100 books like The Prince and the Dressmaker

(If it wasn't obvious by the cover, this book has adult content in it - so it's not for young readers!)

I relate so heavily to this book! Since it’s an autobiography, it’s such a raw and honest look at what it can be like to explore your sexuality as an adult, all while struggling with mental health and self-image.

I feel that the author’s tone of voice and inner monologue throughout the story is so relatable and humorous. Just like Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me, I would recommend this book for the art alone! It has an incredibly charming and simplistic art style that suits it so well.

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.

Everything Lynda Barry touches is earthy human gold.

One! Hundred! Demons! is one part memoir of a difficult childhood, one part comics how-to, and six parts warmth and humor and unruly red hair. It isn’t quite as dark as some of her other work, though it certainly gestures in that direction at times.

It also exemplifies Barry’s knack for finding beauty and delight inside the most difficult, unfair garbage life can throw at you. Such a great book.

This graphic novel collection of horror stories is the perfect companion to ease you through the final stages of autumn and into winter. I’ve been a huge fan of author/artist Emily Carroll since her earliest webcomics, and this book perfectly captures how her gorgeous art and inventive use of space combine with poetic prose to invoke the feeling of the creepiest fairytales and fables. Carroll has a real mastery of the horror of the unknown and unexplained, and her stories provide no easy answers or cheap twists but instead linger long after the end. Even years later, I still get a shiver from my favorite, “His Face All Red”! The settings and moods capture the slow creep of autumn into winter’s chill and the darkness beyond. 

This slim graphic novel populated with murderous anthropomorphic animals might not seem like an obvious choice for a live-action cinematic adaptation, but the high concept here is irresistible: In a vicious universe where murder for hire is common, a laconic assassin is hired to take out the ultimate target—Adolf Hitler. Time travel, romance, jealousy, and bloody violence ensue, with plenty of twists and turns en route. A surprisingly funny and unremittingly dark sci-fi story that combines effortless French New Wave cool with a Tarantino-esque sense of humor, I Killed Adolf Hitler could become a verifiable dark comedy hit on the big screen.

Boys are one way; girls are another; that’s the way it has always been. But when Aster finds himself ineluctably drawn to the magic that should only be the province of the women in his family, he begins to realize some rules are not only antiquated, they can do material harm to the soul. Ostertag deftly uses the supernatural as a simple and elegant metaphor for the thousand indignities we can heap upon the queer and gender nonconforming, with an art style that simultaneously insists upon and celebrates the multiplicity of bodies and expressions that are our lived experience and belie these closed and closeting norms. An ingenious allegory, smartly and briskly told with charm and generosity.

Black Hole is a striking tale of a sexually transmitted plague running rampant amongst a community of teenagers in suburban Washington in the 1970s, all illustrated in creator Charles Burns’ almost inhumanly precise and dark art style. Mind-bending and terrifying, this graphic novel has come close to being adapted many times over the year, and its mix of eminently relatable interpersonal drama and existential dread make it a perfect fit for the screen, a horror story with heart and soul.

Have you ever read Dracula and thought, “What if the vampire were a lady? An extremely gay lady?” That’s Carmilla in a nutshell!

The story actually predates Bram Stoker’s tale by several years, making it a neat little literary artifact on its own, but this isn’t some dry historical text. It is, in fact, super heckin’ horny, to the point that I would strongly advise against listening to the audiobook with, say, your parents or other unsuspecting cishets in the room. It’s gonna get awkward.

It’s also fairly short, making for an easy, steamy bedtime read for anyone who’d like to imagine themself as a waifish little lass ravaged nightly by your lesbian vampire BFF. 

I adored this book from the moment I read the first page of the first graphic novel! I fell in love with Nick and Charlie and related so hard to the struggles that they were going through, even though I’m older than they are. It brought me back to how I felt in high school.

Charlie’s eating disorder, especially, really struck a nerve, and I thought it was handled with such beautiful rawness. Note: I read it before watching the TV show, which I also love. 

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.)