100 Books Like Sorcery of Thorns

“Doors are very powerful things. Things are different on either side of them”’

I love this quote. There’s nothing like the threshold of a door when it comes to story magic! It’s steeped in tradition since long before Roman times. And Diana Wynne Jones is the underrated Queen of this whimsical genre. Her words flow so beautifully, and not only that, her characters are the cutest. I fell in love with Calcifer, the little fire demon, and the headstrong Sophie. 

In this series, the paladins are generally noble, honest, and wholesome – they are paladins, after all, even if their god is dead. But I don’t read these books for the paladins. What I most adore are the backdrop machinations of the Temple of the White Rat, a religious order interested in saving the world in the most sensible of all ways: with lawyers, doctors, social workers, and a sound understanding of economics.

At least once per book, the delightful – and very, dangerously practical–Bishop Beartongue will turn up to throw a wrench into events, and it delights me every time. I hope she gets her own book someday. Even if she doesn’t, I will continue to eat up this series like the most scrumptious chocolates.

I immediately loved this book for its alternate history, detailed folklore, and dark academic vibes. I connected with the complex characters and a strong female protagonist who was fearless of social expectations. The unique combination of folklore and an archaeology background that I share with the author Heather Fawcett was something I found familiarity with instantly.

I enjoyed the alternate history where dark academia met with the more traditional Gaslamp-style fantasy fiction to create something new. This combination of dark academia, marginalized voices, and alternate history is a style I enjoy delving into the past in new, unusual ways and revealing voices that otherwise remain unheard.  

This book should perhaps be classified as sci-fi, but hear me out: the bulk of this novella follows two characters, one who is technically supernatural (we just happen to call him an alien), as they break out of captivity and quest through a forest. That’s fantasy enough for me, and the syrupy sweetness of these two can overcome any hesitation over on-page, spacey jargon.

I’ve never read a book that so wholly gets into the head of a non-human species as this, and it also had me cracking up the entire time. Simmi, the alien in question, is a germaphobe, to put it lightly, but his partner in escaping, Aurora, is patient and kind with him, and the love that blossoms between them is kick-your-feet delightful.

The richness and depth of Cornish’s Half-Continent world are just amazing! I get the feeling that, like Tolkien, the author has spent a whole lifetime developing and living in this world before he ever thought of turning it into a novel.

Skolds, fulgars, the dark trades, gastrines, rever-men, gaulding, cruor, Cathar’s Treacle–the inventions just keep coming and coming. As real as if they’d always been there! And the language that goes with them is equally wonderful—Cornish’s love of words is on a par with Tolkien! For the sake of the story, Book 2, Lamplighter is a must-read—I loved the big reveal the whole story’s been leading up to.

This quiet and strange fairy tale is one of my favorite escape reads. I first read it while I was in high school, and it so accurately captured my own youthful confusion, my own reluctance to separate dreams from reality, that I felt a deep relief.

Another masterclass in storytelling, with lush worldbuilding and wonderfully awkward characters, the prose here is lyrical and sensory. Sand and tangled hair and the cold slap of waves. When I encountered them again, after moving to coastal Virginia, they felt familiar because I had already encountered them in this book.

I love this series of three short novels enough to have read it more times than I can count. The language of the novel is simple and evocative. I love the main character, a young wizard who starts out as proud, angry and arrogant, but becomes deeply compassionate when his hubris leads him to make a tragic and evil use of magic.

I could feel myself grabbed by the world of the novel, a world of men and dragons, of islands dotted in an endless sea, of powerful mages who interfere at their peril with the precarious balance of the world between good and evil. 

Originally, I was looking for a book series to get my 12-year-old (non-reader) nephew interested in reading. The cover art is great, and the description, “a smart-ass skeleton detective and a secret magic world, in the shadows of the real world,” piqued my interest. Yes, an actual walking, talking skeleton.

I first purchased a copy for myself so I would know if it was appropriate for him. I enjoyed reading it so much that I went out the next day and bought him the first four books in the series. They became the first books he voluntarily read. I love the depictions of magic (and magical creatures) in the real world and the constant battle to keep regular humans ignorant of the events that take place virtually right in front of them. 

Reading this book feels like soaring through the skies on Dragonback, experiencing a world filled with magic, danger, and destiny. From the moment Eragon discovers Saphira’s egg, we’re thrown into an adventure that takes us across vast landscapes—towering mountains, ancient forests, and bustling cities full of secrets.

The bond between dragon and rider is at the heart of this story, and it’s impossible not to feel a sense of awe as they grow together. Christopher Paolini builds a world so rich and immersive that every battle, every piece of lore, and every new land explored feels like stepping into something legendary. It’s a book that makes us want to go on our own epic journey—if only we had a dragon to take us.

To me, what’s most striking about this book, a queer retelling of “Snow White,” is that in addition to the POV of the Snow White character, Lynet, there’s also narration from Mina, the Evil Queen insert. Only in this retelling Mina isn’t a superficial villain.

In fact, she’s no villain at all. I find her to be a complex heroine, and her relationship with Lynet is equally rich and complicated. I was compelled by Lynet and Mina’s struggles under the weight of feminine and royal expectations. Despite their conflicts, they are more alike than they are different, and their journey to realizing this was so satisfying.

The sapphic romance between Lynet and a surgeon provides a lovely subplot that adds to, rather than distracts from, the main storyline. One of my all-time favorite sapphic retellings.