The best books whose characters don’t trust themselves

This spy thriller has it all: secret organizations, evil terrorist hit men, and a Canadian love interest (I’m Canadian and at the time the book came out we were rare in blockbuster fiction, and I’ll never forgive the movie adaptations for making Marie German). Jason Bourne wakes up from a boat explosion with no idea who he is and then begins hunting the people who are in turn trying to kill him, while trying to uncover clues to his past. Jason is torn as he finds more and more evidence that he might be an assassin responsible for several high-profile killings, instead of the good man Marie believes him to be. Robert Ludlum threads the ”is he or isn’t he” needle superbly in this classic.

This is the book that launched my Zelazny obsession as a teen. Carl Corey wakes up after a car crash with amnesia (sense a theme here?), which he hides from those close to him, some of whom insist on calling him Corwin. He gradually discovers he’s an immortal with a strong claim to the throne of Amber, the one true world at the center of infinite shadow worlds, including our Earth. As Corwin’s memories return, he realizes he was a cruel and arrogant man, and some of his numerous siblings have good reason to hate him. Here the amnesia trope truly allows a character to examine their past through a less biased lens. Top-rate fantasy set against a war for succession to the keys to the universe.

The Broken Earth trilogy, of which The Fifth Season is the first book, three-peated at the Hugo Awards, for good reason. Jemisin masterfully weaves the tale of Essun, Damaya, and Syenite, ostensibly unconnected orogenes, a class of people capable of controlling the titanic tectonic forces at play in a world wracked by geological destruction. Because of their immense power—and the fact that they sometimes unintentionally kill living things when angry—orogenes are distrusted by wider society, and shackled in a number of literal and figurative ways. Essun in particular must deal with the grief and trauma of her past actions and experiences, in this unflinching examination of oppression by an author at the peak of her craft. Unputdownable, Jemisin is one of the few writers on my “autobuy” list.

A magical school for wizards, but Harry Potter this is not. In Naomi Novik’s world, young mages are sent for four years to the Scholomance, to protect them from the monsters, or “mals” that want to eat them for the mana that all sorcerers use. El, a student in her junior year with no friends, has been used to being an outcast since her family rejected her after her great-great-grandmother prophesied she’d become an evil malificer and bring about the destruction of wizarding society. I love how El, snarky and spiky, fights hard to prove everyone wrong while still worrying constantly that she might indeed be, if not bad news, a helpless tool of fate—all while refusing to sand down her own rough edges.

Murderbot is a cyborg security unit, or SecUnit, that has secretly hacked the internal governor module that allows humans to control it. Despite wanting to do nothing but watch soap operas, it needs to keep its current clients alive, so as not to give itself away, losing what little hard-won autonomy it has. The problem is, Murderbot once malfunctioned and killed 57 people, and because of gaps in its data memory, doesn’t understand why. It’s also at risk of being counterhacked and put under hostile control, endangering the survey team it’s protecting. In Murderbot, Wells has created one of the most original SF characters in recent memory, a beautiful portrayal of a neurodivergent being that resists its own humanity all while behaving unfailingly humanely. I couldn’t help but love Murderbot.