100 Books Like The Scar

I’m going to stick my neck out and say that, in my opinion, this book is the greatest ever retelling of the Arthurian story. Why do I love it? Primarily I think because his characters are so well-defined and crafted—they have feelings and families, emotions and frustrations—and are frequently not at all heroic. 

I love the elements of the book that play out within the animal kingdom—the rigid, controlled society of the Ants, the free and liberal existence of the Wild Geese—all brought to life by an author who was a renowned natural historian and who is using the power of his fantastical imagination to provide insight into the broad spectrum of political models and options for ruling. 

I first read this book when I was studying Politics and Philosophy as an undergraduate, and I was blown away by White’s insight, humanity, and the choices he… show more.

I love this book because it explores the end of the world in the most intimate and emotional way possible.

What moved me deeply was not the apocalypse itself, but the quiet relationship between father and son, trying to preserve goodness in a world where goodness no longer seems to matter. I felt a constant weight while reading, as if hope itself was fragile and rare.

It made me reflect on what it truly means to carry faith and humanity when everything else is gone.

This book is prophecy, power, and paranoia wrapped in a sandstorm.

It was the first book that showed me how deeply philosophy and politics could be embedded in a fantastical world. It taught me that “epic” doesn’t mean loud—it means legacy. I still marvel at Herbert’s precision—his control of tone, symbolism, and tension.

It’s the rare kind of book that makes you feel like you’re trespassing into something sacred and dangerous. Every time I return to it, I leave with something new—and a little unsettled.

I had my doubts about reading this because, well… Tudor history.

I love Mantel’s work but…another trot through Henry VIII’s marriages and murders? I wasn’t sure it was for me. But within moments of opening the book, I was away with Mantel and Thomas Cromwell.

Even the title, Wolf Hall, demonstrates her gift. It was the name of the Seymour family’s seat, and the book never takes us there—but it was Jane Seymour who replaced Anne Boleyn and gave monstrous Henry his heir. The title hangs over the action, echoing, Man is wolf to man.

Mantel’s Cromwell is complex, often kind as well as ruthless, but Mantel herself said that she presents only one possible view of him. Read it and make up your own mind!

Reading this was like drinking tea with a ghost in a dusty library—charming, eerie, and wonderfully slow.

Clarke's ability to mix historical fiction with brooding, folkloric magic was inspiring. I admired how it builds tension not with battles, but with manners, contracts, and impossible choices. It taught me patience in worldbuilding and in life.

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.

I love the cunning, wit, and charm of the one-and-only Vlad Taltos. Though he’s an assassin, he’s never cruel or wicked; he merely does what he needs to appease the “mafia-feeling” organization he works for. He’s almost more a swashbuckling rogue than a killer.

In his interactions with his familiar, Loiosh, you see his more nuanced side, the morality beneath the magic and swordplay. And few fantasy worlds I’ve ever visited have been as rich and colorful as those created in the Vlad Taltos series. 

Confession time: I tend to be picky about mermaid stories because life under the sea is such a dramatic difference from our reality that it’s often hard to really reflect that difference. In this book, you never forget that these people aren’t human, and you never lose their connection to the sea. It’s everywhere, from the way they think about distances to their relationships with the other creatures around them to the way Yetu’s disabilities are handled.

In the same way, the trauma that created their people was always lingering at the forefront of my mind as I read, even when it wasn’t the subject at hand. This is another one where my experience was elevated even further by the audiobook, as narrated by Daveed Diggs. 

For me, Hyperion epitomizes the Gothic space opera.

It may not sound like it on the surface, with the book often being described as a sci-fi spin on the Canterbury Tales, but the devil’s in the details, and Hyperion has many details indeed, with each character’s story bringing us deeper into both their personal darkness and the darkness of the larger world: the labyrinthine Time Tombs; the Cruciform parasite that turns immortality into a curse; and of course, the eldritch godlike entity known as The Shrike.

As an easily-bored reader, I was floored by how easily Hyperion held my attention, as each of the characters’ stories not only made me care about them more, but also contributed to the adventure they shared...especially when it all came to a head in the sequel, Fall of Hyperion.

Spanning multiple worlds, time periods, and philosophical ideas, Hyperion has everything I want… show more.

Barker's theory of parallel worlds in this book totally captivated me. The story world is so layered and nuanced—and nightmarish! Themes of God, gender, sex, and death weave together effortlessly.

I love it so much that I read this book at least once a year! What I liked most was the journey of the dual protagonists, Gentle and Jude, not to mention that killer twist at the end.