100 Books Like A Marvellous Light

I desperately want to be best friends with Henry (Monty) Montague, the delightful, ridiculous, irrepressibly queer gentleman of this book.

The story follows Monty on a joyous and, at times, harrowing romp through 18th-century Europe, accompanied by his prickly but secretly brilliant sister and his quiet, kind-hearted best friend (who he’s totally in love with but far too clueless to do anything about.)

What I love the most about this story is the way it depicts queerness in a way that feels true to its historical setting. Monty interrogates his identity with the flawed language and beliefs he inherited from the world around him, which I suspect anyone who didn’t grow up with access to an open and loving queer community, i.e., most of us, can relate to.

There’s a reason this book is called Slippery Creatures (aside from all the Shakespeare references), and it’s not because of straightforward, upright, just-a-bit-stroppy ex-soldier Will Darling.

Having accidentally inherited a highly sought-after secret along with his uncle’s bookstore, he’s practically surrounded by slippery creatures, not least of whom is Kim, a helpful aristocrat with unclear intentions, a shady past, a delightful fiancée, and an awful lot of baggage.

I became so invested in their relationship that I actually looked into whether Will would be eligible to be drafted in WWII. And no matter how often I re-read it, I laugh whenever I get to certain little jokes or witty exchanges. It’s funny, clever, touching, and so engaging.

Have you ever read Dracula and thought, “What if the vampire were a lady? An extremely gay lady?” That’s Carmilla in a nutshell!

The story actually predates Bram Stoker’s tale by several years, making it a neat little literary artifact on its own, but this isn’t some dry historical text. It is, in fact, super heckin’ horny, to the point that I would strongly advise against listening to the audiobook with, say, your parents or other unsuspecting cishets in the room. It’s gonna get awkward.

It’s also fairly short, making for an easy, steamy bedtime read for anyone who’d like to imagine themself as a waifish little lass ravaged nightly by your lesbian vampire BFF. 

The award-winning author of Stargazing does it again with a beautiful new fairy tale for any age. While it isn’t a reimagining of a specific tale, it has all the feels and tropes of a Disney movie—only we’re learning more about a budding friendship between a brilliant young dressmaker and a prince who struggles to be his true queer self.

If I had this story when I was a boy, I would have read it until the book fell apart and had to buy a new one. As it is now, it has a special place on my bookshelf—and in my heart.  

By some bizarre coincidence, I’m not the only writer publishing a queer YA retelling of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde coming out this year! Luckily, this retelling is a much different take from mine, envisioning the story from the perspective of two young Black boys growing up in Victorian London. 

Too many films, television, and books still seem to think that people of color didn’t exist in Britain before, say, the 1960s. (which is ridiculous, as London was a major port city for centuries, not to mention the seat of the British Empire.) 

This book helps set the record straight, cleverly deploying the original novella’s themes of respectability and duality to explore the unique pressures faced by gay Black men during that era. 

You’d be forgiven for thinking the ex-highwayman is the sneaky character in this one. Still, in fact, it’s the aristocrat with the outlandish plan to rob his own father (or perhaps it’s not so strange that the reformed working-class shlub is more honest than the privileged rich man!).

Percy is very upfront about one thing: his attraction to the sober coffee purveyor, the Kit of the title, who reluctantly agrees to teach him stand-and-delivery tactics. This makes for a funny and refreshing dynamic between the leads. I find it an enjoyable light read with a great deal of heart.

This book is fast-paced: within the first chapter, the titular captive prince, Damon, is enslaved, stripped of his royal identity, and gifted to Laurent, the young prince of a decadent foreign court. Damon, yet another straightforward soldier type (they pair so well with the slippery types), is immediately caught up in the byzantine machinations of Laurent and his uncle and is hilariously out of his depth without ever seeming to realize it.

I appreciate Damon, but I adore Laurent. He is so snarky and cool-headed, running absolute rings around Damon and playing the game like a champion despite the very poor hand his uncle has dealt him. It’s a slow-burn romance, and I loved watching their relationship evolve slowly.

This book feels like a cozy, comfortable read: two lovely people being lovely to each other, particularly around being gentle with each other’s past traumas. But it also has plenty of plot, humor, and wonderful characters; I particularly appreciate Demas’s talent for quick and simple but highly effective character sketches.

Damiskos is another straightforward ex-soldier type, innocently visiting an old friend to buy fish sauce and unprepared to encounter plotting philosophers. Varazda, a eunuch and slave, is prickly in a fun-to-read way until he begins to trust Damiskos, and then it’s wonderful to see how well they work together, both in unraveling the scheme and in supporting and caring for each other. On a more superficial note, I adore Varazda’s outfits.

This extraordinarily candid memoir is about the complex relationship between the author and his businessman father, both of whom had a secret life.

A self-confessed gay man, young Joe spent much of his life searching for his Ideal Friend in the twilight of homosexual London, but never admitted as much to his father. And only after the latter’s death did his son discover that for many years he had maintained a mistress and their three daughters in a house in Barnes.

The author unravels this complicated tale with impressive honesty and compassion, charting his own feelings of inadequacy, waste, and loss, and lamenting the fact that both he and his father remained ignorant of each other’s hearts and minds.

I loved that this book’s inciting incident is the toppling of a many-tiered wedding cake of a British royal couple. The cause? The immature tussling of a prince and the U.S. president’s son? (Adults, mind you. They’re adults) And because of that, they have to pretend to be friends, pals, buddies.

And as with most fake-relationship-themed books, the fake friendship soon turns into real love. Even though both Alex and Henry are outrageously advantaged individuals, I saw them as people—people in love—and not as a representation of their class.

Perhaps the thing I love most about McQuiston’s writing is the idealism and hopefulness she brings to the story. The obstacles Alex and Henry must overcome are literally international and yet, she can boil their love down to the simplest of gestures—and make it seem realistic.