48 books like Poor Things

I couldn’t finish this list without including one of the most famous examples of pregnancy in science fiction.

Humanity comes face-to-face with an alien species, the Oankali, who use gene editing, cloning, and mating to refresh their gene pools. The focus is on Lilith, a black woman taken hostage by the aliens who must learn about their plans for her and strategize her responses.

I really appreciate the way Butler’s work manages to speak to the legacy of slavery, particularly through a scene where the aliens create the circumstances for Lilith to breed with a human man in aid of their experiments. Lilith’s refusal to succumb to this animalistic treatment confronts the legacy of breeding humans during slavery.

I find Lilith (like many of Butler’s other characters) a driven character who deals with outlandish situations and the potential invasion of her own body with a pragmatic determination that invites me,… show more.

Written in the 80s, the characters are unbelievable, the dialogue stilted and the plot is totally over the top. Plus Campbell reveals the killer’s identity halfway through. Yet, when I first read it, I couldn’t get it out of my head. Thirty years later, I still can’t. The whole thing is simply too weird and creepy. The first chapter is a great indicator of how the rest of the book will go. It’s just dumb. And then, suddenly… “Where has his ARM gone!” And you’re utterly hooked.

I love an intricate plot. But sometimes you want some real literary heft to go along with it. In which case, you can’t do better than anything by Dan Chaon.

A lot of books witter on about the nature of self and identity. This one actually nails it. The characterizations and descriptions are superb. Best of all, it’s a sublimely written triple mystery, whose disparate strands finally lock in a devastating fashion.

More insane narrators (or are they?) but you can’t get more unreliable than that. Discovered these thematically linked novels decades ago and came back to them when I was trying to work out the voice of the Trunk Murderer in my Trilogy and what mental state that person might have been in.  

In The Deadly Percheron a psychiatrist has a patient, otherwise seeming perfectly sane, claiming delusions that aren’t necessarily believable. (Except, of course, in fiction the best delusions are. The psychiatrist is drawn in and you know that’s not going to end well.) 

The central idea of his book is a beauty. A kid writing to an incarcerated serial killer to try persuading him to reveal where he murdered and buried the boy’s brother. Bauer makes you really care about the crap existence of a nondescript sad sack child you wouldn’t give the time of day to in real life. I love it because the writing is superb and there’s a genuine sense of tension. All right, you know the outcome is going to be grimly inevitable. Until the story starts to take some very unexpected turns.

This book takes us into a space colony populated solely by females who live in a symbiotic relationship with their organic starship. The ship is their shelter and protector, and in return, the women birth tools and components that the ship needs to function.

I love the gory spectacle of these bloody, mechanical births but also how they allow Hurley to explore ideas about community, duty, and belonging. The book is part of a wider sensibility that can be found throughout Hurley’s work, but for my money, this is the one where her imaginative powers are most successfully harnessed. 

The unnamed protagonist of this book is a pregnant woman who has recently moved to the isolated Australian outback with her (pretty useless) husband. The couple have fled the city in part because of our narrator’s fear of a novel pandemic that is sweeping the land. As her pregnancy develops, skin cells replicating inside her body, the narrator fears that her fetus may harbour the virus.

This virus really speaks to my interest in difficult, gory pregnancies and births: cutis is an illness that causes the skin cells to hyperactively replicate, sealing over the body’s orifices and suffocating or starving its victims.

 While this book has a Wicker Man-style horror of small-town life, I particularly appreciate the way that its dystopian setting reflects and distills the anxieties that many women really experience during pregnancy. 

In this book, Doris Lessing tells the story of the Lovatts, a perfectly normal middle-class English family with four children and a seemingly idyllic life. The idyll is spoiled when the wife, Harriet, becomes pregnant with her fifth child.

The novel tells the story of the child's (Ben’s) life until he is in his teenage years, but the early scenes that describe Harriet’s difficult pregnancy and her foreboding that something is deeply wrong with her unborn child are the ones that I find particularly sinister.

Here, Lessing shows how pregnancy can be an experience that wreaks unpredictable consequences on the smooth functioning of life. 

Claire is an irreverent delight in person, but you won’t see much of that persona in her stories – this book is heavy with gooey and bizarre body horror that always has a deeply personal context for her characters.

She’s admitted that writing is a vehicle for talking about her epilepsy, but you don’t need to share that with her to relate to the strange changes that take place on her pages.

This is just her first collection, an opening salvo across the bow of Australian horror, so it will be interesting indeed to see how her work evolves and metamorphosises over time – to meet the creature that crawls, slime-slicked and hungry, from the casing of her next books.

Kirstyn is another stalwart of the Australian scene whom I have always admired, and this recent collection of her stellar short work is so overdue it’s almost insulting.

Like the best of our number, she delves deep into the heart of her characters to present tales that never feel rote or disengaged, and her tales have teeth in the most unexpected places.

Her weirdness is never dispassionate, her horror never tame, and she returns from the darkness with gifts of many hues.

These are modern fairy tales for the grimy backstreets and dimly lit suburban kitchens down here at the bottom end of our haunted globe.