The best speculative fiction books with lyrical prose

This classic middle grade fantasy tale is what first taught me an appreciation of figurative language and lyricism in writing. It revolves around a young courtesan tasked to provide a definitive definition of delicious to resolve a court dispute. He asks many people throughout the land, which yields answers such as “a cold leg of chicken eaten in an orchard early in the morning in April when you have a friend to share it” or “a drink of cool water when you’re very, very thirsty.” At an early age, those descriptions made clear to me the power of making comparisons that evoke memory and mood. It also heavily influences my food and drink reviews to this day!

I studied the literature of the Harlem Renaissance in college, and the rhythmic power and cadence of so many great works of that time still influence me: the deep bass throughline of Claude McKay’s Banjo; the fiery, relentless push of truth in James Baldwin’s essays and novels. Zora Neale Hurston imbued her allegories and anthropological studies of the era with literary devices that made them smooth to read and easy to slide under your skin. Just the repetition of mountain in Moses, Man of the Mountain, is enough to reveal the power of the simplest literary devices. And her expert use of alliteration makes this a beautiful, boisterous, and emboldening read.

In this short story collection, SFWA Grand Master Nalo Hopkinson gives us heaps of imagery to roll around in with delight and horror. Calling a snowflake “six-clawed” or relating a tree’s memory of how it “felt to unfurl your leaves to the bright taste of the sun” all add to the mood-heavy stories of a teenager overcome by her desires after swallowing a cherry pit, children who must survive their parents’ frightening transformations, and more. Through all the tales, humanity shines through, our rough edges and our beautiful scars. And the characters themselves play with language to pass the time.

I was unprepared for this book’s unrelenting pace, as it provides some of the most on-the-nose and funny skewering of our present era that I’ve read to date, via alien invasion and our coping strategy of viewing reality as a show. Anderson wields short chapters and surprising reveals in his last sentences as atypical, but effective, literary weapons. His framing of the whole work as a series of images, through chapter titles that read like illustrations, is brilliant and a quite literal representation of figurative language. Each time we’re reminded that this is a story about television, about fiction, about the comfortable lies we tell ourselves, the words strike a familiar beat, like a cinematic score reprising a theme. 

I have always been enraptured by The Silmarillion’s opening salvo: “The Ainulindale.” It’s a creation myth that foretells the founding of a whole new world and the triumphs and tragedies of its gods and people. Clearly inspired by the biblical fall of the archangel Lucifer, Tolkien uses a prose song to tell this earliest tale of Middle Earth. Eru, the god figure, gathers his angels, the Ainur, to sing together the origin story of what would soon take place in a world that did not yet exist. Melkor, this story’s dark angel, introduces malice into the harmony and the first discordant notes are struck. I listen to this great musical performance in my mind, knowing it consists only of words but fascinated as that evil ripples through eons of fictional history. To me, it’s lyrical prose personified.