100 Books Like Beastars, Vol. 1

Did someone say a brotherhood of half-orcs? Sign me the hell up.

I’ve always loved non-human characters, whether monsters, aliens, ghouls, or whatever. I’ve always strongly identified with the “other.” When monsters do show up, they’re often depicted as just that: monsters. This is especially true of orcs.

But in The Grey Bastards, we get to see these mutts as so much more than drooling, mindless beasts. Their loyalty and brotherhood is what keeps them alive. When they’re riding out into battle, it’s not their tactics or strategy that gives them the edge, it’s knowing that whether they live or they die, their brothers will be fighting fiercely by their side. And that’s the sort of thing that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

I love this book because it’s basically The Blues Brothers combined with Dungeons and Dragons. How did Nicholas Eames ever come up with that concept, and make it work so well?

In this breakneck madcap quest, retired hero Clay Cooper sets out to get his original adventuring ‘band’ back together one by one in order to go on one last mission to save his daughter. The jokes had me guffawing, the action had me riveted, and the structuring left me open-mouthed.

It reminds me of Final Fantasy because once again we have an eccentric ensemble cast going on an adventure quest with magic and monsters galore…but not only that: Eames is also on record as a Final Fantasy fan and names some of his characters after Final Fantasy characters, along with sticking in some other Easter eggs related to the franchise. 

So, first off, this is one of the best audiobooks of all time. While Scott did an amazing job spinning the tale, Michael Page elevated this work to a whole new level. There was a time around 2010 when fantasy became overly serious and dark. And I was rescued by the Gentlemen Bastards which was fast paced, fun, and fabulous. The absolute best part of this book is its humor, something that is sorely missing in fantasy these days.

Of course the stars of the show are Locke and Jean. Locke is a charismatic, cunning cutthroat and Jean is his loyal right-hand man. Together they make a great pair. Their deep, brotherly friendship and unwavering loyalty to each other is fantastic, and the reason they made my list.

When I strapped in to read Red Rising, I was mentally prepared for a modern Dune-style space opera, complete with a chosen-one arc. But what kept me turning pages was Darrow’s humanity.

I was thrilled to discover how he breaks, rebuilds, and keeps fighting to become more than the system that made him. I loved that it refused to give me a perfect hero. Every victory costs something, and every choice leaves a scar.

It reminded me that courage doesn’t always look noble—sometimes it’s messy, angry, and uncertain. But that’s what makes it real.

This book made me feel the weight of change and how hard it is to stay kind while tearing down what’s broken.

All the books I’m drawn to have striking and beautiful illustrations and this one is no exception. I love the joyful and varied way that friendship is expressed in this board book. I purchased the book when my daughter was still in preschool (she’s in high school now), and the message of finding camaraderie in as many places as possible still resonates deeply.

Efficiency has become the catchword and hell-hound in our society. And in Hiroko Oyamada’s mordant fable, efficiency has taken on the form of a sprawling factory, a city unto itself, which is regulating, ordering, and arranging its brave new world one rote directive after the next.

Here’s what I saw when metaphysically touring the interior: An emaciated Kafka stooped over one of the desks, half-obscured behind a tower of documents, staring out bleary-eyed at the ledge of a window where black birds are gathering.

Across from him, a nerve-bitten Nietzsche paces, furiously smoking a cigarette, and refashioning his notions of the abyss to fit the conditions in which he finds himself atrophying. The abyss, now an omnipotent complex, an unnamable morass with a bottomless capacity for soul-feeding.

People are no longer staring into the abyss, they are wearing it, breathing it, speaking it, and perpetuating its slow-drip filtration to the… show more.

Shame and the Captives is by the award-winning Tom Keneally.

I have had the pleasure of meeting Tom, and the edition that I have is signed by him. The novel is set in World War Two and based on the escape of Japanese prisoners of war at Cowra, Australia. The story moves between the camp itself and residents of the town, which gives the narrative a strong base for dramatic tension.

Throughout the novel, Keneally displays his ability to convey the subtleties of each character, which adds depth to the story and feeds questions about the choices made under situations of stress and uncertainty.

This book came out only a few years after my first encounter with anime and just blew me away, introducing me to a completely different world – a world that at the time was mostly out of reach because Western translations were still rare. 

Having been published in 1983, it may be considered outdated, but manga translator and historian Frederick Schodt is a master narrator and does a great job of explaining how Japanese comics evolved during manga’s golden age. Now we can find any kind of information on the internet, but Schodt’s thorough analysis and engaging prose are second to none. 

If you are into cultural history and like to go beyond simple manga talk, this is still a must-read.

Japan is full of figures from its own history that loves to villainize, and few of them stand out, like Taira no Kiyomori. This prose retelling of the original epic covers the rise and fall of the Taira Clan is full of politics, scheming, ruthlessness, and more than a few bloody battles. Kiyomori is someone I can understand the motivations of, even as I condemn him for his tactics and monstrous actions. The Heike Story is the bloodstained and muddy underbelly that emerges as the samurai warrior class rises to prominence and the power of the old aristocracy wanes.

Looking for a well-curated, wide variety of Japanese short stories written by nearly all the famous modernist novelists revered in Japan? This collection contains everything from Kawabata’s "The Izu Dancer" to Satomi Ton’s marvelously deep story called "Blowfish", wherein the hero—a famously talented Kabuki actor succumbs to the kind of brain-fogging, body-busting death that only blowfish poison can deliver. The author manages to get inside the head of his character, uncovering what transitioning into death feels like, with humor sprinkled here and there, and an emotional recollection/revelation about his own actor-father dying in a theater fire.