100 books like Go, Mutants!

It’s hard to beat Scalzi for nailing the execution of a high concept.

Redshirts could have so easily been nothing but a gimmick, but Scalzi really gets into the guts of the horror and humor of being a character written for the sole purpose of dying. I picked up the book with a cynical eye, expecting to hate it, but it drew me in.

Scalzi went so much further with the concept, shined a light on every corner of the idea, that he managed to create a deconstruction and reconstruction of the same trope at the same time. 

Liking Terry Pratchett is a bit like liking pizza: not terribly remarkable.

Pratchett is a master storyteller who commands not only tropes but the idea behind them with such skill that I can read one of his books and never realize I’m getting the most profound lesson of my life. I could have recommended any of his books, and more to the point, any of his City Watch books, but I single out this particular book for a reason. I’m a humanist, like Pratchett, and this book explores his humanism most effectively.

And it’s also an amazing mystery and incredible comedy. 

Like a lot of folks, I found out about this book when the movie version came out, Who Framed Roger Rabbit.

The world-building in the movie was so compelling and unique that I decided to pick up the book. And I’m so glad that I did. The plot in the book is much more complicated, and the social satire is even sharper. One of my all-time favorite noir mysteries.

I’m cheating a little with this one since this is technically three books but go with me. Slaves of the Volcano God, Bride of the Slime Monster, and Revenge of the Fluffy Bunnies are some of those series that used to be thick on the ground but now are harder to find.

They’re adventure novels that play with the tropes of B-movies, and not only are they hilarious, but they made a young Justin like B-movies more. Playing with tropes can get exhausting, but when it’s done with genuine love, as it is here, it makes for an airy joy of a series.

Shrek! was a book before it was ever a wildly successful film franchise, but the book bears almost no resemblance to the movies.

Yes, William Steig’s ogre is both vile and reviled, and he has a donkey for a friend, but the story itself is very straightforward, detailing Shrek’s rampage across the countryside on his way to meet a “stunningly ugly princess” with whom he can live “horribly ever after.”

Steig had been a celebrated New Yorker cartoonist for almost four decades when he produced his first children’s book in 1968. He wrote and drew Shrek! when he was in his early 80s. He breaks the cardinal rule of using simple language, but makes up for it with fun-to-read-aloud choices in vocabulary and sentence structure, such as “The irascible dragon was preparing to separate Shrek from his noggin.”

There is nothing more fun than a rag-tag group of kids living in a tree house and battling monsters, zombies, and whatever else bleeds into their dimension.

Max Brallier does an amazing job of tapping into a middle grader’s pituitary. What he squeezes out is a thrilling and hilarious roller-coaster of an adventure. Just writing this makes me want to take the ride all over again. And I didn’t even mention the art yet either.

Douglas Holgate draws monsters so cool, that they are often drool inducing. Seriously. Do a Google search if you don’t believe me.

If I had to use one word to describe The Sellout, it would be “charged”. 

The Sellout tells the story of a young black man who lost his father to a police shooting. As he attempts to cope with this new reality, his hometown is gradually fading into oblivion. To salvage what’s left of it, he decides on the craziest plan: reinstating slavery. An action that will drag our protagonist to the Supreme Court’s doorsteps.

Unconventional and wild, The Sellout is one of the best social commentaries on America’s racial issues you’ll ever read. I guarantee it, I stand behind it.

A more modern example of the writer as a character in his own novel, borrowing pieces of his own life and weaving them into something more. It is so polished that it is hard to believe it was the first novel. And so personal, in the way it borrows from Foer’s family history (or seems to), that it gives the reader that distinctive shiver of fiction that threatens to burst through the confines of a novel into something like truth—realism that verges on reality.

I tried to weave my own history into my book in a similar way; this book probably had something to do with that.

It is laugh-out-loud funny in places, but the humor also sees the pettiness, pride, and obstinance that can affect human behavior.

Pearson’s narrator is cloaked in childhood innocence that makes his incisive observations not cruel, but simply honest. After I first read this book many years ago, I decided that I would never again make my readers feel wretched nor would I cheat them. Like Pearson, I will, however, trick them.

This is THE book for neurotic hypersexuals. It set the genre. I think it’s wild, brilliant, horny, thoughtful, introspective, delusional, and absurd at the same time. I mean, for the love of God, there’s no plot! It’s the protagonist (Alex Portnoy) rambling to a psychologist about his clear Oedipal Complex. The man is torn, trying to be a good Jewish boy who betters the world, but he has some nasty sexual desires (and messed-up feelings about his sexual partners) that are holding him back. 

This book is one of my obsessions. (It’s fitting, given the obsessive nature of the book.) Ironically, I felt really seen and sane while reading it. No, I’m not as neurotic and horny as Alex, but boy, do I struggle with some of the same obsessive thought patterns as that man!