for its characters and helped me understand that fantasy is allowed to feel realistic.

Up until this point, the types of books I was reading were very paint-by-numbers, but here the stakes felt real because no one was safe... not even the ones who seemed typical fantasy rules were untouchable.

What stuck with me wasn’t the true-to-form fantasy bits (dragons/battles), but how human the characters felt. In this world, loyalty is a death sentence... love is dangerous, and power always comes with a price.

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.

I picked this up expecting a revenge fantasy story based on what I’d heard, but what I got was something far more brutal.

Much like my #3 pick, this story doesn’t flinch. It dissects power, identity, and the cost of survival with narrative precision. Watching Rin’s descent was nearly voyeuristic; it felt wrong, but you couldn’t help but watch.

This book is an excellent example of fantasy that doesn’t need to pull its punches. It can confront uncomfortable topics head-on and still leaves room for humanity and consequences.

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.

This… show more.

I can’t remember if I read WOT or GOT first… but this book was one of my entries into epic fantasy.

It begins with normal people trying to figure out something they can’t fully understand, and fearing being powerless in the face of what’s coming. Jordon really takes his time to slowly build the world, but even then, it feels like it is already established, and it is the reader who is new here.

What made it memorable was the way it balanced massive stakes with human fragility. It explores the theme that power isn’t always just a gift or a curse; it can be a burden that costs the wielders and those who are in orbit of it.

I’ve read The Name of the Wind twice, and each time it feels like sitting down to hear a bard weave his life into song.

Kvothe isn’t perfect—he’s brilliant, arrogant, reckless—but that’s why I believe him. Rothfuss’s prose has a rhythm that lingers in my head like music. What struck me most wasn’t the magic or mystery, but the small human moments: playing the lute for coins, hungering for knowledge, fumbling through mistakes.

For me, it was less about answers and more about the act of telling one’s story, flaws and all.

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.

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 our willpower was a commodity? Ok, it kind of already is, right? I spent thousands of hours in a cubicle, having my soul sipped on. But making will semi-tangible and directly transferable got me thinking about the ‘power of self’ in a whole different way, which is only one of the many delights of this novel. There is also a mystery, political struggle, wonderful world-building, and a tense examination of goal orientation.

This is technically a fantasy novel, but labels are like nutritional guidelines. Who’s to say what a serving size is? Who’s to say fantasy can’t be speculative, probing, and–when it comes to human interaction–as real as hardcore sci-fi? Not me. I want a second or third helping of Islington.

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.