100 Books Like Johnny Got His Gun

This book took me on a journey with a group of unlikely heroes, starting with their decision to enlist to fight in the war, following them through their training as paratroopers, and ending the conflict. Like many World War II veterans, they were volunteers. But the anticipation leading up to D-Day and the hell they went through in the woods of Bastogne was more than anyone could have ever expected.

Few histories of World War II hit me as hard as this one. As a child of the 1960s and 1970s, the war has always fascinated me. I’d read about the strategy, the epic battles, and the atrocities committed by the Axis Powers, but I’ve returned to this book many times over the past thirty years.

I love this book because it is a war novel without a single battlefield or battle, except the one for Siegfried Sassoon’s sanity. I became fascinated by WWI as a teenager. I can’t say why this war caught my imagination, but it did, and that fascination has continued for my whole life.

I gobbled up books, movies, and history about the war, and I especially loved the poetry of Siegfried Sassoon, a noted poet and war hero who publicly refused to continue fighting in 1917. When I re-read his poetry fifty years later, I found a kinship with that refusal and the boys around me who were conscientious objectors to the Vietnam War.

I was a dreamy, romantic teenager, which is why Sassoon’s words pierced my heart: “Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin they think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.” Oh! How I cried over his poems… show more.

I was first introduced to the film adaptation of The Road in my early teens when I went through all five stages of grief in the span of 1 hour and 51 minutes.

I then made a beeline to the bookstore for a copy of McCarthy’s novel, which subsequently solidified my love of end-of-the-world stories in how they can examine what it means to survive.

The Road is a story that has stayed with me over the subsequent decade and a half and greatly influenced my post-apocalyptic novel.

I am simultaneously inspired and repulsed by this book because it presents a terrible and wonderful fictionalized case study in apocalyptic optimism. In the novel, Robinson weaves a story of hope embedded in despair.

Having studied efforts to solve the climate crisis for over 25 years while witnessing its growing effects, the novel is pitch-perfect on the tensions we must overcome to save ourselves. 

Future-facing at the time of its publication in 1957, On the Beach isn’t really war fiction in the literal sense, because the fictional war around which it is built is already over.

Set in 1963 Australia, it details the life-affirming but grim experiences of a cast of characters including the crew of a US Navy submarine who are all facing inevitable and impending death from the aftereffects of massive nuclear war that has extinguished all life in the northern hemisphere.

The LA Times described it as "timely and ironic... an indelibly sad ending that leaves you tearful and disturbed," and The Economist called it "still incredibly moving after nearly half a century.” I’d call it a compelling and thought-provoking cautionary tale, and a ride you only want to go on via your imagination.

I read this while on vacation, and though it was a wonderful trip, I kept thinking how much I was looking forward to getting back to the hotel room to continue reading.

The protagonist’s all-consuming job working for a tech company made me realize how much I wished I had used social media less. I loved how the book made us see how Mae’s job, at first exciting, took her to places she didn’t want to go.

In today’s online world, the completely interconnected one of this book is a cautionary tale.

This novel is extra special because it’s written by two author friends, one Black, one white, and shows the complexity of racial inequality and police violence firsthand with basketball as the backdrop. This moving story encourages discussion and will make you reflect. It’s also a great introduction to the two authors’ work, and especially interesting to see how Jason Reynolds has since grown into his role as National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature. 

This book is one of the most haunting accounts of war I've ever read. Through the eyes of Paul Bäumer, a young German soldier, Remarque immerses you in the horrific realities of World War I. The sheer brutality of trench warfare, the disillusionment with nationalism, and the emotional devastation of losing comrades all play out in a way that feels as immediate now as it must have been when the book was first published. My grandfather fought in the First World War, and though he never spoke about it, I believe the emotional scars he carried shaped who he became. All Quiet makes me think about how those invisible wounds persist today—worldwide. War may evolve regarding weapons and strategies, but the psychological impact is chillingly consistent.

This novel isn’t just about the battlefield. It’s about the inner lives of soldiers and the way war corrupts not just bodies but minds,… show more.

I love all things Irish. I would venture a guess that more than half of what I read is by Irish writers. Every year, my family visits Ireland–from Dublin to Dingle to Donegal. I am intensely interested in Irish history as well as literature.

This book checks off all these boxes for me. Young Willie Dunn leaves his family and the girl he loves to fight in WWI in 1914. On the Western front, it’s the letters from home and the other Irish soldiers who keep him going through the horrors of battle. Willie is able to return home, only to find Ireland itself on the brink of a civil war.

I give this book to anyone I know who, like me, is charmed by the magic of Ireland, to history buffs and lovers of Irish literature, and to those who seek love stories that happen in WWI. I cried… show more.

Cronenberg’s 1996 movie adaptation (not the one that won many Oscars and is bad) captures Ballard’s sensual mechanical fetishism and apocalyptic consumerism perfectly. It is a 120-minute-long sex scene in a carousel of mangled metal. It is probably the best adaptation of prose to film I can think of, which is bolstered by the sheer strength of the book itself. Crash (again, not the 2006 one, the car crash sex one) is by far Cronenberg’s horniest feature, and that’s saying something. Uh. I didn’t mean to just talk about the movie. I should probably talk about the book. The book is very good. I’m deathly afraid of car accidents, and reading about them through Ballard’s dreamy, eroticized lens is a capital-E Experience. Truly one of my favorites.