Books like The God Painter — picked by fans

Catherine Fox is intimately familiar with the nuances of the Church of England. She writes about them with wit and affection, and she’s dependably funny in this tale of a married bishop who doesn’t want to look too closely at why he’s quite so patient with his disaster of a chauffeur. The Lindchester series is ongoing, and I’m one of many followers who read along to share the joys and sorrows of the diverse, expanding, and delightful cast of characters. This is the place to start, though.

Set in a London congregation at the height of the AIDS crisis, this is a powerful novel that packs a lot into one Easter weekend. Its ingenious triptych structure underlines the fact that there’s often more going on than a superficial understanding of either faith or sexuality would like to believe. The oldest book on this list by a couple of decades, this is one of the first novels to engage seriously with what it means to be queer in an institution that prefers to ignore that fact, and it was both a challenge and a comfort in my own coming-out years.

If ever there was a book that felt like it had been written just for me, this is it. Set in a fictional European country in the early nineteenth century, it has swashbuckling, nights at the opera, complicated family history, politics, magic, and lesbians. The way that Christianity is integrated into the fantastic element won’t be for everybody, but I was won over by Margerit’s earnest insistence on claiming her identity as a queer woman of faith and power. I’d wholeheartedly recommend the rest of the series, too.

A Beauty and the Beast retelling, set amid the upheaval of the Second World War, in which the Beast is a dragon and the protagonist is a person who doesn’t see why his daughter should take the rap for her father’s misdemeanour. Humane and compassionate, this story isn’t afraid of exploring the theology of sexuality, but it never gets bogged down in details, and it maintains its fairy-tale atmosphere while remaining grounded in time and place. I loved it.

This book is a beautiful execution of slow burn, watching a character grow and come into his own and realize that he loves and is loved. The world-building is fantastic, and the story keeps you reading until you realize it's four in the morning and you've got a long day ahead of you. I loved the main character, his love interests, the history, and recent war that provide the setting and drive for much of what happens. It's a beautiful love story, a wonderful fantasy, a fantastic combination of both genres.

A beautifully written coming-of-age tale. And another book I have read many times. The descriptions are so sensuous and evocative of a hot summer in the French countryside that it’s easy to lose yourself in them. This story isn’t a straightforward romance and reading about deeply flawed but very human characters are ultimately what gives me comfort with this one.

I have to admit, although I know a lot about gods, I haven’t spent a ton of time reading about folkloric creatures, like faeries, brownies, and selkies. This book, set in a gothic old house in the English countryside in the 1850s, definitely made me feel my neglect of the topic; luckily, I got to learn alongside magician John Blake and Lord Thornby as they investigate the spell that’s holding Thornby trapped.

One remarkable thing about this book is the intriguing and clever magic system. The romance is great. And the twist at the end—well, I didn’t see it coming.

I learned about the existence of Don’t Stop Believing through Gwen Hayes’ writing craft book Romancing the Beat. She used it as her example outline. It was the first thing I read to pick out story beats, and I meant to focus on writing craft while reading, but I fell in love with the characters. Both leads are precious! It gets me in the holiday mood but I reread this one all year round. Snowed in at Christmastime when they both secretly like the other already? Gimme gimme gimme (this book after midnight). It’s just so festive and cute.

This book arrives with a profound introduction on "writing ourselves into being," and casts a crucial gaze on writing from the margins.

It invites the reader to engage with difference, whether the difference is queer or skin colour or cultural heritage or whichever form of diversity. Contributors share with the reader their art, craft, and lived experience, where "writing oneself in," as Octavia Butler did, is fundamental self-creation, snatching space that has been stolen or withheld.

This anthology of personal truths, as authors unskin to their innermost selves, is as startling as it is introspective.

I really love books about artists, women who are able to get angry, queer flourishing, and difficult family dynamics, and this book is about all of this. Angelina has recently graduated college when a car accident causes her to lose work and need to move back in with her parents. She and her father have always had a difficult relationship and being under his roof now is harder than ever, especially as she knows he doesn’t appreciate her desire to have a career as an artist. When Angelina meets Janet, a young queer artist, the two begin a friendship that blossoms soon into something more, inspiring Angelina’s own work. The writing is so mesmerizing, and Bogart’s description of the artwork Angelina makes is beautiful. Also – there’s a dog in this book, a very good dog, and she lives.