100 books like Beastars, Vol. 1

Did someone say a brotherhood of half-orcs? Sign me the hell up.

I’ve always loved non-human characters, whether monsters, aliens, ghouls, or whatever. I’ve always strongly identified with the “other.” When monsters do show up, they’re often depicted as just that: monsters. This is especially true of orcs.

But in The Grey Bastards, we get to see these mutts as so much more than drooling, mindless beasts. Their loyalty and brotherhood is what keeps them alive. When they’re riding out into battle, it’s not their tactics or strategy that gives them the edge, it’s knowing that whether they live or they die, their brothers will be fighting fiercely by their side. And that’s the sort of thing that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

There’s something about an ensemble book that I love. Seeing personalities clash as insults fly and banter is exchanged really gets me going. I usually don’t like overtly funny books or jokes at the expense of drama, but Nicholas Eames has somehow hit the sweet spot for me with Kings of the Wyld.

These characters are more than just there to crack one-liners, of course. They’ve got their fair share of baggage to unpack, and sometimes it takes a friend or a brother to lend a listening ear for the healing to start happening.

For various reasons, I had very few people that I could consider to be true friends when I read this book, and seeing these burly, fearsome warriors start to grow on each other was a balm on my soul.

The Gentlemen Bastards are not necessarily good people, but I still love them. Why? Because they care for each other.

This might not immediately be evident. They’re always ready with a cutting quip or a beautifully timed comeback, and they’re not above pulling some nasty tricks on each other just for a laugh. But when all hell breaks loose, you better believe that Locke and Jean have each other’s backs, with an axe or a blade in hand—or both. 

True, they lie, steal, swindle, and rob the rich, and the poor don’t see a cent of it. But the loyalty that these men have to each other speaks to an unbreakable bond of brotherhood, and I am all here for it.

This is one of those books that sticks with you. It permeates your thoughts; it entangles itself in your psyche. I find myself wandering into the world of Red Rising on the regular because he built his characters to be real and so flawed.

When I read this book, I was in a personal state of turmoil, which drew me closer to the characters and the rigorous trials they faced. I identified with their fierce desperation and often modeled my mindset after Darrow, the main character.

The first in a series of six (but soon to be seven), the story overflows with love, pain, desperation, and, most importantly, hope. 

All the books I’m drawn to have striking and beautiful illustrations and this one is no exception. I love the joyful and varied way that friendship is expressed in this board book. I purchased the book when my daughter was still in preschool (she’s in high school now), and the message of finding camaraderie in as many places as possible still resonates deeply.

When I first saw this book, I was intrigued by the promise of magical cats and books. This story is light yet had some deep themes and poses questions about the true purpose of books and our relationship to them. It has all the hallmarks of a contemporary anime that is short and easy to read, especially if you’re used to diving into thick fantasy books. There were so many quirky moments in the book that felt like a mixture of Alice in Wonderland meets Howl’s Moving Castle. It’s the kind of book you can curl up with while you sip tea and pet a cat.

No Longer Human spans an entire human life in all its nuances and difficulties.

In some of the more difficult periods of my life, I’ve remembered my experience of No Longer Human and its intricacies in depicting the swarm of political ideology and manipulation of difficult relationships.

It’s a work that beckons you to live your life to your ends and fear only your loss of control over your narrative.

This book came out only a few years after my first encounter with anime and just blew me away, introducing me to a completely different world – a world that at the time was mostly out of reach because Western translations were still rare. 

Having been published in 1983, it may be considered outdated, but manga translator and historian Frederick Schodt is a master narrator and does a great job of explaining how Japanese comics evolved during manga’s golden age. Now we can find any kind of information on the internet, but Schodt’s thorough analysis and engaging prose are second to none. 

If you are into cultural history and like to go beyond simple manga talk, this is still a must-read.

Japan is full of figures from its own history that loves to villainize, and few of them stand out, like Taira no Kiyomori. This prose retelling of the original epic covers the rise and fall of the Taira Clan is full of politics, scheming, ruthlessness, and more than a few bloody battles. Kiyomori is someone I can understand the motivations of, even as I condemn him for his tactics and monstrous actions. The Heike Story is the bloodstained and muddy underbelly that emerges as the samurai warrior class rises to prominence and the power of the old aristocracy wanes.

Looking for a well-curated, wide variety of Japanese short stories written by nearly all the famous modernist novelists revered in Japan? This collection contains everything from Kawabata’s "The Izu Dancer" to Satomi Ton’s marvelously deep story called "Blowfish", wherein the hero—a famously talented Kabuki actor succumbs to the kind of brain-fogging, body-busting death that only blowfish poison can deliver. The author manages to get inside the head of his character, uncovering what transitioning into death feels like, with humor sprinkled here and there, and an emotional recollection/revelation about his own actor-father dying in a theater fire.