100 Books Like Snow, Glass, Apples

I’m always a fan of graphic novels that capture the mood of the book, rather than trying to make everything perfectly accurate to the original. Mariah Marsden’s adaptation of Anne of Green Gables perfectly captures the magic and beauty of one of my favorite childhood books.

I mentioned how much I enjoyed this adaptation to a friend who’s also a fan of L.M. Montgomery. However, my friend hated this adaptation (especially how Anne’s nose is drawn!) which I actually found very liberating as I considered adapting The Great Gatsby. I’d been concerned about how people who loved Gatsby would view my adaptation, but this made me realize that some people would love my book and some people wouldn’t—and that was okay!

The Iliad is not a book on strategy. Nor on tactics, nor on logistics, nor on command and control, nor on any other individual aspect of warfare about which any number of lesser authors have written. An epic poem, it provides an unparalleled panorama of men (and, playing a secondary yet crucially important role, a few women) at war: the hope, the despair, the fear, the elation, the kindness, the rage, the horror, the love and the sex (which both increases the horror and to some extent makes up for it). All intertwined, and all pulsating along with the human heart. Probably written down around 750 BCE, but making use of much older material, for almost three millennia now it has been regarded not just as a classic but as the greatest classic of all. Unquestionably it will continue doing so for millennia more. 

Ideally, the style of art in a graphic novel should reflect the story being told. Yvain does a beautiful job of capturing this Arthurian myth set in the 12th century with drawings that feel appropriately medieval while the sketchy and gestural line art keep it from feeling heavy. I’m a bit obsessed with the idea of the style matching the story—I developed a whole new style and learned watercolor for The Great Gatsby—which is probably why I appreciate it so much in Yvain.

As a child, one of my favourite stories, that went on to help shape my personal writing style, was The Whitby Witches by Robin Jarvis. As a care leaver I found the main characters, siblings who had been shunted between several foster homes because of the brother's psychic gift, relatable. The sister doesn't believe him - a brilliant source of conflict because all they have is each other, yet there's this huge wedge between them. But the best part is how well the author blends the magical with the mundane. There's a group of almost Lovecraftian creatures that can only be seen by those with The Sight, living alongside the villagers. I loved the idea of unseen people, just a shadow's width away, unknown things living side by side with a blissfully ignorant human populace. That contrast between the ordinary and fantastical had crept into a lot of my stories.

The OG witches of modern fantasy literature. I’ve put down Wyrd Sisters because it’s the first of Pratchett’s Witches books to feature the trio of Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg, and Magrat Garlick, but I’d list the whole series if I could. If you haven’t read them, I envy you, because you get to experience this trio and their world for the first time. Granny Weatherwax is a good witch because she has to be, but if she were to go the other way there’s no doubt she would be the greatest evil witch the Discworld has ever known. She plays cards with Death, knows the power of stories, and, most importantly, understands that being Good and Right is not the same as being Nice. Pratchett’s Witches were formative reading for me, and paved the way for many beloved reads on our shelves today.

As a teen, I'd visit my aunt, in her flat above a laundrette. The flat had a small attic room with a little window and a few old boxes of junk. My cousins and sister and I would play up there, or sit up there telling ghost stories, because it was one of those unclaimed spaces, overlooked by adults, that children colonise. A liminal space almost, where adult rules and laws don't quite apply and therefore magic can happen. One day I was snooping up there and found a beautiful copy of  Friedrich De La Motte's Undine, illustrated by Arthur Rackham. It was so stunningly beautiful, it felt like a book that had been plucked out of some fairytale land. I lost myself in the illustrations or weeks before I even read the words. And when I did my heart broke for Undine, who loved so hard, but left… show more.

The Fourth Bear is possibly too light to be included in a list of dark fairytales, but the main character is a classic, almost noir type detective, so maybe it's ok. Nursery Crime Division, to be exact. I think Jasper Fforde may be to blame for my desire to write Jack and the Beanstalk as a dark gritty courtroom drama (maybe one day!), he blends genres together so seamlessly, and I long to be able to do it as well as he does. There's a terrifying serial killer on the loose, and I was as on the edge of my seat as I am with any thriller, even though I knew that killer was The Gingerbread Man. It follows the plot of a standard police procedural/thriller, while including Punch and Judy, Goldilocks, an illegal porridge ring, and a murderous biscuit....or is The Gingerbread Man a cake? I absolutely adore the… show more.

City of Glass: The Graphic Novel is the adaptation of a Paul Auster novella about a man who receives a call meant for a private investigator and is pulled into an existential mystery. I’ve long been a fan of film noir and the mystery genre, and I like how this adaptation handles these themes in more unusual and modern ways, as well as Paul Karasik’s thoughtful page layouts. The Great Gatsby also has many noir themes which I tried to hint at in places, although I resisted going full-out noir, since that wouldn’t have been appropriate for the book. 

Ever wonder what would happen if you mixed up traditional fairy tales with noir fiction? This graphic novel series answers that question, as it moves those familiar fairy tale characters from the storybook forest to a gritty urban landscape called Fabletown. Now, you’ll follow a reformed Big “Bad” Wolf as he tries to solve the murder of Snow White’s party girl sister, Rose Red. It’s a fun read with compelling illustrations and an unexpected twist on both the fairy tale and detective genres.

I read this when my son was born, looking for a familiar story in more ways than one. This imported classic European fairy tale has our gunslinging Snow White escaping to the wild west and feels like a new comfort fable… if replacing dark twisted forests for a wind-whipped big sky can be comforting. It’s a story that doesn’t know how to end, or even if it should end—making it another facet to join numerous retellings. The Huntsman becomes a Pinkerton, the dwarves now a band of women on the run, and the Prince a melancholy expression of America’s history where many have no voice. It’s a bit cerebral and reveals heart-wrenching lessons when reflected on current times. Which, I suppose, is the purpose of a fable, right?