100 Books Like The Bottled Leopard

I think there are two great mysteries in our lives: the mystery of the world and the mystery of how we live in it. The branches of literature that explore these conundrums magnificently are science fiction for the world and murder mysteries for how we live. So, it is no wonder that the subgenre that most excites me has to be the science fiction murder mystery, in which, as a reader, I get to explore a strange new world and find out how people live (and die!) in it. This is why I read and, it turns out, what I write.

I was a child who was very dissatisfied with the idea that this world, with its rules and routines, is all there is. Sunday school filled me with a fear of hell, and heaven sounded boring, a lot of people wearing white and singing. This forced me into the world of fairy and folktales: spirits, tricksters, masquerades, elves, werecreatures, and merpeople. It was all so exciting and, more than that, comforting. The just were rewarded, and the wicked were punished within the timeframe of the story, not later when they died. 

I am invested in how women juxtapose the day-to-day with the bizarre. I am curious about how women balance their lives with the insoluble and how this contributes to the fluidity of their identities. I live with women, I work with women, I shop with them, eat with them, sit next to them on the bus, I am friends with women, laugh with them, I pray with them, I am these women. In whichever format my work takes shape–whether subtle or direct, either as a performer, writer, designer, or community catalyst, I am committed to intentionally making space for womanhood. Please enjoy my book list.

I was a child who was very dissatisfied with the idea that this world, with its rules and routines, is all there is. Sunday school filled me with a fear of hell, and heaven sounded boring, a lot of people wearing white and singing. This forced me into the world of fairy and folktales: spirits, tricksters, masquerades, elves, werecreatures, and merpeople. It was all so exciting and, more than that, comforting. The just were rewarded, and the wicked were punished within the timeframe of the story, not later when they died. 

I am an avid reader of fantasy novels and a Nigerian. Born and raised in southern Nigeria, I grew up during a time when Nigerian culture closely resembled that of a century ago. Since the 1980s, my country has undergone significant cultural changes, and I am drawn to stories that remind me of a simpler time, before I started adulting. I am also deeply fascinated with history. I have delved into anthropological articles and textbooks dating back to the eighteenth century to gain a better understanding of my heritage and people. These readings have greatly influenced my own writing, allowing me to paint the vivid historical pictures that captivate me.

Like many of you, my ancestors were immigrants. Mine were Eastern European, some from villages now in Ukraine. Growing up, I heard stories of relatives fleeing the Cossacks, the pogroms, and basically getting out while the getting was good, all for the promise of a better life. Some didn’t make it—they died in gas chambers and work camps. Some didn’t survive the hardships of their new worlds. The ones who thrived were tough, worked hard…yes, some were bitter, but they all had hope. This hope, despite everything, is universal, yet very personal, which is why I’m so drawn to these refugee and immigrant stories from all over the world.

I am an avid reader of fantasy novels and a Nigerian. Born and raised in southern Nigeria, I grew up during a time when Nigerian culture closely resembled that of a century ago. Since the 1980s, my country has undergone significant cultural changes, and I am drawn to stories that remind me of a simpler time, before I started adulting. I am also deeply fascinated with history. I have delved into anthropological articles and textbooks dating back to the eighteenth century to gain a better understanding of my heritage and people. These readings have greatly influenced my own writing, allowing me to paint the vivid historical pictures that captivate me.

COVID killed my father early on during the pandemic. Every day, I blogged about him. First, when he was in the ICU and I was begging the universe to save him. Then, after he died, as I grieved in a world that seemed cold and lonely. I wrote about Dad, telling stories of happier times, to keep him alive through my memories and to share his life with others. Soon, friends started recommending books about grief. In reading, feeling, and absorbing the pain of others, I somehow felt less alone.

Novels are great. I’ve written one myself. I have also written many short stories for major science fiction and fantasy publishing venues—Asimov’s, F&SF, Analog, Lightspeed, etc. But there is something special about single-author short story collections. They are like tasting platters. They reveal running themes and can be a unique way to explore places—through the imaginations of its authors. For example, many of my stories are set in or feature characters from Nigeria. I hope you enjoy the books on this list and that they show you something new about Africa and what (some) African authors dream about. 

When I decided to familiarize myself with eighteenth-century authors of African descent by editing their writings, I didn’t anticipate becoming their biographer. In annotating their writings, I quickly became intrigued and challenged by trying to complete the biographical equivalent of jigsaw puzzles, ones which often lack borders, as well as many pieces. How does one recover, or at least credibly speculate about, what’s missing? Even the pieces one has may be from unreliable sources. But the thrill of the hunt for, and the joy of discovering, as many pieces as possible make the challenge rewarding. My recommendations demonstrate ways others have also met the biographical challenge.