Books like Bran Mak Morn

This book is a parenting manual.

The boy is every boy. He asks if they're still the good guys. The man says yes, carrying the fire. This transaction between a father and a son, stripped of everything else: carry what you're given, keep walking toward the promise, because it's who you are.

Everything soft has been burned off this book, and what's left is a father deciding, hour by hour, what he's handing over.

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.

Fight the power, flintlock style. Field Marshal Tamas and his son Taniel Two-Shot execute the previous ruler and spark a bloody war.

I liked the father-son dynamic and the political machinations. The flintlock warfare and very closely related magic system(s) were also quite fun.

In reading The Black Company, I felt like I was stumbling onto soldiers’ private journals.

No shining heroes, no noble speeches—just tired men doing dirty jobs for dirtier employers. What hooked me wasn’t the battles but the banter, the sense of weary camaraderie. Croaker’s perspective makes war almost intimate, showing us the quiet boredom between bursts of chaos. I loved how Cook doesn’t romanticize anything. Instead, he captures the confusion, cruelty, and humor of being part of something too big to fully grasp.

It’s fantasy that smells like mud, sweat, and campfire smoke.

This book is not just about Scotland, despite the title. It is a very rich and imaginative study that is both helped and hindered by its remit being modern Scotland, which was never a single political or cultural entity in the early Middle Ages. That means the author has to look at several distinct groups: the English of Northumbria, the Britons of Strathclyde in the southwest, and the Vikings of the north and west, as well as the ‘Scots’ themselves of central Scotland (whose collective identity as Scots was taking shape at this time). All of this is done with insight, imagination, and command of the complicated sources. It is a lesson in how wide-ranging histories of Britain should be written.

I love finding new authors! Which is why I’m recommending another debut novel—this time from Marion Todd. It won the Bloody Scotland Scottish Crime Debut Novel of the Year 2020. Since then she has published (at the time of writing) a further 4 novels in her series about detective inspector Clare Mackay. I wish I could write that fast! Her serial killer haunts St Andrews, Scotland by luring victims to a stretch of road and then running them over—simple but effective. It can be difficult to write a pacey thriller and develop interesting characters at the same time but Todd manages this admirably. As soon as I finished this novel, I went straight on to the second in the series which is equally as good and I look forward to reading the rest.

I picked up this book for its Scottish setting and gothic vibes (which did not disappoint!), but I devoured the book because of the characters who I was rooting for from page one.

It’s such a surprise and pleasure to read a large cast of (queer) women, each uniquely-drawn and with their own distinct desires and personalities. The setting of the book is brilliant as well–I cannot resist a book set in a Scottish forest. The story is threaded through with folklore, adding another layer to the gothic atmosphere. 

There are 25 (!) books in the Rebus series by Scottish writer Ian Rankin, which is really great news for everyone because they are all really good. Each book can be read as a stand-alone as well, so don’t be daunted. This one is one of my favorites because it has a cool twist and it’s very moody.

Inspector John Rebus, who is (as many mystery protagonists are) a gifted detective who doesn’t always play by the rules, has been sent a way to a kind of Scottish re-training course for senior offices who have been bad. The dialogue is very good here, not to mention the many gritty descriptions of Edinburgh. 

This magnificent book made me realize perhaps more than any other by a Scottish female writer that the lives of working-class Scottish women are unique, important, and worth writing/reading about.

The book tells the story of Joy, a woman whose mental health is slowly crumbling before our eyes. Galloway masterfully tells this story in the first person so that we are right inside Joy’s mind. We discover a background of abuse and recent bereavement, leading to issues with alcohol abuse and anorexia.

That should all make for a depressing read, and it is of course heart-breaking at times but it is also ultimately about one woman’s search for what it takes ‘to keep breathing’. Utterly spellbinding writing from one of Scotland’s greatest writers. 

Ludington’s book is exciting because it disproves pervasive ideas about wine consumption. One of the big assumptions in the history of commodities is that middle-class people want to imitate elites, and that taste trickles down the social ladder.

Ludington shows that the opposite was true 250 years ago in England and Scotland: aristocrats started changing their wine-buying habits to appear more sympathetic to the middling sort. This trickle-up is an eighteenth-century equivalent of affluent hipsters drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon or fashionistas buying $400 jeans.

I’m the type of reader who finishes each sentence thinking yeah, but how do we know that?, so I find Ludington’s generous footnotes and detailed cellar inventories to be deeply satisfying. This is not an easy read, but it’s a thoroughly enriching one.