The most recommended allegory books

In what I would call a companion to Lewis’ classic The Great Divorce, Webster offers up a modern-day descent into hell that is theologically thought-provoking, honest, profound, and—perhaps most surprisingly—playful.

The plot is relatively straightforward: a demon visits an ordinary Joe & takes him to hell, where Joe must complete three challenges to see and save his beloved twin sister, who died as a child. Along the way, Joe is faced with the fracturing of beauty, truth & goodness, as well as flashbacks that reveal more of his schism humanity.

The plot is compelling, but it’s Webster’s story-telling, setting details, and multifaceted symbolism that make this story shine, and the literary references and mythic quality had me queuing up for a second read-through to catch the layers.

This has an unexpectedly delightful effect on the reader of feeling like you are journeying with a beloved friend through this difficult… show more.

If a happy medium between those two extremes exists, you can find it in the series kicked off by this novella. If the government doesn’t demand complete control over magic, you can bet they’re still going to dedicate an agency to it. The stigma in this world against the “paranormally-abled” becomes an allegory for stigma against other minority populations, used to good effect in terms of world-building and character development. The stuffy government agent and the civilian getting caught up in a case together are another well-worn trope, but Hawk excels in breaking stereotypes through the small touches, which is important for intricate storytelling in shorter forms.

From multi-culture epic to English 17th Century Christian allegory, from the breadth of the Mediterranean, gods, and giants, to a foot journey down a strait path to a distant wicket gate. I'm at best agnostic; like Tolkien, I don't care for allegory, and Bunyan's is rather simplistic in comparison to its masterful use in Piers Plowman, the great medieval poem. Yet years after I met them, Christian and his companion Valiant-for-Truth linger in memory. And however unassuming, Bunyan's language can suddenly take flight: as when Valiant-for-Truth dies – allegorically, crosses the river of Jordan – and, "All the trumpets sounded for him on the other side."

This pick is slightly out of left field, coming from the heroic fantasy genre, but it is possibly my favorite novel. The story is loosely based on a Celtic-esque society and follows the central character, Bane, who is the bastard son of the most powerful king of their era. Angry and hurt but with signs of goodness in him, Bane leaves on a hero’s journey, where he ends up becoming a gladiator in the allegorical version of Rome.

I’ve reread this book so many times and still love it dearly. The choices of right and wrong, becoming a strong man, fighting for what you believe in, and defending those who can’t defend themselves are foundations of other authors’ work on my list, and David Gemmell is a worthy addition. 

This is an early example of mythology being used for a deliberate purpose: in this case, the promotion of Christian chivalric virtue. Full of dreamlike images and allegories, it also had a great influence on early fantasy writing, even if those creating early fantasy tales had never read it. And then, of course, there’s Monty Python.

Orphan’s Song is a lot more of a subtle allegory than some of the books on this list, but that is not a criticism! The author has such a gorgeous writing style, and her world really draws you in. It’s the kind of place you want to visit, but it doesn’t bog down the story. The music theme is also very well done, and there’s a hint of mystery that keeps you turning pages. If you like griffons, this is the book for you.

When I was in high school, I didn’t like to read that much because I was a slow reader.

My best friend was an avid reader and he loved fantasy in particular. One day he handed me this book and said I needed to read it. He said the characters were amazing and the book was not one of the big thick fantasy tomes I refused to read.

I decided to try it and I read it cover to cover in about two days. I continued on and read the entire five book series, and then went on to read more from the author. This book turned a non-reader into a reader, then an English major, and finally into a teacher and an author. I still read slower than I would like, but this book and series set me on the path I still follow today. 

This classic is about the need to speak up when someone sees something wrong. The story mirrors what many seemingly good people did not do during the WWII Holocaust. This story is told about different groups of animals, which is easier for young readers to understand. When the Terrible Things come to take away one group, the others feel relief. But one by one the Terrible Things take away another group. During this time no one speaks against what’s happening. They are just happy their time hasn’t come. By the time the Terrible Things come for the last group, there is no group left to protest and save them. The author wrote this book to “encourage young children to stand up for what they think is right, without waiting for others to join them.” That’s exactly what children in my books do and what I want to encourage in readers.

Repila (b.1978) is a Spanish writer, whose work was recommended to me by a UK publisher: “The Boy Who Stole Attila’s Horse is a work of mythic genius that portrays tragic inevitability in a quite terrifyingly awesome way (I mean awesome in the archaic sense)."

The book tells the story of two brothers – Big and Small – trapped in a deep well and slowly starving to death. The language is precise and gut-wrenching, but the narrative reaches beyond its own particulars – compelling as they are – to work as a furious allegory of inequality and injustice.

What I love about the book is precisely this combination: one visceral scene in a well becomes a global commentary on the shadow side of the human. 

Biblical allegory is hard to do well. Bible stories themselves have infinite depths, but their allegories are often didactic, especially when author parallels the original story too closely. Stephanie Landem’s In a Far-Off Land is anything but didactic. Set in 1930s Hollywood, the novel is equal parts Prodigal Son retelling, romance, and murder mystery. By allowing the story to take on a life of its own, Landsem avoids the Sunday School vibe, and in the end, I understood the Prodigal Son archetypal characters better.