Fans pick 100 books like The Deathless Girls

I love everything Juliet Marillier writes. She is so good at using her knowledge of folklore to create magical stories in which the heroine must save the day. This book departs from her usual Celtic setting, taking us instead to Transylvania in the time of the Ottoman Empire and a reimagining of the Twelve Dancing Princesses.

The setting takes five sisters from a crumbling castle at the edge of the Wildwood to the Faerie Kingdom at the heart of that wood. I love how the Wildwood seems to tailor itself to the ages and personalities of the sisters. So, five-year-old Stela spends her time with cute and playful creatures, while elder sister Tatiana falls under the spell of Sorrow, one of the Night People. Protagonist Jena has her own love story with the talking frog Gogu.

I first read this book when I was ill in bed, on strong painkillers, so the setting had a heightened quality in my mind that can never be replicated. But I’ve now read it several times (and watched the Netflix TV series), and it remains a wonderful book with great settings and characters, romance, and danger. 

Before I read this book, I knew very little about Chinese Malaysian society in the late nineteenth century, and it was fascinating to learn. I also loved the Plains of the Dead, where ghosts live in houses and eat food that corresponds to the paper funeral offerings burned by their families. Seventeen-year-old Li Lan must go there to seek the deceased young man whose “ghost bride” she is and stop him from haunting her.

There’s not enough Muslim historical fantasy in the world, and this one is so lavish and full of aching romance—my favorite kind! It takes us from 18th-century Cairo, where con-girl Nahri accidentally summons centuries-old deava warrior Dara, to the fabled City of Brass, its walls covered in enchanted statues, home to rival clans of djinn.   

I love how the tribes of Deavabad reflect different parts of the Islamic world and its pre-Islamic culture. For example, the main djinn faith reflects Islam, whereas the deava faith with its fire temple reflects the Zoroastrianism of ancient Persia. It’s a complex, believable world in which I can immerse myself, full of revelations, betrayals, tugs of loyalty, and dilemmas of love.

How could I not love a book set in an alternate Renaissance Venice? When modern-day teenager Lucien “stravagates” in his sleep to Belezza, he discovers a world of gondolas and bridges, spies and alchemy. I love the way Venetian customs are ramped up to fantasy proportions—for example, the traditional “marriage with the sea” involves the ruling Duchessa actually plunging into the lagoon—or does it?

The book moves between the fantastical Bellezza and the “real world” of modern-day Britain, where Lucien is a teenage cancer patient. Lucien’s increasing illness in our world provides added jeopardy to the adventures in Belezza, where Lucien teams up with Ariana—a plucky girl who wants to become the city’s first female mandolier (gondolier)—to save Belezza from the machinations of Rinaldo di Chimici.

A grimdark fantasy in the tone of Abercrombie, Moss’s The Worthy is a brilliant debut that explores a fractious sibling relationship between brother and sister Prince Barsten and Princess Ailith, both of whom are battling to become heir to the kingdom of Crell. Ailith herself is hiding her lover, Lady Avalon, at the same time as trying to protect the kingdom when it quite literally begins to tear itself apart due to a mysterious magical entity. The book explores issues of patriarchal oppression, historic abuse and trauma, sexuality and homophobia. Despite the grim world and morally grey characters, I found myself drawn into this story because of the important themes it considered. 

Hester, which came out in 1883, follows two central figures: Miss Catherine, an older woman who runs a bank – in itself quite a surprise to find in a Victorian novel – and Hester, her young relation, who is bored with her dull, ladylike life and wants something more.

What she really wants is to work, as Catherine does, but Catherine is determined that the bank will pass to a man. The novel focuses on their strained relationship – strained partly because they are so very alike. There’s so much I love about Hester, but I especially enjoy how it undermines and undercuts Victorian tropes about the novel and what is and isn’t a happy ending for a female character. It’s an absolutely fascinating read.

I read this book before I’d found words to describe the impact on my teenage self of living in a patriarchal world that didn’t allow me to do things I wanted to because I was a girl—and that insisted I do things I didn’t want to. I read it before I’d heard the word feminist used other than as an insult. But the essentially feminist spirit of the novel touched me deeply. 

I raced through the book, hoping that this single mother who’d fled an alcoholic and abusive husband with her child would make it out alive, that she’d find her people, and that she’d get justice. Years later, I saw the book described as the first feminist novel, and for good reason—written in Victorian England, no less. 

I loved this atmospheric debut, often described as a collection of interlinked short stories. Set on an isolated group of islands off the coast of Virginia, the stories span more than two centuries of the same family’s history: from the 19th century and far ahead into a post-apocalyptic, post-pandemic future. There are intimations that a supernatural ‘second sight’ runs in the family and the book’s Southern Gothic vibe is nothing short of intriguing. But for all the hints of magic realism, the focus on female characters contending with obstacles of class and gender at different points in history is rooted in an understandable reality. Beautifully written descriptions of the natural environment, poignant characters, and local color all demonstrate Taylor’s imagination to be visionary and impressive. 

This recently published excavation of Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex is almost as thick as Beauvoir’s massive tract, but don’t let that put you off. The photo of Beauvoir on the cover conveys an insouciant “Yeah, sure” attitude, and Meryl Atman uncannily channels that sentiment into a dazzlingly authoritative and entertaining discussion of why the overwhelming majority of the criticism of Beauvoir’s famous tome happens to be misguided and wrong. The book is about gender, race, sexuality, class, and privilege, but it isn’t a polemic. It is an exercise in critical reading at its most invigorating.

Unrecognised female labor is also the subject of this captivating non-fiction book by Hochschild, a sociologist drawing upon decades of research with fifty heterosexual couples in the Bay area. Hochschild is well-known for identifying ‘the second shift’ of childcare and domestic chores that working women often perform at home, on top of their professional commitment. This results in a rampant inequality of leisure time, and compounded with unequal pay in the workplace, exacerbates gender injustice in contemporary American society. But Hochschild also provides powerful examples of couples who counter-act this norm, while showing how individual attitudes towards gender and domestic responsibilities are influenced by class, ethnicity, and upbringing. Fascinating and illuminating.