100 books like Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating

Dugan is one of my absolute favorite authors of queer YA, and this romance between out-and-proud track star Morgan and closeted Ruby is a perfect illustration why, merging a fun high school setting and passionate main characters with the very relevant situation of managing your public level of queerness. It’s thoughtful and sweet, romantic and funny, and above all, real. 

Nguyen is another artist whose drawings blow my mind. On top of his gorgeous, fluid, imaginative artwork, this book showcases a unique and gently told story about a boy who processes his burgeoning queerness through his and his mother’s shared passion for fairy tales.

Nguyen adds literary flair with a limited and intentional color palette—red shades for the present, blue for fairy tales, and yellow for memory—and also explores themes of immigration and assimilation. (The protagonist and his family, like the author-illustrator, are Vietnamese.)

This book is probably the single most praised underground gay novel of my generation, and deservedly so. It’s so many things—beautiful writing, an old west setting in all its ugliness and adventure and hope, and a highly original narrative voice in the bisexual native orphan, Shed, who is being raised in a bordello. All the characters are well-drawn and as odd as the narrator, and the erotic journey, if I can call it that, is one of the most original, thought-provoking, and beautiful expressions of the possibilities of queer I’ve ever encountered. Spanbauer has helped me to write more skillfully about class and race and sexuality and how they are everywhere and how they can warp—and sometimes, oftentimes—set people free. 

An absolutely exhaustive catalog of queer milestones on television, I’m constantly consulting this amazing book.

There’s no more authoritative examination of the people, shows, and trends that shaped queer representation in broadcast media over the 20th century. Exhaustively researched, it’s not just a must-read – it’s a must-read-multiple-times.

I own two copies, each one jam-packed with bookmarks and notes to myself about the best bits.

I desperately want to be best friends with Henry (Monty) Montague, the delightful, ridiculous, irrepressibly queer gentleman of this book.

The story follows Monty on a joyous and, at times, harrowing romp through 18th-century Europe, accompanied by his prickly but secretly brilliant sister and his quiet, kind-hearted best friend (who he’s totally in love with but far too clueless to do anything about.)

What I love the most about this story is the way it depicts queerness in a way that feels true to its historical setting. Monty interrogates his identity with the flawed language and beliefs he inherited from the world around him, which I suspect anyone who didn’t grow up with access to an open and loving queer community, i.e., most of us, can relate to.

In her groundbreaking Gender Trouble, Judith Butler develops the idea that we today call gender fluidity. Butler knows queer life intimately, and Gender Trouble speaks to much of the difficulty queer people, myself included, face in the world. It is thus not only brilliant but also generous and caring.

Butler set the stage for a philosophical problem I address in my book, namely that her type of position cannot fully explain (philosophically) why some people identify as gay, straight, lesbian, or bisexual – just as they cannot explain why it’s existentially important for some trans people to transition.

I’ve heard people say this book is “magical,” and that description is spot on.

I cannot get over how cute this book was! A sprinkle of magic, found family, finding yourself, and amazing descriptions of the city. This book gave me so many sparkly feels. I begged for the two characters to get together and rooted for the MC from page one. The plot was phenomenally creative, genuinely like nothing I had ever read within contemporary romance.

I finished this book faster than any other book of the year. 

A huge part of why I write is that I struggle to find books I like written by other people, yet this one came out of left field and bowled me over (Elliot would probably hate that I used a sports metaphor for that). Elliot is the protagonist of this book and he is a walking queer disaster. I love him, I hate him, and I became strangely, desperately invested in him. The book doesn’t have what I would describe as a conventional plot, but Brennan does a fantastic job studying her characters with a depth that got me obsessed. During the few days it took me to read this book (when I had to put it down and do life things) I would huff around the house muttering ‘FFS Elliot!’ under my breath. If you want to know why, I recommend giving it a go.

This book is set in an alternative Mediterranean during what feels like the 400s BCE. There are a lot of would-be philosophers floating around and being pretentious (the philosophy major in me rejoiced). There’s Damiskos, a former soldier with a limp who investigates a mystery. And there’s Varazda, a nonbinary dancer who’s also a spy.

Although the murder plot was a lot of fun, and the multiple cultures and languages the author plays with are exciting, the real highlight of this book is the way the two main characters talk through and negotiate their relationship. Both of them have been hurt in different ways and have baggage, and the way they figure out consent between them, the discussions and power balancing, is a delight.

Don’t be fooled by the initial MF pairing of this book, A Lady of Rooksgrove Manor is very queer and very spicy.

Kathryn Moon does a fantastic job creating a realistic example of a polyamorous relationship in a genre where most authors tend to just like creating conflict. Each partner to the main character has unique, well-negotiated relationships not only with the main character but also with each other.

These relationships range from sexual to queer, platonic, and scratches the itch that every queer person has to build a commune out in the wilderness with all their closest friends that they may or may not make out with sometimes.