Books like Seed of Destruction and Wake the Devil — picked by fans

Like many people of my generation, I first discovered fantasy worlds through morning cartoons. Then came comics, but The Lord of the Rings changed everything for me, followed by Dragonlance, Forgotten Realms, and many more. I was an introverted child, often bored with ordinary life, and these worlds gave me somewhere to escape. Most importantly, I loved journeys that transformed characters, because they gave me hope that people could change too. I created fantasy realms in my head for years, but it took reaching my 40s to finally start putting them on paper. Today, I write and publish my own stories, including Chronicles of Ankhara, through AltWorld Comics.

I write and read fantasy that doesn’t play safe—where magic is messy, divine, rotten, or reborn in mud. I’m obsessed with stories that walk barefoot through forgotten folklore, eerie townships, and mythic detours. The Fallow Swallow grew from this exact craving: for fantasy that’s personal, poetic, and just a little unwell. I gravitate toward tales that embrace magical realism, morally grey characters, and dark humour—and these books helped shape my voice as a writer.

I love fantasy literature, because it's the what-if literature of the human spirit. Magic animates fantasy, and in the real world, magic is difficult to define; it lies somewhere on the border of the unconscious mind, the lore of our grandparents, scientific hypothesis, what the priest tells us, and what we see in social groups other than our own. In recent decades, much fantasy literature has walked away from portrayals of real-world magic, replacing it with synthetic and sterile creations euphemistically called “hard magic.” Hard magic has the form of magic, but lacks the power thereof. These books are all strong inoculations against the scourge of hard magic.

I love fantasy literature, because it's the what-if literature of the human spirit. Magic animates fantasy, and in the real world, magic is difficult to define; it lies somewhere on the border of the unconscious mind, the lore of our grandparents, scientific hypothesis, what the priest tells us, and what we see in social groups other than our own. In recent decades, much fantasy literature has walked away from portrayals of real-world magic, replacing it with synthetic and sterile creations euphemistically called “hard magic.” Hard magic has the form of magic, but lacks the power thereof. These books are all strong inoculations against the scourge of hard magic.

Since reading the Harry Potter series (I know, how original! But bear with me), I’d been searching for books that awoke the same feelings of awe, curiosity, and inspiration in me. It’s been my mission—to be on the dramatic side—to find books that make magic feel just within reach of our world, which is why I set out to write my own urban fantasy story, The Wise One. My creation process involved years of extensive research on esoteric topics and Celtic folklore, including visiting most of my story’s locations during my travels across Ireland and Scotland. What I can boldly say after immersing myself in the landscape and culture is this: magic totally does exist. 

I started writing urban fantasy because that’s what I wanted to read more of, and at the time there wasn’t much on offer. I started the Kit Melbourne series with the aim of creating a world in which magic was real, but most people don’t believe in it. I aim for believable, realistic characters with plausible relationships. I’m not a fan of prophets, noble bloodlines, or destiny; magic in my worlds are much more egalitarian. Vampires are not sexy superheroes. Faeries are more like aliens than pinup girls. My inspirations are mystery, true crime, anthropology, psychology, history, natural sciences, ecology, and neo-Paganism—and books like those on this list!

The moment I read the first page of The Stand, I was hooked on apocalypse stories. The good ones make you question your lifestyle and the bad ones give you hours of tragic entertainment. You’ll be stockpiling rice and toilet paper, and leaving on the hall light against the dark. You’ll be scanning obscure headlines for news of rapidly-spreading diseases and shoveling your own fallout shelter at the first sign of nuclear saber-rattling. Apocalyptic novels can make you into a more prepared person—or a crazy one—and sometimes they’ll even become your career. My recommendation list helped shape me into the writer I am today… sorry about that.

I have been a witch since I was 21 years old—more than four decades ago! It has been my lifelong passion—you might say it’s my calling. I’ve written twelve books, almost all on witchcraft and related subjects. As a writer and a reader, I am often frustrated by the shoddy quality of books on the subject. It thrills me when really good ones come along. 

I started studying and practicing Witchcraft in high school. It was an honor to become trained in the Georgian tradition of Wicca by its founding Priestess, Zanoni Silverknife. From there, I branched out to study other branches of Western Paganism as well as metaphysical and mystical systems ranging from Hermeticism, Tarot, and esoteric Qabalah (Kabbalah) to traditions of Hinduism and Buddhism. Over 20 years and 10 traditionally published books later, I’m as Witchy as ever and am thrilled to share a list of essential books that aided in my early development as a Neopagan Witch. Enjoy!

A retired professor, an art historian who taught at Berkeley, Northwestern, and the University of Pennsylvania. Since my main interest is the emergence of Europe from the late Middle Ages and into the Early Modern period around 1500, I naturally gravitate to non-fiction books that engage with the shifting interests and values of that era, and my own books include similar efforts to discuss visual art in relation to religion, literature, politics, and wider contemporary cultural movements. Among my own books I would cite: Rubens, Velázquez, and the King of Spain (with Aneta Georgievska-Shine); Europe Views the World, 1500-1700; and the forthcoming Art and Dis-Illusion in the Long Sixteenth Century.