Books like The Saint of Bright Doors

Jemisin combines geological apocalypse, complex magic, and generational trauma with raw power.

That’s something I explore in my own work, so this trilogy was a strong—if abstract—indirect influence. Few books have stayed with me so viscerally.

The writing is sharp, emotionally devastating, and fearless. It doesn’t just tell a story—it tears through it with tectonic force. It made me want to write braver and more honestly about pain, survival, and what breaks beneath the surface.

This book sank its hooks into me and refused to let go. When this happens with a book, it’s often because I empathize deeply with the characters and care about their journey. Other times because the writing on a sentence-by-sentence level is beautiful and compulsive. This achieves both.

Simon Jimenez might be the best prose stylist working in the genre right now, and he uses that skill to great effect in crafting a beautiful, slightly surreal world. He also has a keen eye for character and the power to tug on my heartstrings like no one else. I felt hollowed out when I finished this book–in a good way!

In recent years, nothing has gripped with me a child-like sense of excitement and wonder like The West Passage. I read fantasy as much for the experience of wonder as anything else.

As a child, I daydreamed constantly about fantastical worlds and strange planets, and I want fantasy to transport me back to that imaginative mindset. But that isn’t all it has to offer. Every page is packed with strangeness and mystery but also rich with its characters' emotional lives and psychological foibles. I was delighted and intrigued from page one.

While Vonvalt–the titular Justice–sits front-and-center on the cover of this novel, I found myself more drawn in by the story's narrator, his apprentice Helena.

At first, she mostly seems like a Watson-type, a character primarily there to be the audience’s window into the world of her far more interesting mentor. But as the story went on, I was drawn in by Helena’s fascinating characterization–which grows more interesting as the trilogy continues–and by how she navigates the increasingly horrific corners of the world that her story reveals.

I discovered the Pearl Saga (a trilogy) via Van Lustbader taking up the reins on Robert Ludlum’s Bourne novels. While I was reading these books, I was waiting to hear from Voyager (Harper Collins) regarding an epic fantasy novel I wrote, which featured in its climactic scenes a girl using crystals to trap a dragon in a cage-like device inside a mountain. There was a delay in the publication of the third book of the Pearl Saga, and when it came out, it featured a girl holding a ‘crystal’ before a dragon, and it was called The Cage of Nine Banestones. My heart sank, but it turned out that the delay was related to the death of Van Lustbader’s father.

The trilogy begun in ‘Ring’ is for some brooding and self-indulgent, but for me it was a triumph of worldbuilding and alien realia, with technology and sorcery vying… show more.

This is my bible, the book I’ve read more times than any other. It’s three books in one—Wolf in Shadow, The Last Guardian, and Bloodstone. There’s clearly some direct inspiration here in relation to the mystical power source that keeps cropping up (no spoilers). Some things just get in your head and reintroduce themselves when you least expect it. Jon Shannow is my favourite literary creation, Gemmell my favourite author. Overall, heroic and epic fantasy has had the most influence on my writing style, but I’ve merged it with contemporary language and the vision of large-scale sci-fi. I learned a lot from reading Gemmell, and The Jerusalem Man’s post-apocalyptic setting sees the sharp-shooting anti-hero face darkly religious demagogues, mutated creatures, and insidious megalomaniacs. Shannow is a troubled soul trying to be good in a world of relentless evil, but Gemmell’s writing is sharper, less… show more.

This story was interesting in the way that the author had two main characters who were twins with widely different roles. With one taking the role of the chosen one and the other being in a place to save her, this was an intense rollercoaster ride from beginning to end. Not to mention the worldbuilding, traveling through lightning, was a very unique idea that amped up the suspense. 

Alan Campbell set the mixed steampunk science-fantasy genre for me, with his high fantasy worlds where machines and magic go hand in hand, to prison cities surrounded by poisonous waters that can turn you into permanent sea-dwellers, and telepathic abilities worth killing for.

This is a world where a trip to the beach might kill you if the telepaths don’t find you first.   

Cyteen won a Hugo Award in 1989 and pushed the envelope on both world building and character development. For me though, it was the author’s exploration of what it means to be human that made this book one of my all-time favourites. 

In Cyteen, there are born humans and made people. Some of the made people are clones of a particularly powerful individual, but most are created to perform a function. These lower-ranked people are taught everything they need to know by ‘tape’, while they sleep. 

The book asks some deep philosophical questions about what makes a person human, and whether any of us have the right to create ‘sub-humans’ for our own benefit. These are powerful questions that still beg for answers.

Part queer love story, part sci-fi mystery, wholly delightful; this is my comfort read when the world begins to look too bleak and hopeless. This is another story with beautiful worldbuilding, and fascinating details, but the real beauty of it is the characters—complex, flawed, hurting, but loving each other through it.

The story is gentle, with enough intrigue to hold your interest but never mile-a-minute action, and one of the sweetest love-stories I’ve ever read, but the book never veers into the saccharine—as much as it is a love story, it’s also a story about the messiness of being human—impulsive, thoughtless sometimes, hurting and hurt, but trying ultimately to do the right thing, no matter the cost.